Part 15

Saturday, August 26th, 4.00 p.m., Los Angeles

Angel entered Buffy's kitchen to start the percolator. If Buffy was still the same, and he couldn't believe that she would ever change her obsession for strong, black coffee in the morning, she would need a mug of the brew. Okay, so it wasn't exactly morning anymore, but who cared.When the coffee machine began to hum, Angel opened the fridge in search for some food and found cheese, eggs, onions and milk, all he needed for a nice omelet. She would surely need it as soon as she got out of the shower.

He held her for a long time, just held her while she was crying in his arms, not only for what had happened to her last night, though by God that was reason enough, but also for four lost years, for a dead brother, misjudgment. It just poured out of her, a cleansing sort of tears, healing, but nevertheless painful to watch. Dru and Spike had left quietly to give the couple the privacy they needed.

It was after sunrise when Buffy had finally fallen asleep and he'd gently scooped her up and carried her to her bed, peeling her torn clothing from her bruised body. Even now tears welled up in Angel's eyes when he thought about the marks on her breasts, the bruises violent fingers had left on her inner thighs. Riley might not have gone through with what he'd attempted, but Angel still felt like finding him and beating him until the last bone in his miserable body was broken.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he ran a shaky hand through his hair and busied himself with the omelet, cutting the onions and cracking eggs. He wasn't a gourmet cook, but he could at least manage not to starve and his omelets weren't that bad. Beating eggs in with milk, he didn't hear the silent footsteps approaching the kitchen, and almost jumped out of his skin, when he heard a soft "Hi," from the door.

"Buffy," he turned to her and put a hand on his chest, "God, you startled me."

"Sorry," she gave him a smile, but it wasn't really apologetic, "Hmmm. That smells nice," she commented, and then settled herself on a chair, watching him preparing breakfast. She'd showered and washed her hair, now securely hidden under a fluffy towel while her body was covered in an equally fluffy robe. She looked so sexy, that Angel sucked in a sharp breath, desperately hoping she wouldn't realize what she was doing to him. He was glad he was wearing loose slacks. After what she'd been through she certainly wouldn't care for the fact that he was completely aroused.

"Coffee'll be ready in a minute," he announced without turning, "I suppose you still drink it black?"

"Our tastes are still the same," she replied, smiling slightly, "I seem to have conked out," she remarked, still a bit nervous remembering the fact that she had found herself naked in her bed, without any memory how she'd gotten there. "Did you sleep at all?" she asked.

"A little," he said and poured his mix into a pan. "I'm okay. Don't worry about falling asleep." He stirred the egg-mix, and then turned to her. "You were entitled to sleep." Tentatively he stepped closer and crouched down in front of her, concern in his eyes and voice, "How do you feel?"

"Better," she retorted, "Clean." She suddenly shrugged self-consciously, then looked down at her hands, "I suppose you saw the bruises he... left."

"Yes," he confirmed, reached out, and covered her tightly entwined hands, massaging her white knuckles, then pulled them towards him and kissed them softly. Her head came up with a jerk and their eyes met, "There is nothing to be ashamed of," he told her gently, "Absolutely nothing."

"I know," she said, exhaling a shaky breath, "Intellectually I know that. I thought about everything I learned about rape and attempted rape. I know that he had a need to show his power, but... but I feel so violated, Angel. He came into my home, a home we shared while we were married and... And I know I didn't love him, but that doesn't mean there weren't happy times. We laughed, Angel. We joked, we," she looked at the stove, "we even made breakfast together, and now he's tainted everything."

"Buffy-"

"No, please, let me. I need to tell you."

"Okay," he said softly, kissing her hands again. "Go on."

She took another shaky breath, "The night we split up, we had an argument and he went berserk. He hit me, but that was nothing compared to what he did yesterday. I know we didn't get along, he behaved horribly and I could be a bitch too, but I still had some hope we might find a way to at least tolerate each other, as colleagues – some day," she suddenly had to laugh. It wasn't a happy sound, "But now, I hate him, Angel. I really hate him."

"I hate him too," he replied, shifting a little bit on his feet, "You're sure about not reporting him?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "As much as I despise him, I can't do it. I don't know why, I can't really explain, but I can't do it."

When the fresh smell of the cooked omelet reached his nose, Angel got up to turn their breakfast over in the pan then came back, "I understand," he said. He wasn't quite sure when he'd made the decision to do what he was about to do. Maybe it had been tonight when she'd cried in his arms or later when he'd watched her sleeping, but he'd made up his mind. There would be no more secrets between them. He wouldn't risk their fragile relationship by keeping something from her.

Still looking into her questioning gaze, he went on, "Yesterday you asked me why I came back to L.A. and I told you it was because I was homesick. But that was just part of the reason."

"Just part of?" she asked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Two weeks ago, Internal Affairs approached us. Obviously convinced that there's a dirty cop in our precinct." He saw her eyes widen, heard her gasp, and nodded, "Yeah. I know. Pretty bad stuff. They wanted me because I've already been there, and I knew all the officers and the fact that Spike, whom nobody knew, was my partner was a big plus."

"A dirty cop," she said incredulously, "Oh God. Do you... do you know who?"

"We don't have the slightest idea. According to the DA everyone's a suspect," he told her, got up to pour two mugs of coffee and to prepare two plates with the omelet. He placed both in front of her place and his, and then sat down.

"The DA?" she asked, "Does that mean-"

"Yeah, Cordelia is involved. Quite intensely actually. She is my regular contact. Doyle knows too, Internal Affairs of course and... Giles."

"I see," she nodded, tasting his cooking. "That's good," she commented almost absentmindedly. "You said we're all suspects," she said after a moment. "Yet you told me."

He stopped his fork in mid-air, put it down, reached over the table and took her hand, "I don't want any more secrets between us. I have the feeling that... that we have a chance here. I have no idea what's going to happen between us, but a secret can be a bad thing. It could kill something before it has a chance to... blossom."

She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could reply, "I feel honored, by your trust. Is it intentional or validated by facts?"

"Pure intention," he said with a smile playing on his lips. "But I trust my feelings. You were never really on my list," he told her and let go of her hand. "But what I meant with understanding you, there's a possibility that Riley could be the one we're looking for and although I hate him, although he hurt me, I remember all the good times we had together and find myself hoping it isn't him."

She grimaced slightly at his words, then picked up another piece of food, "I wonder if Cordelia would agree with you," she mused.

He grinned at that, "I doubt it. She's pretty tough. I'm really surprised that her relationship with Doyle works. Hell, when he called me in New York to tell me he was getting married, my first reaction was to laugh."

"I agree, they're certainly an interesting couple. But Cordy is so in love with him, I can hardly believe it. Don't get me wrong. She is my friend and I love her, but like you said, she's tough as nails and she's the last person I'd expected to fall in love like this."

"Love isn't something you can choose," Angel said quietly. "The last four years would have been much easier if I could've just turned my feelings off."

"Would you have liked to turn them off?" she asked, deliberately avoiding looking at him, too afraid of his answer.

He hesitated, took a sip from his coffee. Putting his mug down, he propped his elbows on the table entwined his fingers and rested his chin on them. "There have been days and nights," he let out a short laugh, "mostly nights actually, when I wished I'd never met you," he said honestly, remembering the pain and heartache especially the first year after he'd left L.A.

He saw her frown, but still she wouldn't lift her head, "I see," she whispered. "I really hurt you didn't I?"

"You did," he agreed. When he saw her flinch he immediately reached out and covered her hands with one of his large. "But that was only on my bad days. Sitting here across you at the table, I know that my life would've been terribly empty without you."

"I know how you feel," she replied, her voice just a whisper. Her head came up and he could see the moistness in her eyes. "I'm so glad you're back," she admitted. "I was confused when Giles told us you were coming, I had no idea if you hated me. But now I'm glad."

"Never," he said firmly, "I could never hate you. That's just not possible. There is no hate-Buffy-program on my hard-drive," he tried to make light of the intense situation.

"I-," she started when her doorbell suddenly rang. Angel saw her blanche, felt her hand tremble under his, saw her eyes widen in sudden fear. He squeezed her trembling hand.

"He's not going to hurt you again," he promised, getting up. "I'm just going to see who's there."

She held his arm when he was about to pass her, "Angel, I don't want to see anyone. I don't... want to explain this," she pointed at her face and the bruises that were very visible.

"Alright. I'll try to send them away. Okay?"

She nodded and smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

He smiled back, and then went for the door. He wasn't sure who was more surprised him or the person standing in the doorway. "Cordelia?"

"Angel?" she said, raising a curious brow. "What a surprise. Or maybe not. Doyle swore that it was only a matter of time until you and Buffy got back together. But boy, do you work fast. You've been back barely a week and already I find you in her apartment." She took a deep breath, "Well, are you going to invite me in, or not?"

"Cordelia," he hesitated, "Now isn't a good time."

"Why? Is she not dressed yet?" she rolled her eyes, "believe me, Angel, I'm a big girl. The idea that people actually have sex with each other doesn't shock me anymore."

"I know you're a big girl," he replied, but didn't step away. "Can't you accept that you aren't always welcome? Why didn't you call first?"

She pursed her lips, and an expression of annoyance crossed her features, "Because, Mr. watch-dog, I had already a date with your... well, what would you call her?"

"Just let her come in, Angel" Buffy called from the kitchen.

He gave Cordelia another long look, "Don't upset her, do you hear?" he warned, making her stare at him in confusion, then stepped back to allow her to enter.

"Thanks," she breezed past him, "I really can't see what's so special about him," she was already talking to Buffy, "Okay, so he's got a nice body," she said, walking towards the kitchen, "and he's not bad looking-"

"Thanks," Angel commented with a smirk.

Cordelia ignored him, "-but his manners leave a lot to be deserved. So, girlfriend would you now tell how it happened that I come to find a man in your... OH MY GOD!"

"Cordy," Buffy said calmly after her friend's shocked outcry. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" the brunette asked disbelievingly. "What happened to you? Were you mugged?"

"No," Buffy shook her head, and then reached up to loosen the towel that was still wrapped around her hair. "I wasn't mugged."

"But... what happened?" Cordelia wanted to know. With a helpless expression she sat down on a chair.

The blond looked towards the doorway where Angel was standing. He smiled at her and she smiled back. Still looking at him she said, "Angel and I were having dinner last night, and a drink. Afterwards he kissed me at my car." The brunette raised a brow and her gaze went to Angel as well, when Buffy continued, "When I came home, Riley was already here. He must have seen us kissing. He was... out of his mind, and then he... just lost it."

"And he hit you again?"

"Yes, that and..." she hesitated. Taking a deep breath, she added, "He tried to rape me."

"What?" Cordelia gasped.

"He didn't go through with it, but he tried."

"Oh," the brunette nodded, now believing to understand the situation, "And so you called Angel to report what was happening."

"Yes and no."

Cordelia narrowed her eyes, "What do you mean yes and no? Buffy, don't tell me you're letting him get away with this. He tried to rape you and he hit you. I would gladly prosecute his ass and make him pay."

"I know," Buffy assured her. "I know Cordy, but for several reasons I don't want to. I decided not to report him and I expect you to respect that."

"I-," Cordelia gave her a helpless look, then turned to Angel, "What are you saying to this... this nonsense? You can't honestly support her. Angel, Riley needs to be punished for this. He tried to rape her."

"I agree," he replied, taking Buffy's hand, "And I told her that. But I can also understand what's keeping her from doing it. I respect her decision. There were special circumstances."

"Oh no," the brunette looked back and forth between Buffy and Angel, "Don't try to tell me there were different circumstances. You're both detectives. There is no excuse for rape."

"Attempted rape," Buffy threw in.

"Well, then attempted rape. It doesn't really matter. He tried to force himself on you."

"Yes, but he obviously realized it was wrong," the blond argued, "It wouldn't change anything if he was accused of attempted rape. First, we're still married, and I've seen more than one judge looking at a woman who accused her husband of rape. Secondly, I'm sure he won't do it again. And he's not going to go around and rape or try to rape other women. He isn't the type. I'm not going to report him, Cordelia, and you have to accept it."

"Well... I... I don't know what else to say. I don't like your decision, but it seems I can't change your mind," the brunette said, throwing her hands in the air. In a last attempt she looked at Angel, hoping against hope that he would talk some sense into Buffy.

"Cordelia I agree with you, completely. But I'm not going to put her through more than necessary. It's her decision to make," he said.

The assistant DA took a deep breath, "Fine. Well, then, I suppose our trip to the beach is off?"

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Buffy buried her head in her hands, "I forgot."

"Understandable under these circumstances." Cordelia gave the blond a smile and patted her arm. Then she suddenly grinned wickedly, "So I'm going to drag Doyle there, oh, I can just see him groaning. He hates the beach, he hates the sun, says it's not good for his skin. Alright. See you on Monday," she said and stood. "Don't bother," she told Buffy who was about to get up, "I know the way." She gave them a short wave, before the door closed behind her.

"You didn't tell her."

"Hmmm?"

"I said, you didn't tell her that I know about the real reason you came back." Buffy stood and moved close to him, raising her head to look into his eyes.

"What?" he asked, mesmerized by the beauty of her bruised face, by the look in her eyes. "Oh, yeah. I know." He grinned suddenly, "It's the weekend."

"Huh?"

"She's always telling me that work free time is sacred time. No work on weekend she says. So I decided to listen to her."

"Oh?" Buffy raised a brow. "Angel," she asked again, "why didn't you tell her?"

He sighed, "Because I think Monday is still early enough. Because we both know what would've happened if I told her. And you are in no condition to deal with one of her tantrums. Not today."

"Oh," she said again, her eyes wide and grateful.

"Yeah," he reached out and tenderly touched her cheek with his fingertips. "Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really," she whispered, feeling a jolt of pleasure.

"What do you want to do today?" he asked, forcing his mind away from dangerous ground. For God's sake, she just lived through her husband trying to rape her and he was thinking about opening her robe and... He jerked away from her, "Do you want to watch TV or shall I get you a movie or-"

"Angel," she scolded gently.

"What?"

"You're babbling."

"I am?" he asked, and then exhaled sharply, "Yeah, I know," he admitted with a little shaky laugh. "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath, "So what do you want to do?"

"Could you... just hold me?"

He groaned at the idea of her body pressing intimately to his, knowing it would be pure torture for him. But her eyes were huge and pleading, she trusted him to be with her, help her and he couldn't deny her anything. "That," he said, glad his voice didn't crack, "I can do." He held out his arms and she came to him, needing the closeness, the shelter of his body, the feeling of safety in his arms.

"This is nice," she whispered.

"Yes, it is," he replied, and realized it was the absolute truth.

Part 16

Sunday, August 27th, 5.00 p.m., Los Angeles

They spent the whole weekend in Buffy's apartment talking, watching TV or sleeping. Saturday night Buffy fell asleep again in Angel's arms only this time he didn't carry her to bed but held her in his arms. Sunday morning found them on the sofa with arms and limbs entwined. It was a bit awkward at first, but then Buffy began to laugh because the belt of her robe had caught on the buttons of his shirt and that saved the situation.

If someone had told Angel that he would spend a weekend with Buffy talking and holding her, he would've laughed. Firstly because not in his wildest dreams had he expected to be there at all and secondly if the unlikely case did occur talking wouldn't be on his mind. But of course he hadn't counted on Buffy getting a divorce or that she didn't blame him anymore. And by no means would he have ever imagined Riley going completely crazy.

Again and again Angel's thoughts returned to the blue-eyed, blond-haired, laughing boy he once knew and somehow a part of his mind just couldn't comprehend that boy was the same one who had tried to rape his wife. What had happened to change him so profoundly? Or had he just been too blind to see that it had been there the whole time? The anger, the jealousy, the violence.

##"Hey, Angel."

A grinning Riley stood on the Reardon's doorstep, his hands bruised and his ten-year-old face smeared with dirt. Angel found himself grinning in return. "Riley! What happened to you?"

"I borrowed Connor's bike," the blond answered, his grin wider than before.

"And?" Angel asked, not understanding what happened. Connor was Riley's older brother by six years and he was a rebel. He drove a Harley, wore leather clothes and a red bandanna. Carmen Reardon always crossed herself when he drove by. Her husband just laughed. Angel and Riley on the other hand saw him as their hero. The only thing that irritated them was that Connor always had girls with him and kissed them a lot. What could a guy probably want from a girl?

"The motorcycle," Riley clarified.

Angel's eyes grew wide, "The motorbike? Oh sh-" he started saying, then quickly glanced behind himself to see if his mother heard him. Releasing a breath of relief, he amended, "I mean, wow. Where is it?"

The blond turned his head and Angel followed his eyes to see the red machine standing on the sideway. And he figured out that the filth on Riley's face was nothing but motor oil. "What have you done?" he asked alarmed that the motorbike might be damaged. Connor most certainly wouldn't like to hear that.

"Nothing," Riley shook his head as if the question was an insult. "I just took it. Connor's gone for two days. Dad gave him his car and so the bike stayed at home." He winked, "Wanna go for a ride?"

"A ... ride?" Angel's mouth went dry with the thought of riding Connor's sacred bike. "But what if something happens? I mean we aren't allowed to ride a bike at all and Connor..." he trailed off, giving his friend a skeptic look.

Riley made a dismissive gesture with his hand and snorted, "Nothing's going to happen. And it'll be fun." ##

And Angel had gone with him. The result had been a bruised knee for Riley and a broken wrist for Angel. Their parents had scolded them and Connor who'd quickly discovered the damage to his bike looked as if he was ready to kill. Only after they'd sworn to pay for the repairs he grinned and winked at them. He really was a nice guy even though Connor made himself look tough and dangerous. Today he was working as a lawyer in Washington. Angel could still remember his mother's disbelief the day Mr. Finn had told them his oldest son was going to law school.

God, those times had been fun. He had loved driving Connor's bike, Riley laughing all the time. It had even been worth the broken wrist.

"Hey."

Buffy's soft voice pulled him from his thoughts as she slipped onto the sofa beside him. "Hey," he replied, trying to come back to the present.

She tilted her head and eyed him carefully, "Heavy thoughts?"

He slightly shook his head, "No, not really. Or... well, I was just remembering when Riley took his brother's bike and we drove it right down a hill. He bruised his knee and I broke my wrist, but it was great. I..." he looked up and lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture.

"I know," she replied, leaning her head against his right shoulder. "I think it's even harder for you. You have so many memories, good ones. I just..." she trailed off, not knowing how to explain, but knowing also that she wouldn't need to, that Angel would understand without words.

"Do you know how Connor is?" he asked after a moment.

"He's fine. Riley and him don't talk very often as far as I know. He came to our wedding, then twice afterwards, but I don't know if they called each other once the last two years. That's when... when Riley started seeing other women," she said, and he heard it in her voice that she had problems saying it. He knew she hadn't loved Riley, but she still was his wife and he had cheated on her, it was humiliating nevertheless, and obviously everyone at the precinct knew about it.

"Riley wasn't bad the first two years," she continued calmly, "We had some really good times. Fun. Laughter. Then suddenly everything changed. I still-" she paused abruptly and her head came up from his shoulder, an odd expression on her face, "You know," she said, "Don't you think it's strange that almost over night his attitude, not just towards me, but his whole attitude changed? I never even tried to find out why. But now..." she looked speculatively, and Angel knew what she was referring to.

"You think he might be...?"

"I don't know," she lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug, "and I really hope I'm wrong. I mean there might be something else, something we just don't know about. He isn't the most communicative guy. I know he seems open and all, but he never really confided in me."

"No he doesn't," Angel confirmed. "The blond California boy look fools a lot of people. But deep down, Riley is a completely different person. And you're right you know. It's one thing to be jealous and to try to steal your friend's girlfriend but that..." he shook his head, still not able to accept that fact that his former best friend had tried to rape his wife. "I just don't get it."

"Last night you said you followed him. Did you find anything interesting?"

He hesitated only a second, he told her everything he'd found out, including Riley's encounter with Simone Chambers and his own suspicions about it.

She wasn't surprised, but her eyes were incredibly sad, "Yeah. That sounds like him. Unfortunately that's the Riley I've known the last two years. That was the reason I finally found the courage to file for divorce. Oh, Angel," she put her head back on his shoulder, "What are we going to do?"

He desperately wanted to make this easier for her, so he suggested, "How about telling Cordelia about that you know about the investigation?" He had wanted to wait until Monday, but maybe, he thought, it was better to talk to the brunette in private.

She rolled her eyes, and blinked, understanding what he was trying to do, "Gee, and I thought this weekend couldn't get worse."

*****

Riley didn't have a nice weekend. After he left the apartment he'd once lived in, he went to the closest bar and got incredibly drunk. But the image of Angel kissing Buffy and especially her response wouldn't let go. God, he hated the bastard. And he hated the fact that his wife had never stopped loving Angel. And more than anything he hated himself for being so stupid to think that would ever change. That the mere fact that she was wearing his ring would wipe the memory of another man away.

God, how stupid could a guy be?

Groaning, he turned in his bed and wasn't really surprised to find a naked woman beside him, although for the life of him he couldn't remember her name or how she'd gotten there. What, however, they'd done in the bed was quite obvious, regarding the fact that he was naked too. It was late Sunday afternoon and he had no memory of the last 40 hours and he desperately wished his temporary amnesia would include a little earlier. Then, he thought, he wouldn't have to remember what he'd almost done to the woman he still loved more than he could express. The only woman he had ever loved. The one who never loved him back.

Hissing some expletive he pushed the naked woman's warm body away, stumbled from his bed and into his trousers to pour himself a drink and light a cigarette. Running a hand through his tousled hair, he let out a harsh laugh. God, he was pathetic. His father would turn in his grave if he were able to see him like this. And his deeply catholic mother wouldn't stop reciting Hail Marys, hoping that that would somehow make up for her son's sins and reduce his time in the purgatory.

Purgatory. Another harsh laugh came out of his mouth, and he downed the whiskey in one large gulp. His mother had no idea. He was in his own personal purgatory. Ever since two years ago, almost to the day, when he'd almost by accident, been able to read the final report about the shooting in front of the bank, the shooting that had killed Buffy's brother Mike.

His hand suddenly shaky he poured himself another drink and downed it the same way he'd done with the other. God, he needed it. He managed to go through weekdays without it, he was occupied then, dealing with cases, but he also had to look at her, and at night, or after waking up, the reality would crush down on him, almost making him drown under the weight of his own guilt.

He could still hear his mother say, "isn't he a nice boy", and he wanted to smash something thinking back to her words. His mother had been dead for over five years and not for the first time Riley was glad. She wouldn't have been able to live with the shame of what her son had done with his life. Her son meaning Riley. Not Connor, whom everyone had expected to fail.

But of course Connor hadn't failed. On the contrary. He was a successful lawyer in Washington, working for a Senator from time to time, making good money and he was happily married with three kids. With 41, Connor had managed to get all the things Riley had wanted for himself. And he hadn't screwed up, the way his little brother had done. Buffy had once asked him why he didn't call Connor anymore. The brothers had always been close despite the age difference in their youth. But how could he face Connor, look into his brother's eyes after the things he'd done?

He felt better after the fourth drink, but of course he still wasn't drunk. His increasing alcohol abuse during the last two years demanded more than four shots to make him numb enough to be able to live with himself. He turned when he heard the woman yawn and looked down at her. She was pretty he had to admit. It should boost his ego to see that good-looking women easily fell for him. He knew why. Somehow he had managed to preserve his body. He was still fit and well trained, despite the alcohol. It was necessary for his job.

He loved being a cop, had always loved it. He had been so incredibly proud after the Academy. Now it was the only thing he'd left. The only thing that held him together. He couldn't afford to lose his job. Without it, there would be nothing left. So he held his body fit and did his job. And he did it well, he was a good cop.

"Can I have a drink too?" the woman asked, slipping from the bed, completely unconcerned about her own nakedness. Her voice was soft and sexy. Her eyes were still half-closed and under normal circumstances Riley would've found it attractive. Now, it simply repulsed him.

"No," he said sharply, hating the woman, hating himself more. "Get your clothes and get out."

"Hey," she smiled and came closer. "No need to get angry. I don't need a drink." She reached out, her finger trailed down his chest, and stopped at his denims, "We can do other things instead."

He slapped her hand away and stepped back, "I said, get out," he almost shouted.

Her eyes widened for a moment, then they narrowed, "Geez, no need to get insulting. I'm gone in a minute."

"Make it a second," he hissed and turned away. He didn't want to see her again. Didn't want to think about her. She was just a woman, without a name, and in a minute without a face. He wouldn't even remember her tomorrow.

Mike's face came into his mind again and with a tortured sound he threw his half-full glass across the room and it smashed against the wall breaking into a thousand pieces. The woman, who was still only in her bra and panties, gathered the rest of her clothes and hurried out, not willing to risk staying close to him.

Riley didn't even notice it. He walked over to the kitchen counter and took another glass, then filled it to the rim. Maybe after he'd downed the contents he would be able to forget. And if he was lucky the booze would some day make the memories disappear all together.

Go to Part 17