Earlier: Ambrose recalls the visit from Rutger Kamen's wife, ending the blackmail against Vegeta and Bulma. Detective Ryan has evidence to nail Josh Marley for crimes, but not for Vegeta's shooting. Bulma leaves her last charity ball as governor on a high note, only to be drugged and attacked later by an unknown assailant.

There would be much cleaning up to do afterward, but his cover-up skills had improved over time – along with having paid help. Getting that spiked beverage to Bulma, bypassing everyone in charge of protecting her, gave him the win. He planned to leave her unconscious, naked body on the bathroom floor and take pictures before leaving, along with the dress.

Can't leave without proper souvenirs.

"My, my. Such lovely lingerie, governor. Your poor, crippled husband can't be that good in bed."

He removed Bulma's panties, continuing to kiss her. After putting on a condom, his fingers wiped the outer part of her vagina. He held back as Bulma's hips rose. Her shadowed eyelids lolled as the man's abdomen pressed down harder, but he had to hold back. Whatever dream the drugs had pushed her into had to be magnificent, he thought cockily. He often preferred screaming and fighting from his conquests, but this kind of domination aroused him more. Bulma semi-consciously obeyed his commands as his lustful kissing waxed and waned. He drowned in the pleasure, thrusting like a longsword between her fingers. He would be ready to enter her body soon. He sprinkled more of the drug over Bulma's nose to breathe in deeply. Her gasping made him giddy with happiness.

He was almost ready to force every inch of his tumescence inside of her. Almost, but not yet.

He lifted her in his arms, laying her on the bed. "Feels divine, doesn't it. Wish I could watch that dream, but I'm satisfied with my own. You are quite gorgeous, though some of our fine Bible-thumping citizens would say I might be too young for you – but we don't have time for prudes, now do we? Time for part one of our denouement, governor. If I enjoy our special moment together enough, maybe I won't overdose you."

Of course, that was a lie.

Then, the lights raised. Now showing any fear, the man raised his arms in surrender.

"One more word, boy, and this here revolver will be emptied into your sick head. Get off her right now!"

"How did you get in?" He didn't face Krillin, knowing the governor's dwarf lap dog – as he derisively called the man in private - could be irate enough to kill him anyway.

Krillin's gun clicked twice. "Imma tell you this again, boy. Move your raggedy ass off that bed - and cover her up with that blanket. If you try anything dirty, I'll blow a hole through your spine instead. Don't fuck with me."

"OK," the man replied, keeping his arms held high. He hadn't raped Bulma in the manner he wanted, but in his mind, he still had the victory: game, set, match.

Bulma's phone had alerted Krillin. An emergency sensor triggered any time the device struck ground harder than usual. Not responding by three minutes, either by voice or touch, turned on video and sound recording. After lounging in his room's whirlpool batch, Krillin heard strange noises as soon as he left the bathroom. Horrified and disgusted beyond belief, he threw on whatever clothing he could gather, alerting hotel security to electronically unlock Bulma's front and interior doors and windows. Guards took positions in key areas where her assaulter couldn't escape without being shot or captured.

Krillin set off the intercom, signaling for the officers and paramedics to rush inside. "Lie face down on the floor with your arms, you shameful son of a bitch."

A female officer moved Krillin back, cautiously taking his gun, though her anger was palpable. "Josh Marley. Of all the people in the world, how could you think you'd get away with this?"

"I almost did," Marley said, addressing Krillin with a ghastly, unremorseful grin. "It's nice to have friends in high places that even you can't play cowboy with, preacher man."

"Get this bastard out of my sight before I kill him right here!" Krillin snarled. "Now! I don't care who hears me!" An officer and hotel guard stepped up, preparing to hold him back if necessary.

"Sir, I can't tell what she was given yet," the worried paramedic said, fitting Bulma with an oxygen mask and an intravenous drip. "Her breathing is shallow, so the drug could be a hypnotic – or maybe more than one."

Krillin dropped on his knees, wiping a brisk flow of tears. "It's gonna be all right, sugar. I'm so sorry we couldn't get him earlier. I'm so sorry. I never thought…"

He couldn't lose her to this kind of evil. Bulma and her family were his too. Her stunning blue eyes, now cloudy and unfocused, shattered his heart and tested his faith. Did anyone know Marley was capable of this shocking degree of malevolence? Anyone at all? Had he been doing this to other vulnerable women?

Security and other hotel staff were in full force, searching for the betrayers among them. The men who escorted Bulma to her room earlier, who expected to be interrogated, were just as eager to take down anyone who helped Marley. This inside conspiracy sickened, infuriated, and embarrassed everyone.

Ambrose, who left the ball after Bulma's speech, was in pajamas and a robe when security came for him. Enraged, he demanded to know where the investigators took Marley. Bulma had been placed into an ambulance near a non-public entrance. A paramedic helped Chi Chi inside for their ride to their hospital.

"She will be well," the towering woman said, firmly looking at each man. "Our friend is strong. Vegeta will want to be here, so concentrate on his needs. Harry, I'll call you."

Harry nodded. "Yes, yes, darling. I'll be all right." Observing the other two beside him, the gentle-hearted history professor felt relieved that Marley was in police custody. Otherwise, one or both men, if they had their way, probably would have bludgeoned the state's lieutenant governor to death.

Breaking the news to Vegeta would be nightmarish.

Tarble, Bulla and Carl were enjoying ice cream and chatting when their SUV driver slowed down, activating the intercom on the steering wheel before stopping on the road's shoulder. A highway patrol car arrived not long after.

"Excuse me, Mr. Rutledge, but could you join me in the front, please?"

The driver's head bowed at the dashboard television. Bulma's ordeal dominated the news, with updates that she was in serious condition at the hospital. Tarble's significant disbelief didn't show prominently. He looked back at the nervous teenagers while dialing Vegeta.

"Hey. Are you in bed?"

"Staring at ceiling, so yes." Vegeta said, turning on the beside lamp. "Can't sleep. How did it go?"

"Get clothes on, Vegeta. Bulma has been rushed to St. Michael's Hospital. It's near the hotel and one of best in the city. TV says she isn't doing well - but that's likely exaggerated, so avoid watching."

Vegeta covered his face, sitting up. "How soon will you be here?"

"We're moving pretty fast."

"I'll be ready."

"You not feeling well, Vegeta?"

He hadn't been all evening, but adrenaline immediately doused the pain. "I'm all right, Tarble. I just need to see my wife. I'll call you back. Krillin is dialing me."

"Vegeta?"

"My brother just told me, Krillin."

"I'm sending specific state police officers to get you, named Charlie and Darryl. Do not leave with anyone else. Understand? Two others, named Chris and Doug, will follow in their car."

"My brother is on his way to pick me up. I'd rather -"

"Can't do that," Krillin interrupted. "We're taking you by helicopter. Tell Tarble to turn around and stick with the patrol. The threat level has risen. Bulma was heavily drugged and assaulted in her hotel room."

Vegeta picked up his forearm crutch. "What do…do you mean?"

"There's a full investigation underway now, but I believe this was well planned. We caught the guy who nearly raped her, but what he did to Bulma beforehand looks terrible enough."

"How do you know that?"

Krillin held his breath. "It's…it's on video."

Vegeta separated his consciousness from the rawest and most destructive wrath a husband and father could feel. He pictured the merry smiles of his wife, daughter and mother, leaning on them for strength.

"You still there, Vegeta?"

"I need to dress," he replied dispassionately. "She's in good hands with you."

Krillin was disconsolate. He hadn't protected Bulma well enough, he believed, and yet her husband's trust in him hadn't wavered. He intentionally didn't say who hurt Bulma. Enough people wanted to send Marley to the gallows. There would be more for sure, including those in the lieutenant governor's party who would unquestionably lose a chunk of voter support during the elections.

Hospital and police public-relations teams held a late-night press conference, updating national and local reporters about Bulma's condition. They were careful not to discuss specific details of Marley's sexual assault, focusing on how she was attacked and that a person was taken into custody. Others whisked Vegeta inside from the hospital's underground parking lot, which was blocked off to the public. Bulla, Tarble and Ambrose gathered around him inside shortly thereafter. No one spoke, giving Vegeta time to compose himself as best as he could. Tarble had a nurse bring a wheelchair, recognizing that his brother was feeling some pain.

Beau approached the group, appearing severe at first, but adjusted his expression. "I'll take you upstairs, Vegeta. We can talk."

"Beau, we've been through this before," he replied as Bulla rubbed his back. "Whatever you need to say can happen here. Then, I'll go."

"Bulma's heart stopped when she arrived, but emergency resuscitated her. Her assailant used a couple of drugs – one of them a benzodiazepine – which can cause respiratory depression that can worsen with alcohol use. Luckily, her blood alcohol level wasn't high."

Vegeta gripped his forehead. "You're saying she overdosed, then, which the attacker likely expected."

"But she probably won't remember anything that happened," Beau said, holding the wheelchair's handles. "Are you ready to see her?"

Vegeta asked Beau to stop the elevator midway going up, grabbing his arm. ''What else?"

"We're closely monitoring her breathing and blood pressure, but she's received a mixed treatment intravenously to counteract the drugs' effects. It works, but the turnaround for improvement is gradual."

"Her mind?"

"Bulma will be confused and agitated and very tired when she awakens. I recommend not to move her immediately from this hospital. Someone must be appointed as acting governor until she fully recovers."

"Beau, I've waited to ask about my wife's attacker to get my mind right. I am strong man, but I am ready to murder the son of bitch who did this."

"I understand."

"Who is it?" Vegeta didn't want his intuition to be accurate, but the doctor's somber, extended pause and tight lips left no doubt.

Beau exhaled, looking away. Vegeta's gaze could be piercing, even when he liked you. "It... was Josh Marley."

When the elevator doors opened, Vegeta stood, using his cane to walk inside Bulma's room. Whatever physical pain he felt subsided again. The deadly rage in his eyes also faded... for a while.

Vegeta believed his wife wasn't ready to leave this world, just like he wasn't. Her swollen face, from the drugs and IV fluids, and the endless skin streaks and bite marks nearly brought him to tears. This tragedy wouldn't break her, he believed, but the mental wounds would be menacing. She didn't deserve any of this. No woman did. For two terms, all his wife tried to do was help people. Chopping off each of Marley's dirty fingers and then blowing his head off with a shotgun crossed Vegeta's mind, but he couldn't sink into primal madness. Pursuing revenge would leave his wife, daughter, and brother behind to mourn the descent of a good man who tried to do his best. Life was severely testing his family's fortitude, but the Rutledges would not crack. No, sir. No ma'am. They wouldn't crack.

He sat down, putting his crutch aside as Beau stepped outside. He held wisps of Bulma's hair, letting them slip between his fingertips. "I love you, bumblebee. You know that already. We've been through a lot, but we both have a flame that keeps us here and together. Can you open your eyes for me?"

Bulma was unresponsive. Vegeta's eyes closed.

A media circus exploded after police said they had undeniable evidence that Marley had attacked Bulma. Professional reporters who had fair relationships with Ambrose and Bulma received limited but accurate information. Others who were known to sensationalize weren't ignored but didn't receive red-carpet treatment. Still, this blockbuster event captured national attention.

The General Assembly's four and one-half month regular legislative session was close, and Bulma's staff would have to officially announce in writing that she couldn't fulfill her duties. Thus, until her condition improved, the president pro tempore of the state Senate would serve as acting governor and the speaker of the House as lieutenant governor. Almost all of the state's legislators planned to tread carefully, across all parties, to avoid appearing unsympathetic. Ambrose took some comfort - not only politically, but for Bulma's family – but only temporarily. A hell of a lot of power plays and worrying attempts to derail years of her hard work would still happen. He hoped Bulma and Inez's hard-core supporters, moderates and swing voters would keep some of the jockeying in check at the Capitol.

After leaving the hospital, Bulma slept for the better part of a week. Learning of Marley's assault devastated her. Vegeta and Bulla tended any need she had, along with Chi Chi, who tried to stay in the background as much as possible. She managed calls and correspondence from worried classmates and friends. Unexpectedly, Bulla encouraged Vegeta to resume more duties at Black Orchid when he could. She studied online with her classmates and teachers. No one dwelled on the possibility of other threats.

Ambrose's atomic-bomb temper detonated unlike anything he had experienced before. Fergus Ryan sat quietly, taking in the other man's purple-faced, expletive-filled tongue lashing. Ryan knew he deserved Ambrose's upbraiding, but the detective couldn't dwell on the mistake he made by delaying disclosure of Josh Marley's past sordid behavior. Questioning whether he was losing his investigate touch wouldn't help anyone, and more had to be done. Marley's confidantes and advisers were either too stupid or arrogant to believe they had a winning hand with that vile psychopath. But somebody had to be running scared. Now that more law enforcement officials were involved, Ryan and Ambrose weren't the only ones now who suspected that a connection to Marley orchestrated Vegeta's shooting.

Yet the acrid stench of corruption from within had to be seriously considered. Alliances and trust between officials were fraying. Marley patently had help. Security was compromised. Which of those so-called protectors of the governor's welfare had an interest in helping him, financial or personal? Were they aware that Marley was demented and determined enough to attempt murder? Were they happy to give him the rope to hang himself so others wouldn't be strung up?

Ryan thought it impossible to believe that no one had noticed Marley's mental decompensation – especially the man's money-grubbing, calculating father. Something had to kick off the lieutenant governor's unprecedented collapse from a campaign that he still had a good chance of winning. With the FBI now involved in investigating other offenses, using the information Ryan passed along to local police, the detective expected more dominoes to fall. He wanted to accelerate those efforts, though without being blocked by the feds or anyone else from continuing his activities. A chain of power had started to emerge from the shadows, and usually those holding the reins of power didn't give up control without nasty fights. If Marley was a tried-and-true agent of chaos, just like a serial killer, he might implicate more people because he could. Narcissists were always at their worst when feeling betrayed, even when they – and no one else - instigated their downfalls. Ryan and other investigators hoped Josh would give up the goods willingly. Regardless, he was going to prison.

Krillin moved into the renovated shed on the Rutledges' property, which Vegeta had used as getaway space. He trundled down to the house for breakfast with Chi Chi sometimes, and to bring a food tray to Bulma. The May weather was still mild, so Bulma had taken to sitting on the deck's uncovered side in the mornings. She spoke little, but like Vegeta, silence didn't bother Krillin much. If that's what she needed, then so be it.

A therapist specializing in post-traumatic stress and trauma in women visited weekly. Bulma passively discussed her shame and the stress of responsibility for Vegeta's welfare. Her fears of burdening him, in her view, finally were realized. How Marley assaulted her and not remembering weighed on her. Knowing that Krillin saw and heard parts of the crime nauseated her. Believing she had cheated on her loving, devoted husband – her trauma's awful, deceitful falsehood - robbed her vigor. For the first time in her life, the willingness to die in the midst of depression sounded and felt completely logical.

Bulma's therapist later recommended what no one wanted to hear. Further treatment in a psychiatric recovery center had to be considered. Silently crying, Bulla clutched her father's shoulder. Chi Chi's tight eyebrows showed strong disagreement, but she held her tongue until addressed.

Vegeta's fingers interlaced after the therapist's departure. "You don't support the option."

"I do not," Chi Chi replied, "but I am no psychologist, and Bulma's welfare is paramount."

"What are your objections?"

"A significant part of Bulma's wellness will always be connected to her drive for accomplishment, I contend, whether on a large or small scale. It gives her purpose as much as her family does. These are her final months in office. A full withdrawal may do harm than help. She has nothing to be ashamed of. You have the means to continue her treatment at home and - perhaps - recruit a new therapist. Being with you all nourishes her, and I will stay for as long as can if you'll have me."

Vegeta looked at his daughter. "Your thoughts?"

"I disagree with you, Chi Chi. Bulma just seems so vacant, even when she's pleased to be with us. I read about psychology often. They call it, um, dissociation. I feel uncomfortable with what she hasn't said."

Vegeta stood with his crutch, leaving the room. "I'll be with her for a while. You'll know by tomorrow."