The detective scribbled on his pad. “I just interviewed the woman that had been sitting at the bar, she remembered seeing this lady close to her but didn’t notice anything. She was bumped by a man who was talking to the other woman. She said she was twisted on the stool with her back to them. She looked over her shoulder and could only give us a description of the back of the man. She’s the one who discovered the lady trying to come down the hall from the bathroom and called for the bar owner. She was a quick thinker, too. She had the foresight to have the bar owner get the glass before it was taken to the back and washed.”
Shit… Sandy! Is he talking about Sandy? When he walked up to get his beer, Sandy was the only person he saw on that end, so she was probably the person just interviewed by the detective. She was also the person kneeling over the unconscious woman… the one who told Maeve to save the glass and call for help. And I pushed her out of the way. Swiping his hand over his face, he suddenly felt tired. “Is that all you need?”
The detective snapped his notebook closed and said, “Yeah. I know where to find you if anything else comes up.” With a two-fingered salute, he moved away.
Walking into the main area of the pub, Rory saw that most of the crowd had left. Torin and Maeve were behind the bar, Torin’s expression showing a man barely holding on to his shit. Maeve was patting his arm, trying to calm him, but she looked ready to spit nails as well. Rory hesitated, wanting to offer words of solace, but found he was empty. What the hell would I say? I’m sorry the bar that you live, breathe, and love was violated by someone preying on women? Looking toward the back, there were only a few patrons left, all first responders. James looked over, and Rory threw his hand up in a half-hearted wave, no longer interested in a night out.
The barstools were empty, so he stepped close, capturing Torin’s gaze. “This is not on you, man.” His gaze shot to Maeve before moving back to Torin. “Not on either of you. You run a good place. A safe place. Hell, most of the people in here are first responders and none of us noticed anything. So don’t take this on, Torin.”
Torin’s mouth remained shut, his jaw was tight, but he offered a quick nod. Unable to think of anything else to say, he slung his coat over his shoulder and started for the door. A flash of pink to the side caught his attention, and he turned to look toward the booth in the front corner. Sandy sat, squeezed so tightly into the corner it was as though she was trying to meld her body into the wall. Her face was pale, and she stared at her clasped hands resting on the table.
Stepping closer, he called out softly, “Sandy?” She remained perfectly still. Concern filled him, and he leaned closer. “Sandy?”
She jumped slightly, her head turning so that her blue eyes landed on his face, but she said nothing. Staring into her gaze, he wasn’t sure she was seeing him.
“Sandy, what are you doing here in the corner? The police don’t need you anymore. You can go home.”
She blinked, still not speaking, and he grew more concerned. He reached forward and placed his hand on hers, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. Out of professional habit, he felt her pulse, concerned that it was low. Tugging ever so gently, he encouraged, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She blinked again, looked down at his hand on her arm, and then back up to his face, confusion written in her expression. “Rory?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he grew more desperate to get her out of the pub.
He continued to pull her gently out of the booth, assisting her to stand. Her body was shaking, and he wrapped his coat around her shoulders. It was huge on her petite body, but he hoped the warmth would settle into her.
Her gaze darted around as though she were waking from sleep. “I… I… uh… I need to… uh… get home.”
“Yes, you do, and that’s what I’m gonna make sure happens.” He guided her toward the door, pushing it open while keeping one arm wrapped around her shoulders.