"Shit. You want me--"
"Shawn needs you. I'll be fine."
He calls back that he'll catch up.
I'm racing to Nicole's when Dalton shouts, "I'm here," from behind me. Not wait for me, which I appreciate.
I race between two buildings, and there's Nicole's house ... with Kenny sitting on the front porch. He sees me and stands.
"Radio?" I say.
"Huh?" He lifts it and hits buttons. There's only static.
"Shawn was attacked," I say as I climb the steps. "When's the last time you heard from Nicole?"
"Before she went to bed. But Diana's on duty." He opens the door. "Di?"
Silence answers. I push through. Dalton catches up, and he's shouldering past Kenny, gun in hand.
We move quickly into the living room. Diana is lying on the futon, curled on her side, blanket pulled up. I let out a sigh of relief. There's no sign of a struggle. No sign of trauma. She's just asleep.
Dalton heads for the stairs as I walk over saying, "Di?" I reach out and shake her shoulder. "Di? It's me."
She doesn't stir. I try harder. One good hard shake, and she topples to the floor, head lolling.
"Eric!" I shout as I drop beside her, my hands flying to her neck, searching for a pulse.
"Nicole's gone," he says as he thunders down the stairs. His wet boots squeak as he draws up short behind me. "Her bed's empty."
I take one running step toward the stairs. Then I glance back at Diana.
"Nicole isn't there," Dalton says. "Stay with Diana. Is she knocked out?"
I drop beside her again. "I don't know. Damn it. I can't tell."
He's on the floor, hands going to her neck as I check her wrist.
"I think I feel something," I say as I pick up a faint pulse. "Do you?"
He shakes his head and yanks a picture frame from the coffee table and holds it in front of her mouth. A light fog of condensation forms on the glass.
"Kenny!" he shouts.
Kenny's right there. He's been here the whole time, in the doorway, watching and waiting for instructions.
"Get Will, right?" Kenny says.
"Please," I say. "As fast as you can. Then get everyone. Nicole's gone."
He takes off. I check Diana's vital signs again, as if that breath-fog was a trick of the light. It wasn't. She's breathing. Her pulse is weak, though.
I shine my light on her neck. No signs of strangulation. I look around. Dalton has backed onto his haunches, and he's holding out a teacup. I lean over and sniff. It's an herbal blend, which makes it impossible to tell if it smells as it should.
"It's almost empty," Dalton says. "The cup was teetering on the edge."
As if she'd been falling asleep fast, with just enough energy to put it back on the table.
"Sedative," I say. "But it's too much."