Mooney held up a hand, breathed out. “I jumped on you. I had to step out of the waiting room. Rachael’s husband, her two kids, my sister, my brother-in-law, my wife, Rachael’s brother, her sister, hell, most of the family, and there are a lot of us, are packed in there, or outside trying to walk this off.”

“My brother was shot. He attended Virginia Tech—2007. I was just a kid. I’ve never been so scared in my life as I was sitting in that waiting room. It’s why I became a cop.”

“Did he make it?” Mooney asked her.

“Yeah. He was the first of my family to graduate from college.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He pushed a hand over his grizzled hair. “Let’s get you some coffee.”

The elevator doors opened again.

“Bower, Wochowski—Morestead and Deeks.”

Mooney waited for everyone to shake hands. “You get it?”

“In the works, Sarge,” Bower told him. “It’s in the works. They’re getting a judge out of bed.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Wochowski talked to the LT while I talked to the prosecutor—and I got her out of bed.”

“We’re going to put a team together,” Wochowski told the others. “A takedown team, a search team. Bowers and I will get her into interview. You all are welcome to observe. She’s got money,” he added, “so she can afford a good lawyer. We need some hard evidence. Physical evidence.”

“If this woman shot Rachael,” Bower continued, “we’re going to nail her for it. That’s a goddamn promise, Sarge. We need that search team to find us something that ties her to Rachael, to any of the others Rachael believes this woman killed.”

“Still in surgery?” Wochowski asked, and Mooney just nodded. “When she comes out of it, when she comes around, she’ll help us nail it down.”

“We were moving on it.” Bower lightly pounded his fist on his thigh. “We were going over to talk to Bennett today. We couldn’t get to it before. Then we got slammed with that double.”

Mooney waved it away. “I didn’t see it as hot either. I should’ve. I didn’t.”

He broke off, strode away when he saw one of the doctors in scrubs. His heart pounded in his throat, in his ears. “You were operating on Rachael McNee. I’m her uncle. I’m—”

“I remember.” The quiet-voiced, weary-eyed woman nodded. “Dr. Stringer. Your niece is stable. She’s strong, and she’s stable. She’s in serious condition, and we’ll watch her closely for the next twelve hours. She came through the surgery well.”

“Can you tell the family? They’re going to want to see her. I know that horde can’t all go see her, but her husband, her kids, her mom. They need to see her.”

“She’ll be sedated through the night, but yes, we’ll arrange for that.”

“They ain’t going anywhere till she wakes up.”

“Cafeteria’s twenty-four-seven. I can arrange to have a cot brought in for her husband once she’s out of recovery. The shoulder and arm wounds were minor. The chest wounds more serious, as we already discussed. She also lacerated the back of her head, in the fall, I believe. I want to say it’s a wonder she stayed conscious and able to contact nine-one-one.”

“You don’t know Rachael.”

The doctor smiled. “I do now. I hope you find who did this to her.”

“Count on it. Family’s all in there. Or most of them.”

He turned to the other cops. “Give me five minutes with the family, then I’m in on this takedown.”

“Sarge—”

“Don’t fuck with me on this. I’ve been a cop damn near as long as you’ve been alive, Bower. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize the case against the individual who put my niece in the hospital. And I’m going to be there when you take her in.”

“Five minutes. We need to get back to the house, suit up, brief the team.”

“We’ll be on that.” Morestead waited for the frustrated looks. “To observe and assist only. It’s your takedown, Detectives. But we will need to interview the suspect regarding our victim.”

“Fair enough. Take your five, Mooney. Sarge? I’m really glad Rachael’s coming through.”

Deeks looked toward the waiting room as she heard the weeping. “Relief tears,” she said. “They sound different from grief. It’s good to hear them.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Since the pain wouldn’t die, Nikki took more pills. She dozed off and on, then took more. Her ears rang, and though it seemed impossible, her head ached more. Like jackhammers digging into her brain. Because of the length of the chain, she could only stand in a crouch, but when she tried, her head spun, and she’d have to sit again.

Or vomit again.

So she took more pills.

Sometimes she heard voices, but when she held her breath to scream for help, she realized the voices were her own. No one but JJ could get in the house, and he wouldn’t come to help.

She surfaced again, sick and shaking, eyes tearing, ears ringing.

A pounding. Her head, God yes, her head, but something else.

Was someone pounding on the door? They couldn’t get in, no, they couldn’t get in, but maybe, if she could scream, they’d hear. If she could stand up, or nearly stand, fill her lungs and scream.

Maybe.

She tried, sobbing as she struggled to pull up on her trembling, buzzing legs. As she sucked in air, as she managed a rusty croak, the dizziness swept over her in a wave. She fell forward, struck the toilet lid face-first.

Fresh blood exploded from her broken nose. Both front teeth drove hard into her lip before they shattered. The pain, wild and feral, lasted only an instant before she slipped limply to the floor.

Outside the house, Bower used his fist to pound again.

“No lights on inside.” Deeks jogged up. “No car in the driveway. She’s got a Mercedes sedan, new, registered in her name.”

“Could be on the run.” Bower stepped back. He nodded to the uniform behind him. “Take it down.”

The battering ram struck, once, twice, and on the third took down the heavy mahogany door.

“This is the police!” Bower called out as officers went through. “We are duly authorized to enter the premises. Come out with your hands up.”

Deeks hit the lights. “Shit, looks like we got some blood here.” She crouched down. “Dried blood on the floor. Maybe she’s not on the run.”

“Let’s clear it.”

“Old houses like this are a maze of rooms,” Mooney pointed out as Bower directed a team to take the second and third floors.

Weapon ready, Deeks pulled open a coat closet as Morestead moved toward the back of the house, still announcing police presence.

Wochowski cleared the front room, the side parlor, and Mooney moved to the door under the stairs.

Another closet, he thought, maybe a powder room.

He smelled it as he reached for the door handle.

Blood, puke.

“I got something here,” he called out, then yanked the door open. “Well, fuck me. We need a bus!” Holstering his weapon, he stepped in, crouched down. He put his fingers on Nikki’s throat. “She’s alive. She’s out. Christ, she’s been in here awhile.”