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After all my lessons. Should I be happy with your efforts?”  
    Shaking in primal fear, the head slowly moved from side to side. Urine trickled down one leg, making a small pool on the floor.
    “Outside. Now.”
    The others knew what was coming. She wasn’t coming back. No one who made a mistake ever did.  

Chapter Seven

    At four in the morning, Berg sat on the floor of her dark shower recess as the water beat down on her back, her salty tears mingling with the scalding water. She didn’t even feel the sponge on her raw skin as she scrubbed at her body, further distressing the fresh, scarlet welts.  
    She only felt a deep shame.  
    Jay was right . I am no good. Beyond hope, worthless  . . . filth. How can anyone stand to be near me?

    She had come home fuming from her day, angry at Consiglio’s premature conclusions and devastated by Jay’s attack. She would never let him know, but Jay had been the most constant man in her life and his words hurt. She tried to run away the hurt and had gone out with Jesse. She would have kept running as long as she could, but Jesse had started limping.  
    Sitting on her couch in her running gear, she felt nothing but empty. The more she sat, the more she ached until her whole body felt like one vast, empty void. It was a hole she was all too familiar with. She had felt it her whole life—as if despite everything she was doing, despite her very best efforts, she was still only one step away from falling into a deep abyss. She knew once she stumbled over the edge, she would never stop falling.  
    After grabbing a quick shower, she had tried to get some sleep, only to toss and turn for hours, her heart pounding. At midnight, she had given up.
    She grabbed her keys and went to escape the pain.  

    Sitting in the pounding, blistering water in the early hours of the morning, she relived the previous few hours in flashes. The worst part of town . . . thudding bass . . . racing heartbeats . . . whispers . . . unknown hands . . . tearing clothing . . . a blindfold . . . screaming.  
    Was it me?  
    Warm pleasure . . . hot pain . . . a rush of release . . . humiliation.
    “No!” She sobbed, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth on the floor of the shower, not noticing when the hot water ran cold, the freezing needles stabbing at her back. “Please stop.”  
    You can’t stop , the shadowy voice in her head whispered.

Chapter Eight

    Berg was already at her desk when Jay arrived the next morning.  
    “How ya doin’?” he asked, testing the water after their fight by leaving a caffeinated peace offering on her desk.  
    “Fine, and you?” She smiled, looking up from her paperwork to grab the coffee.  
    Jay frowned, contemplating his partner. She always looked stunning, but today she had dark circles under her eyes, and what little skin was showing under her long-sleeved shirt looked raw. He forced a smile.
    The tension between them almost forgotten, Jay sat at his desk and took a gulp of coffee. “You’re in early. You had any luck on our dead guy?” He smoothly assumed his usual position: feet on desk, greasy pastry in hand.
    “Not yet. Warden Brown said an old cellmate of Taylor’s has taken the special privileges bait and is willing to talk to me, so I’ll go out there later today. Now I’m just going through the old hitchhiker files in the hopes we missed some kind of link.” Berg gestured to the files spread out before her.
    “That’s not possible. We did everything short of calling a psychic. We interviewed family and friends, organized mail covers and pen registers, and flagged bank accounts.”
    Berg shrugged. “I know.”
    “And that was before you started testing their DNA and found a match with Amelia Smith. You’ve gone above and beyond, Berg. You know missing persons’ cases go cold in a few weeks. We just don’t have the resources. The priority has to be violent crimes. Besides, the situation