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Jessie’s eyes snapped open.

It took her a moment to process her situation. She was in the passenger seat of Detective Riddell’s car, and he was shaking her shoulder.

“We’re here,” he said. “And by the way, you sure do take a lot of naps.”

She didn't respond to that. What was she going to say—I foolishly took a medication to help me control my violent urges and it's made me sleepy and mentally foggy all day—she doubted that would help much. Instead, she looked out the window

"Here" was Samantha Collins's neighborhood, Gardena. While still in the South Bay part of Los Angeles, the community wasn't adjacent to the ocean like Redondo Beach was. It was about five miles inland and more of a working and middle-class community than the neighborhoods where the yacht club boys lived.

“Is that her address?” she asked Riddell, nodding at the apartment complex that he’d parked in front of.

“According to your HHS research geniuses, it is,” he said.

Jessie didn’t comment on the fact that Jamil at least was actually a genius. Instead, she looked at the text message she'd received from the young man while she was sleeping.

“It looks like my geniuses sent some background info on Samantha Collins,” she said. “You interested in hearing it before we go introduce ourselves?”

He nodded. She clicked on the message.

“So, Collins is 24 years old,” she said. “She’s lived at this address for a little over a year. Before that, she lived at the southern end of Redondo Beach.”

“I’ve got to wonder why she moved from such a nice area to one that’s less desirable,” he said.

"We may have a reason," Jessie told him. "She currently works as a server at a family-style restaurant in Torrance. But prior to that, she was a dancer at a gentlemen's club in Inglewood called The Southland Strip. I guess that once she switched gigs, the rent became harder to pay."

“How much do you want to bet this settlement has something to do with her time on the pole?” Riddell mused.

Jessie silently noted that the detective’s question had a lascivious tone that she didn’t love.

“Do you think that Boyce got too handsy for her taste?” she asked.

“These girls are used to getting groped,” he replied. “For him to pay her off, it must be something more than that.”

Jessie couldn't disagree with his logic. Now, it was time to find out if he was right.

“This is what she looks like, by the way,” she said, holding out an image of Collins’s driver’s license photo. Collins had short dark hair, big green eyes, and pale skin. Even in a DMV photo, she was strikingly beautiful.

“I bet she looked even hotter in her stripper makeup,” Riddell cracked.

Jessie didn’t bother to respond to that one. This guy was beyond help.

“Let’s go say ‘hi,’” she said, getting out of the passenger seat. She took several quick breaths, bordering on hyperventilating, in the hopes of getting extra oxygen to her brain and clearing up the sluggishness that still persisted. It seemed to help a bit.

Riddell joined her, and they made their way up the path to the apartment complex gate. Metal fencing ran along the entire exterior of the two-story building. Riddell used the key in the Knox Box, the secure lockbox attached to the wall next to gate code panel. The box was intended for police and emergency personnel to access buildings quickly and without having to announce themselves.

Once inside, he led the way as they headed to unit 114. The poorly named Gardena Gardens was a motel-style complex where all the units were accessed from the outside. They passed a sad-looking pool that had more leaves than water in it and came to a stop in front of Collins's door.

Once they arrived, Riddell undid the holster for his sidearm. Though Jessie considered the detective to be rash and ill-tempered, in this instance she didn’t think he was off base. They were virtually certain that their killer was female, and it appeared that Collins had an unpleasant history with Taye Boyce, if not with Daran Peterson. Taking extra precautions seemed reasonable.

“You ready?” Riddell asked as he stood to the left of the door and held his fist in front of it.

Jessie stepped to the right of the door, undid the holster on her own gun, and nodded. Riddell rapped on the door and barked loudly.

“Samantha Collins, this is the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department. We need to speak with you. Please open the door.”

Jessie was surprised. She'd expected him to knock normally in the hopes of starting this interaction on the right foot. But apparently, Riddell wanted to escalate things from the very start. The unexpected adrenaline jolt that came from the realization helped dissipate whatever remaining brain fog she had.

They waited ten seconds without hearing anything. Then there was a loud thump that Jessie couldn’t identify. For half a second, she thought it might be the sound of a body hitting the ground. But then a more likely culprit popped into her head. If she had to guess, that was the sound of a window being slammed open. She looked over at Riddell, about to share her theory. But he spoke first.

“That sounded like someone in distress to me,” he said, not even trying to be convincing. “I think we’ve got exigent circumstances here and need to breach.”

It was clear that he didn’t buy his own assertion but felt he had to officially make it out loud before smashing open the apartment door. Without even looking over to see if she would object, he grabbed his gun and barked a second time.

“Ma’am, we’re concerned that you are in danger. We are entering the domicile. Put your hands above your head for your own safety!”

Jessie reluctantly unholstered her own weapon too. They were committed now. Riddell silently counted down from three, then reared back and kicked at the flimsy door near the handle. The frame cracked briefly before popping open. Riddell entered first. Jessie followed, scanning the living room for any movement. There was none.

Riddell stepped around a half wall into the kitchen. Jessie glanced down a short hallway to what looked like the bedroom.

“Moving to the back,” she whispered, shuffling forward. She took quick note that the place was somehow both spartan and messy at the same time. There was hardly any furniture, just a loveseat with an end table. The walls were bare. Either Samantha Collins didn’t have many possessions, or she couldn’t afford to keep what she used to have.

Jessie reached a door in the hallway that she assumed was for the bathroom. It was open, but the room was dark. She stayed in the hall as she felt around for the light switch. Finding it, she flicked it on, then knelt down and kicked the door open. The bathroom was empty.

“Passing you on the right,” Riddell said, “Kitchen was clear.”

He proceeded ahead of her to the bedroom at the end of the hall and didn’t even bother trying the handle. He used the same technique as before, kicking it open. This one was even more brittle than the front door and the lower hinges snapped off entirely when the thing slammed open.

Riddell rolled in and popped up onto his knees. Jessie stayed by the broken door and looked around. There was no one there, but the back window was wide open. Riddell headed that way.

Jessie was about to warn him to check the closet first but gave up on the idea and decided to just do it herself. It had a sliding, mirrored door that was half open already. She crouched and peeked in. Nothing.

“She’s headed down the alley,” Riddell said. “I’m going after her.”

Jessie looked over. He was already clambering up on the bed and straddling the window. Jessie rushed over. By the time, she was on the bed looking out, he’d already dropped to the ground and started running after a young woman, who was halfway down the alley. There was no way that Jessie, still unsure if she was fully recovered from the medication’s effects, was going to follow suit.

“Toss me your keys,” she ordered. “I’m going to get the car.”

He stopped for half a second to fish them out of his pocket, then threw them back to her.

“Don’t crash it,” he warned before giving chase again.

Jessie didn't have the energy to offer a comeback. Instead, she simply hopped off the bed and darted back through the apartment. As she sprinted through the apartment complex courtyard back to the street, she tried to guess where Collins would go next.

Jessie wasn’t super familiar with the Gardena area, but she had noticed that this residential street, 154 th Court, intersected with a larger one, Crenshaw Boulevard, which was lined with businesses. That’s the direction that Collins had run. If Jessie could get there before the woman, maybe she could find her before she disappeared into a store, and they lost her.

She jumped into the driver’s seat, started the car, and hit the gas. She reached the intersection with Crenshaw in a matter of seconds and turned right toward the alleyway than ran parallel to 154 th Court.

It took her a moment to locate Collins. But after a quick, fruitless scan of the right side of the road, she glanced left and saw her. The woman had already crossed the street and was scurrying along the sidewalk on that side. Riddell was nowhere in sight.

Jessie punched the accelerator, shooting past several cars in front of her before cutting across traffic and coming to a stop on the sidewalk, blocking Collin’s path. The woman came to a sudden halt just in front of her. For the first time, Jessie got a good look at her.

Samantha Collins, even dressed in just a t-shirt and yoga pants and wearing no makeup, was an attractive woman. Her raven-colored hair extended down to her elbows. Her porcelain skin seemed to glimmer in the early afternoon light, as did her terrified eyes. She’d left her apartment in such a hurry that she was barefoot.

Seeing Jessie pull up in front of her, she spun her head around, looking for someplace to escape, and darted through the closest door. Jessie got out and gave chase. She glanced through the glass door of the establishment and, seeing Samantha running toward the back, pushed it open.

She was in a hair salon. About a dozen women—some stylists, some customers—stared open-mouthed at her and her weapon. Only one young woman, sitting under a dryer with earbuds in and her eyes closed, was oblivious to the proceedings. Jessie ignored all of them as she rushed after Collins.

A door toward the rear was open. Jessie, feeling winded, slowed down slightly as she approached it, not wanting to get taken by surprise. She poked her head around the corner to find that she was looking at a small business office. Its back door was open.

She rushed over and noted a broom standing against the wall near the door. An idea came to her, and she snagged it as she reached the door. She peered outside and saw Collins about ten feet ahead of her, once again running down an alley.

Jessie wasn’t about to chase her much more. Instead, she switched her weapon to her left hand and grasped the broom over her head like a javelin. Then she flung the thing toward Collin’s legs. Her aim was true, and the wooden pole landed in between them as Collins took a big stride. Her rear foot clipped it and she went down, landing hard on her front. Jessie jogged after the woman, keeping her weapon at her side.

“Stay down,” she ordered raspily. “I’m an armed law enforcement officer. Any sudden moves would be a bad choice.”

Collins, groaning softly, didn’t look like she had any intention of moving.

“Slowly put your hands behind your back,” Jessie instructed.

The woman did as she was told. Jessie was just starting get out her cuffs when she heard a voice behind her.

“You want me to take over?”

She glanced back to find Riddell emerging from the door of the salon. Apparently, he hadn't been as far behind the action as she thought.

"Be my guest," she told him, hoping she didn't sound completely breathless. "You're the cop."

He stepped forward, and she happily retreated. As Riddell knelt down to cuff Samantha Collins and began reading her rights, Jessie moved back to the salon doorway and leaned into the office so she couldn't be seen.

Then she silently retched. Nothing came out, but that didn't make her feel any better. She was wiped out. But in large part due to an adrenaline shot, she was definitely thinking clearly now.

She swore to herself that she would never take that pill again, even if it meant she lost control and killed someone. The way it had messed up her thinking and stamina, she was lucky she hadn’t encountered someone who could have taken her out.

Better them—whoever “them” was—than her.