Chapter 2:

John had just left the library and headed towards his loft. They had finished with their last number early that morning and he decided to head home to get some much-needed rest. He had been up for a good twenty four hours.

"Lionel . . ." John said as he answered his cell. "To what do I owe the pleasure . . ."

"When was the last time you saw Zoe Morgan?"

"What's going on Lionel?" The ex-CIA operative knew how to evade a question. Although he had seen Zoe early in the evening the day before, he preferred to keep his personal relationship under wraps. Lionel was too busy making eyes at Rhonda at the hospital Christmas party to notice anything unusual between John and Zoe; neither of which openly acknowledged their relationship outside of either one of their respective homes.

"Carter's going to shoot me for telling you this. We think we have some DNA from a crime scene that goes back to her. DB's name is David Winslow and last person on his calendar was Miss Morgan. They found hair samples and prints on a glass, the techs are running them through the necessary tests but it doesn't look good for her."

"What was COD?"

"Two GSWs to the chest."

"I'll take care of it Lionel."

"John, we have to bring her in."

"I know, just let me talk to her . . ." John said as he clicked off.

"Zoe?" John said as Zoe started to stir, she felt as if she was floating. He had let himself into her apartment and had found her lying on top of the covers of her bed still dressed in what he assumed were her clothes from the prior evening.

Her first sensation was one of nausea. She felt like her head was being pounded on with a hammer. Finally she opened her eyes, and sat up slowly, battling the urge to heave. Raising a shaky hand to her face, she felt her sweaty skin. Something wasn't right.

"John? What . . . where . . ." Something was definitely not right.

"Mind telling me what you were up to last night after I left?"

Ignoring John's question, she slowly made her way to the bathroom and was taken aback at what she saw. Her face was ghostly pale, her eyes were bloodshot and she could barely stay upright.

What in the hell is going on? She thought to herself trying to fight off the confusion and light headedness. She tried to remember how she ended up feeling hung over and barely functioning.

"I met an old friend for drinks."

"The friend . . . who was it?"

"What is this John . . . the Inquisition?" Zoe's heart joined her head as the pounding continued. John was never so intent on finding out what she had been up to. Trying to regain some semblance of control, she walked past him into her bedroom.

"The friend . . . who was it?" John insisted.

Sighing heavily, she responded. "Meredith Lawson. She called after you left."

"You look like hell," John said.

"Thanks so much," Zoe said dryly.

Zoe moved to the bed and sat down, looking exhausted as if she didn't have the power to hold herself up.

"Look …" John started as he sat next to her on the bed. "Lionel called, some evidence has turned up in a case and it looks like it's pointing directly at you."

"What?" She looked at John, who was staring at her intently, as though trying to read her mind. "What evidence?"

"Possibly, finger prints. DNA from hair," John told her. Without taking his eyes off of her, "The hair was on a male victim. The finger prints were on a glass in the victim's apartment." His voice was hard and flat.

"That doesn't make sense. I…" Zoe stuttered, entirely lost. "I don't understand."

"Was Meredith Lawson the only person you saw last night?" John wanted to know.

"No. I had to go see a client."

"Tell me the rest."

"I went to the bar at the Helmsley. That's where she was staying. We talked for a little while then I had to leave to go see a client, then came home. I don't remember anything else after that."

"Were you drinking?"

"I had scotch at the bar," Zoe responded.

"Who was your client?"

"You know I can't tell you that." Zoe stated. "I came home…"

"What are you holding back Zoe?" John knew this woman. Always straightforward and direct, he couldn't help but think that for some reason she was holding something back.

"I don't remember," she finally admitted in a small, perplexed voice. "I remember leaving the bar. I vaguely remember getting into a cab… but then, nothing. I don't remember how I got home…" She looked into John's hard blue gaze, frantically trying to tell if he believed her.

John looked at Zoe, from the intensity in her gaze he could tell that she wanted him to believe her. He also saw the raw alarm in her eyes.

"Okay." John said as he gave a barely detectable nod.

That slight imperceptible nod meant the world to Zoe. It meant he believed her, that he trusted her. Although she breathed a small sigh of relief, apprehension settled in. What happened last night? Why couldn't she remember?

"Zoe, I think you were drugged most likely. It would explain the confusion and memory loss."

Zoe's best option at the moment was to play things by the book. He believed her when she said she didn't remember there were too many signs he couldn't ignore.

"I'm going to call Lionel so that they can talk to you okay? I'll take you to them, but I can't go with you to the precinct."

Zoe nodded. "Fine, just let me take a shower and change. . ."

Shaking his head remorsefully, John stated. "Zoe, you can't. You might have some evidence on you."

Sighing wearily, Zoe nodded again. "Let's go then."

As they walked out she asked. "Who was the man? The one that had my hair on him?"

"David Winslow."

Zoe's throat clenched as she felt her heart drop to her feet. "Jesus . . . he was my client, the one I met with last night . . ."