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her eyes and stared down at it. A hospital I.D. band. She blinked hard, then, remembering the street and the body, she jolted upright.
    James pulled away from a chair nearby. "Glad to see you're up."
    She ignored her brother, trying to remember the pieces before he told her. A tight knot formed in the bowel of her gut. She'd blacked out. The knot grew until it seemed to fill her belly. She'd blacked out on the job. "Damn," she whispered, wishing it had been a dream. She didn't dream. She hadn't dreamt—or remembered a dream—ever.
    "You really had Lombardi scared."
    She watched James watch her. Captain of Internal Affairs, assessing other cops was his job. At that moment, she wished he were just a regular brother. Someone to come and make sure she was okay and to invite her to dinner. James was anything but. Every question, no matter how innocent-sounding, was a cross-examination about her guilt, her intent, her ability on the job. She thought about waking up in her car. He didn't know about that. He didn't need to know. Fainting was hardly grounds for an internal investigation.
    She often thought it had been a mistake to come and work for the same police department where James was. But this was home. The only one she'd ever known. Her time in L.A. had been fun, but it had never felt permanent or even real. Los Angeles was, truly, la-la land. And six years there had been five too long.
    Only being mugged had given her the impetus to leave. She'd been coming home late one night and been attacked just one hundred yards from her front door. He'd wanted money, he told her. But he'd come with a knife, and after she surrendered her handbag, he'd still held her. She remembered his hot breath in her ear, the feeling of him pressed against her. It no longer gave her chills or made her palms sweat. Now it just pissed her off. Thankfully, he hadn't gotten the chance to get any closer.
    She'd known that she'd fight him to the death if he tried to rape her. The knife against her neck, she'd waited until a moment when his grip slackened before breaking free from his hold and landing her knee in his groin. He'd dropped his knife but not before slicing the edge of her jaw.
    The small scar was physically all that remained of that night. Mentally, it had been the cause of a lot of change. She'd left her job, her friends, L.A. All three had been superficially appealing, but not deep enough to sustain her interest. The threat of death had made that instantly clear.
    "You want to tell me what happened," James said, pacing along the side of her bed as though he were in front of a jury box.
    She crossed her arms. "Not particularly."
    "Why don't you anyway?"
    "You here in an official capacity, James? Or did you think you'd put the job aside and see if your sister is okay?"
    James halted and turned back. "You want sympathy? How can I give you that when I don't even know what the hell it would be for? What the hell happened? You knew that guy?"
    Just then, the door opened and James's twin walked in. Brittany was the opposite of her brother, and in many ways, of Alex, too. Though she and Alex looked alike—lean figures with reddish auburn hair and light eyes, Brittany was calm and somewhat reserved. The observer, some would say. She was a child psychologist and a damn good one. Brittany stood between James and Alex. "Glad to hear you're respecting the fact that she's recovering from trauma," she scolded James. Her tone was strong and firm, the voice of someone who knew she was right and didn't need to prove it.
    James stepped to the edge of the room and leaned against the windowsill. "I was just trying to figure out what happened."
    Brittany nodded and turned to Alex. "Of course. A cop," she said, motioning to James. To Alex, she said, "How do you feel?"
    "Fine."
    "Did you feel any symptoms before you blacked out? Light-headedness? Anything like that?"
    Alex remembered feeling off balance as she'd walked into the dining room. "A little, I