“Then we have to assume that Krista was part of the trafficking ring. You somehow found her and got her out.”
I thought about it, but that didn’t ring true. “There were no markings on her. Nothing that would indicate she’d been kidnapped.”
“Other than the massive memory loss,” Derek retorted.
“But I have that, too. Do you really think they drugged her, and then as I rescued her, they shot me with a dart of drugs?”
“Did you have a tox screen run?” Sinner asked.
“No.” Sighing, I slumped down on the couch. “At the time, I thought I just drank too much. Now, nothing will show in my system.”
“That you know of,” Derek said. “Only one way to know for sure.”
He motioned for me to sit up, then walked over with the med kit. Better than any hospital, this device could run blood cultures faster than any lab. It was James Bond-level shit, and we now equipped them in every vehicle.
Rolling up my sleeve, I waited as he jabbed me with the unusually large needle, taking way too much pleasure as I winced in pain.
“Suck it up, buttercup.”
“Maybe if you didn’t stab me with so much glee, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
“Stabbing you is the only pleasure I’ve had in days. Your woman walked in on me just as I was about to rescue Claire. It totally killed the mood.”
The machine beeped, and Derek’s eyebrows went sky high as he looked at the results. “Somebody’s been a bad boy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t know you were into drugs. Rohypnol, benzos, and a host of other illegal drugs that are sure to fuck you up. Do you remember coming down from anything?”
“Anything, like what?”
“PCP, meth, GHB…”
“I think I would know if I had been on any of those.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “You can’t tell me where you were for days.”
That was true. “I don’t remember anything except waking up with a massive headache. And it hasn’t gone away yet.”
“At all?”
“Still pounding. Still fucking with my head,” I grumbled.
“That’s not normal.”
I glared at him. “Thanks for the heads up. I had no idea.”
“Hey, I’m just saying?—”
“Could be a new cocktail,” Sinner cut in, his feet propped up on the table as he stared through a kaleidoscope. “We are in Vegas. God knows what they have on the streets.”
“We should retrace your steps,” Derek suggested.
“Don’t remember,” I said slowly. “How the hell do we retrace our steps if neither of us remembers anything about being here?”
“Something has to trigger a memory. We’ll start by asking at the front desk. You’re the one who picked the hotel. Maybe it was your subconscious telling you to remember being here.”
It was worth a shot. “Krista stays behind.”