“I haven’t experienced it, thank God, but I’ve learned a lot about it. Sierra, I’m just so damn sorry.”

    “Thanks. But now it’s time to be accountable. I’d rather not be, but I’m afraid there aren’t any options.”

    “He needs to be accountable,” Maggie said. “He’s a criminal.”

    “Yeah.”

    She tried on the pants and blouse; only a hem was needed.

    “Is Sully taking care of Molly? I would be glad to but I’ll be in Denver for a couple of days...”

    “I haven’t talked to Sully yet but I’m sure he’d be happy to. He loves her. She’s kind of a handful, though.”

    “What about Connie?” Maggie asked, her voice soft.

    Sierra shrugged. “He knows about a lot of my checkered past, but I didn’t have the nerve to tell him this one.”

    “Why?” Maggie asked.

    Sierra lifted her chin. “I get that it’s not my fault but it’s very hard not to feel dirty. It’s like he stained me and I can’t get the stain off.”

    “Oh baby,” Maggie said. “You have to live it off. One day at a time, just like everything else. But there’s one thing I think you should consider. While you’re going through this, while you’re in Michigan, let’s get you set up with some counseling. Cal knows who to ask, how to find the best person.”

    “That’s worth considering, but I’m hoping not to be with the police too long,” Sierra said. “Hopefully I’ll spend a couple of hours answering questions and tell them where I can be reached, then come home.” She smiled. “Home. I like thinking of this as home and I’ve only been here since March.”

    “Can I ask a personal question?” Maggie said.

    “You think I have anything personal left?” Sierra asked.

    “Did you have a full medical workup after...after the assault?”

    “The very next morning I went to a women’s clinic. They did a rape kit even though I had showered. Since I wouldn’t go to the police, I have no idea what’s become of it, but I was tested for STDs. If I’d gone to the police, the kit would have been preserved in evidence, but that didn’t happen. I had a follow-up exam a few months later and was treated for an STD. Then there was a checkup to make sure that was taken care of. All clear.”

    “How about depression?” Maggie asked.

    “I ran the gamut. Depression, anxiety, insomnia, you name it. It’s the rare person who doesn’t flirt with all the disorders. It’s also the rare person who doesn’t bring a lot of crap in addition to addiction to the program. I have a feeling that now I’m going to get to do all of that again. For a while anyway.”

    “I’ll talk to Cal about lining up some counseling, just in case. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

    Sierra folded up the clothes she’d be taking to the dry cleaner in Leadville who did alterations; Maggie had given her the name. She stayed for dinner with Cal and Maggie and learned that Cal had already put in a call to an old colleague of his, a woman who had an extremely good reputation in criminal law. “I’m going with you to the police, but I wanted to give her a heads-up. We won’t call her unless we have legal issues. Normally I would advise any client of mine not to talk to the police, at least not without a lawyer, but under the circumstances I think the best course is cooperation. I’ll be there to be sure the questions you answer are directed at solving the felony hit-and-run, not at turning you into the suspect. We’ll cooperate because you’re the victim.”

    “Could they charge me with obstruction?”

    “They could, but they’d have to prove you knew you were hiding something. You can’t really obstruct if you don’t know the facts yourself. You were very specific—you were fleeing the rapist, not the law. You can’t tell them what you can’t remember, what you didn’t see.”

    “I’m so afraid I’m going to screw this up somehow,” she said.

    “I’ll be right there,” Cal said. “Just remember the four magic words. I want my lawyer. Don’t take any questions, no matter how casual, without me present. If you run into a police officer in the ladies’ room and she asks you a question, use the four magic words. No matter what.”

    “You’ve done this a lot, I guess,” she said.

    “It’s been a while,” he said. “But it’s like riding a bike.”

    Sierra called Connie and she was invited over without hesitation. Molly started to wag and whine the second Connie’s house came into view. As usual, he didn’t even wait for her to knock. He opened the door, slid an arm around her and simultaneously gave Molly a pat. “I have ice cream,” he said.

    “Maybe we can have some,” she said. “Something has come up. I’m going to have to be out of town for a few days.”

    “Oh?” he said, pulling her into the house.

    “Get out the ice cream. I’ll tell you about it.”

    “Bowls?” he asked, heading for the kitchen.

    “You only use bowls with your parents and grandparents and with your warm cookies,” she said. “With your girl, two spoons and a carton.”

    “In bed?” he asked hopefully.

    “How about the couch,” she suggested.

    They settled in, her legs draped over his, the ice cream carton on a dish towel.

    “So, I was involved in a car accident back in Michigan. Someone was hurt—a guy on a bicycle. He’s fine now, I’m told. I wasn’t driving but I guess the driver is still being sought by the police. I barely knew him and don’t have much information but I’m one of the only people who did. I need to go back, answer questions.”