Identity Unknown. Debra Webb

      Windy stood. “Thank you, sir, ma’am,” she said to Lucas and Victoria.

      Patrick assured Victoria that he and Windy would check in periodically, before following his newly assigned partner from the office.

      His first case.

      He took a deep breath. He was ready to make this leap.

      No more looking back.

       Downtown Women’s Shelter

      PATRICK AND HIS PARTNER emerged from his sedan. He considered the neighborhood. Residential. Quiet. The trilevel house that served as a home for those who had no place to go looked like any other nearby. There were no posted signs or other indications that the address was any different from the rest that lined the immaculately maintained street.

      But there was a major difference. This home protected the women who stayed there. A pass code was required for admittance. No official ID would serve the purpose. Your name was either on the entrance list and you possessed the necessary information or you didn’t get in.

      Period.

      Abused and otherwise devastated women from all walks of life sought temporary refuge here. Their troubles would never find them here, nor would their abusers, whether friend or relative. This shelter was the most successful in all of Chicago at protecting its residents. Not one had been tracked down to this location.

      Precisely why Lucas Camp had brought Sande Williams here.

      Patrick stayed two steps behind Windy as they approached the house. The gate wasn’t locked, but there would be an armed guard just inside the closed and secured door. There would be no getting past him without the proper authorization.

      Windy knocked, then recited the necessary pass code. A couple of seconds later, no doubt after the guard had studied both Patrick and her through the cameras positioned on either end of the porch, the door opened for their admittance.

      “Windy Millwood.” The guard turned his attention to Patrick. “Patrick O’Brien.”

      Windy displayed her Colby Agency ID, as did Patrick.

      “Welcome.” The guard stepped back and allowed them to enter.

      Inside, the long, narrow entrance hall was deserted. Before Patrick could assess the setting, a middle-aged woman stepped from the first door on the left.

      “Your client is waiting in the conference room,” she said before thrusting out her hand. “I’m Carlene Mitchell, the administrator.”

      “Windy Millwood.” She shook the woman’s hand. “And this is my colleague, Patrick O’Brien.”

      Patrick had from his first day at the Colby Agency insisted that the title of doctor be dropped. He offered his hand to their host. “We understand our presence here is an inconvenience. We appreciate your hospitality.”

      Carlene nodded, but her smile was noticeably restrained. “This way.”

      The administrator led the way to what had likely once been a grand dining room. Sande Williams waited there. She looked even younger than her photo and, quite frankly, scared to death. Her arms were crossed around her middle, and her shoulders shook, though she visibly struggled to control the outward display of weakness. Fear ultimately won the battle.

      When the introductions had been made and Carlene had left them to their work, Windy began the interview. “Ms. Williams, why don’t you start from the beginning and tell us what happened yesterday.”

      Seated across from her at the well-used dining table, Patrick analyzed the woman as she spoke. She repeated the story of waking outside the morgue and running for her life, for reasons she didn’t understand. Sande Williams, although clearly nervous, stoically went over the details of her only memories. Anything beyond the past twenty-four hours was lost to her, a very rare phenomenon, but not completely unheard of. Patrick decided to reserve conclusions until after he’d spoken with her at length.

      “Ms. Williams,” he said when she’d finished her story, to the point where a kind man, Lucas Camp, had delivered her here, “putting the facts aside, how do you feel?”

      She blinked, those wide blue eyes connecting fully with his for the first time. “What do you mean?”

      He leaned back in his chair to further set a tone of relaxation. “You’re nervous, I’m sure. That’s to be expected. Any headaches? Dizziness? Anger or other feelings of emotion?”

      Sande moved her head from side to side. “No. Well, I’m scared, but mostly I feel…disjointed. As if I’ve lost something that I don’t know how to get back. Does that make sense?”

      “Yes. It makes perfect sense.” Classic disorientation response. “Do you feel apprehensive in our presence?” It was very important for her to trust those who were handling her case. They would get nowhere until she felt at ease in his and Windy’s company.

      “A little,” she admitted. She moistened her lips and let go a big, shaky breath. “But I know I have to trust someone to help me. I can’t do this alone.”

      That was a start. “Do you have any physical injuries?” Patrick saw no visible signs, but there could be bruises, lumps, bumps or scratches beneath her clothing.

      She hesitated, as if pondering his question at length. “None that I’ve discovered.”

      “What about dreams?” He studied his client’s face for those reactions she wouldn’t put into words. “Did you have any dreams last night that you recall?”

      Again, she shook her head. “None that I remember.”

      “You understand that Windy and I want to help you learn what happened to you prior to yesterday? We’ll do everything we can to that end.”

      She gave a resolute nod. “Yes.”

      Now for the first big hurdle. “Then you won’t mind accompanying us to the residence listed on your driver’s license, in an attempt to prompt your memory.”

      Not a question.

      She hesitated a beat, then two. “No…except I worry that they’ll be watching.”

      “They?”

      “Whoever…the people who did this to me.” She wet her lips again. His gaze followed the movement despite his best intentions.

      “That’s an understandable fear,” Windy assured her when he didn’t immediately do so.

      “It’s our job to protect you from this moment forward. You understand that we’ll do all within our power to that end?” Patrick watched for the slightest change in her expression, in her eyes.

      “Yes.” She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Mr. Camp said that the people from the Colby Agency would do whatever necessary to ensure my safety while investigating my case.”

      “We will,” Windy reiterated. “Whenever you’re with Patrick or myself you’ll have no reason to fear anyone. We’re both highly trained and very good at what we do. You leave the worrying to us.”

      “What if I don’t remember anything?” Sande looked from Patrick to Windy and back. “I mean, I don’t know if Sande Williams is even my name.” She shrugged. “The picture on the driver’s license is definitely me. But it doesn’t feel like me.”

      There was the possibility that this woman simply no longer wanted to be who she was. But that conclusion did not explain her waking up at a morgue with a sheet over her nude body and a toe tag attached to her foot. That part indicated foul play, without doubt.

      “That’s our job,” Windy declared. “We’ll find out who you are and why this has happened to you. We won’t stop until we do.”

      Relief was evident in their new client’s eyes, but the worry remained. “I don’t understand how