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with blood and there were holes in it big enough to fit her finger through.
    It wasn’t a dream. She scrambled to her feet and raced into the bathroom. Shedding the coat and lab coat and dropping them to the floor, she yanked the top over her head. Crusted blood pulled away from her chest with a sharp sting.
    She flicked on the light and stared at herself in the large mirror. Her chest, plain white bra, and the medallion were covered with a black crust. Oh God, someone really had shot her. Admittedly, she couldn’t see any holes in her body, but there were holes in her shirt. And all that blood.
    How was she still alive? She snorted at the thought. A few hours ago—well, maybe more since she had no idea what time it was—she’d stood on the Queen Street Bridge contemplating killing herself. And now she was upset that someone had shot her.
    But someone had shot her! Her mind kept repeating the thought. She couldn’t focus on anything else. There was no logical explanation for her survival. None.
    Her heart skipped a beat. She was in someone’s hotel room and she had no idea how she’d gotten there. She stared at her reflection, gazing into her blue eyes. If she looked hard enough, maybe she’d be able to see what was wrong, why she still lived.
    Red flashed, haloing her entire body for just a moment. She jumped, her heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears.
    She’d had a close call, that was all. It was making her see things, but she still turned back to her reflection to see if it would happen again.
    It didn’t. She raked a bloody hand over the half-inch-long stubble on her head and the panic subdued to an ache in her gut.
    And then she realized she was topless in a stranger’s hotel room. She snatched the robe off the hook beside the door and wrapped herself in it. She needed to get to the hospital, do something about the holes that were... had been in her chest, but there was no telling when whoever had kidnapped her would return. Against all logical thought, it didn’t appear as if she needed immediate medical attention, so getting someplace safe was her first priority. She needed a top that wasn’t covered in blood and then she was out of here. And if she couldn’t find something in the next few seconds, she’d put the disgusting hospital shirt back on.
    There was no evidence in the bathroom that the room was occupied. No toothbrush, cosmetics, shaving cream, nothing. Not even a toiletry bag tucked away on the corner of the vanity. She didn’t even know if she’d been abducted by a man or woman.
    She returned to the main room, spying a leather bag on the desk. She rushed to it, yanking the zipper open. Inside was a plain black T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Both were too big for her and were cut in a masculine style. Underneath the clothes was a laptop, a cell phone, a knife the length of her forearm, and a thick wad of cash.
    What kind of person had her? Everything since standing on the bridge was fuzzy, save for a few shocking moments of clarity where she’d run for her life and been shot.
    She dragged the T-shirt over her head. Then she pulled the knife from its sheath and flipped it into a reverse grip so the blade lay flat against her forearm. This was crazy. She should hold the knife out, ready. But somehow she knew she needed to keep the blade hidden until the last moment. Was it a fleeting remembrance from her childhood, something from a book or a TV show?
    Besides, if she did manage to make it out of the hotel without running into whoever had abducted her, she didn’t want to draw attention by holding a knife. Then again, maybe a quick call to 911 would be the smartest option. They could trace the call and find her even if she had no idea where she was.
    She needed help, but there wasn’t anyone she could turn to. Her ex was in Tahiti with his healthy, perfect girlfriend, and she’d rather eat dirt than ask him for anything. The only other person was Mark, and he hadn’t returned her