It was Deeks who stepped up, looked over Mooney’s shoulder. “Some of that blood’s fresh. We need bolt cutters in here!”

“Lost a couple teeth. That’s fresh, too.” Mooney turned her on her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own blood. “Bashed her head on the john’s what she did. Look at the spatter. Went down hard, but she’s got older bruises, and I’m betting her nose was already busted before she face-planted.”

“Food in this box. Cereal, crackers, got some nasty-looking apple cores, banana peels. A nearly empty bottle of Advil. Whoever chained her to the wall didn’t want to kill her.”

“She’s got a brother.”

Bower walked up. “Christ, she’s a mess. Bus is on the way. We put out an APB on the car.”

“Might want to put a BOLO out on the brother,” Mooney said.

Bower took in the unconscious woman, the chain, the box of supplies. And nodded.

She came around, a little, in the ambulance. Her eyes rolled open, shiny as glass, rolled up, rolled side to side.

“You’re all right now, Nikki.” Bower leaned toward her as the EMT checked her vitals. “You’re safe now. I’m the police, and you’re on your way to the hospital.”

“Why?” She lisped it, then moaned. “Oh, my face. I can’t feel my face.”

“We gave you a little something to help with the pain,” the EMT told her. “She’s in shock, Detective.”

“I can see that. Almost there, Nikki, and they’re going to take care of you. Can you tell me what happened? Can you tell me who did this to you?”

She felt floaty, and a little sick, and numb, and too cold.

But she did her job. She couldn’t seem to help herself.

“Don’t know. Man at the door. Pushed me. Hit me. Then I was in the bathroom. The chain.”

She let herself weep.

“Did you recognize him? Did you know him?”

“No. Hit me. Why?” She closed her eyes, tried to think. “Experiment?” she tried out the word. “Did he say? Can’t remember. Laughed. Hurt. Everything hurt.”

“What did he look like? Can you remember?”

She remembered the boy she’d wanted in college, the one who’d smirked at her when she’d tried to attract him. The one who’d made her feel ugly and stupid.

And described him.

“Tall. Young. Brown hair, wavy hair. Blue eyes. Very blue. I remember. Pretty face. Dimples when he smiled. Accent. Southern, soft, southern. Hurt me. Tired now.”

She closed her eyes, and though she stayed awake, let herself drift.

JJ couldn’t hurt her here, she thought. She would go back to her life now. Soon. She didn’t care if he hurt somebody else. She’d paid enough. It wasn’t her fault.

At the hospital, Bower huddled with his partner, with Mooney, and with the two Richmond detectives.

“She said she didn’t know the guy who locked her up. She was in pretty bad shape, and doped up, but she gave a halfway decent description. Nothing like the last photo we have of the brother. She went out before she could give me more detail, but brown and blue—wavy hair—young, tall. Dimples and southern accent.”

“Some strange guy hits her house, punches her, locks her up, steals her car—but leaves her food and pain pills? And two days before my niece gets popped?” Mooney just scowled. “That’s some major bullshit.”

“We’ll go at her again, get more details. And if it’s bullshit, we’ll push her right into it. But she came right up with that description. Said something about an experiment. Like a question, like she wasn’t sure.”

“We’ve got a BOLO out on the brother, and we’re looking for the car,” Wochowski pointed out. “And maybe I lean with Mooney on the bullshit, but you have to ask: Why would she lie? If your brother punched you out, chained you up, why would you lie about it?”

“Maybe the whole family’s crazy.” Morestead shrugged. “Sure, her record doesn’t show anything out of line. The fact is, it shows bupkes. You can ask yourself, too, was she part of the whole thing? The two of them working together, and so they had a falling-out?”

“I follow that.” Deeks nodded. “And I like that angle. But then you have to wonder why she wouldn’t flip on him straight off. Claim, Oh my God, my brother. What’s he done? He said this, that, he’s lost his mind. I had no idea! And who’s not going to be sympathetic to a woman whose brother punches her in the face, chains her up, and then leaves her with boxes of cereal for what had to be at least two or three days from the looks of it.”

“We’ll take another run at her when they get her patched up.”

He checked the time. “Shit. Look, I’m going to check on her status. The way I see it, we should try to catch a couple hours down, come at this fresh. You sticking, Richmond?”

“We’ll stick until we talk to her.” Morestead looked at Deeks, got a nod.

“There’s a crib at the station, but I wouldn’t recommend it if you’ve got room on your expense account for a motel.”

“I’m going in to sit with Rachael. I’ll wait for the status, and I want to be in the room if you talk to her, but then I’m going to be with the family. Same hospital, and ain’t that a kick in the fucking head?”

Mooney looked back at the ER doors. “One thing we know. She didn’t shoot my niece. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t part of the whole.”

“Search team’s on the house. If there’s anything that ties her, they’ll find it. I’ll go check on her.”

Bower listened to what he thought of as the usual medical spiel. Patient needed rest and quiet. Added to it, he got confirmation that she had facial injuries more than forty-eight hours old, and the lacerations, abrasions on her wrist went back the same amount of time.

Which put her out of the running for the Richmond murder.

In addition to the broken nose, the chipped cheekbone, the severe wounds to her mouth and her right wrist, she’d suffered a concussion.

And would likely have confusion and memory gaps.

After he pressed—hard—he got clearance for five minutes with her—which he planned to stretch. Then the doctor insisted on eight hours of rest.

In the interest of fairness, he took Mooney and Deeks—hoping for a female perspective there.

He put on his Officer Friendly face as he stepped up beside Nikki’s bed.

“How are you doing, Nikki?”

“I don’t know. I’m so tired. I’m in the hospital.”

“And you’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you. I rode with you in the ambulance and we talked a little. I’m Detective Bower.”

“Ambulance? I can’t remember.”

“That’s all right. You told me about the person who hurt you. I need to ask you a few questions, then we’re going to let you rest. You said he was young. Can you tell us what you meant?”

“Who are they?” Her swollen eyes landed on Mooney and Deeks. “I don’t know them!”

“They’re police, like me. We’re here to help you, to keep you safe. How old would you say the person was who hurt you?”