...Jake wasn’t at the meeting place. Boz checked his watch again. He was maybe five minutes ahead of time. For a split second, he debated. Wait or go looking? His concern won out. He hesitated just long enough to orient himself as he remembered the tour Jake had given him that morning. The diagnostic center was upstairs and to the left. That was where some of the most valuable stuff was.

Moving fast now, with less caution, he raced back into the building, up the stairs and down the corridor. When he caught a whiff of disturbed air, the scent of sweat and something else, he didn’t slow down. No one was here now he was sure, but someone had been, just moments before. Not Jake; someone else. It wasn’t Jake’s scent.

He saw the dark blur on the floor in the doorway before he reached it, a man-shape, a big man. Oh, God, be all right. Please be all right. The thought surprised him only in its intensity. This investigation was his job. If the other man had been hurt or killed, he wasn’t sure he could live with himself. Jake was not trained in the crazy survival tricks of a vice detective. He was too honest and open, too trusting and even naďve.

Boz dropped into a crouch, reaching to touch Jake’s shoulder. From there his hand slid to the other man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there, strong and steady. Okay, he’s not dead or dying, at least not yet.

Jake groaned and stirred. The big man shook his head like a poll-axed steer as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

“Sonuvabitch! Whoever hit me packed a mean wallop. Snuck up behind me, too. I’d heard something and was trying to get a quick look through the door. I saw someone, standing there in front of the window. The next thing I knew, bam, felt like a sledgehammer bashed me from behind. Now the bastards got away. Shit.”

“Are you okay?” Boz had to ask, even if it was an inane question. “Give yourself a minute before you try to get up. A concussion is nothing to mess with. Where did they hit you?”

Jake raised a hand and ran it gingerly down the back of his head. “Here, just at the base of the skull, I think. That’s the tender spot anyway. At the time it felt like a steel plate had hit the whole back of my head, like a truck had hit me.”

“Well, we know someone was here. I’ll call my back-up and get a fingerprint kit out here. We’ll dust the room and see if we can pick up anything. And you can check to see if anything’s missing. I figure we’re safe to use a light now. They’re gone and they know we’re after them.”

Jake growled an incoherent mumble of rage that finally shaped into words. “Fuckin’ lousy bastards. I shoulda had eyes in the back of my head. Whoever got me didn’t make a sound. I was listening, paying attention, or I thought I was. I guess I was too focused on the guy in the room, though.”

Boz chuckled, relieved it hadn’t been any worse. “Good thing you have a Swede’s hard head.”