“The man.” She closed her eyes again. She nearly said twenty, because he had been. But worried that would seem too young. “I’m not sure. Late twenties. Maybe thirties. I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine. Just fine. A white male?”

“Yes.”

“What was he wearing?”

“I’m not … a uniform? No, I don’t think … maybe. No, I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“Could you describe him again, as best you can?”

“I … tall.”

“How tall?”

“I think, taller than you, I think. A little. Strong. I think he was strong. Wavy brown hair and beautiful blue eyes. So pretty, so charming. The dimples, the accent. Like a movie star.”

“When you’re feeling a little better, would you work with a police artist?”

“I can try. I’m so tired now.”

“You said experiment. Did he say that to you?”

“Experiment? Did he say that? I cried. I was crying, and he laughed. I had the toilet, didn’t I? I could get water, couldn’t I? Here’s some food. Take these pills. I’ll come back.”

“He said he’d come back?”

“I think … yes. I was afraid he wouldn’t. I was afraid he would. I was afraid.”

“Did he come back?”

“I don’t think … I don’t know. Sometimes I thought I heard voices. But I don’t know.”

“Where do you keep your keys? To your house, to your car?”

“The dish on the table by the door. If you put them there, you always know where they are. I want to sleep now. Just sleep.”

Mooney stepped slightly closer. “Was the man in the house when Rachael McNee came to see you?”

She actually felt fear shoot down her spine. “Who?”

“Rachael McNee. She came to see you. She’s a private investigator.”

“Yes, yes. No. I remember someone came. I just got home? I think I just got home. Had groceries. Why did she come? What did she want? My father.” Nikki closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about my father. None of it was my fault. I was a child. I wanted her to go away. She upset me. I didn’t let her inside, did I? And she went away. Was the man with her? I think he came right after. Soon after. I thought there’s that woman again, and I want her to go away. I was angry. I opened the door, but it wasn’t her. And he smiled, and he hit me.”

“He hit you in the doorway?” Deeks pressed. “When you opened the door?”

“I …” What had she said before? How was she supposed to remember? “I’m not sure. It’s blurry. He looked so nice. I don’t know why he was so mean to me. I want to sleep. I have to sleep.”

“Okay, Nikki.” Bower patted her hand. “You get some rest.”

With some reluctance, Mooney stepped out. “It’s pretty damn convenient how she remembers some things real clear, and others are all blurry.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, but trauma can do that. One way or the other, the trauma’s real.”

“Trauma doesn’t mean she’s not lying,” Deeks pointed out. “And I think she is.”

“So do I. Why do you?”

“There’s something almost dreamy about how she describes the guy. Like she’s got a crush going. And if she doesn’t know him, if he’s never been in the house before, how’d he pick a room with no window, an inside room? How’d he know just how long to make the chain so she could reach the sink to get water, but not reach the door? I’m seconding Mooney’s bullshit call. He was so mean to her? You call bashing her face and chaining her to a wall ‘mean’? Something’s off.”

“Not disagreeing with you either. Maybe she had a lover, and things went south, this went down. But we’re not getting any more out of her tonight. Soon as it’s light, we’ll have some cops canvass the neighborhood, knock on doors. We’ll see if anyone saw this guy. She started to say uniform, but changed her mind. But maybe he passed as a delivery guy, a repair guy, a cop to blend in.

“And we’ll go over it with her again tomorrow. Maybe we’ll get lucky on the car tonight yet. But I’ve been on shift for damn near twenty-four now. I need a few hours down. So does everyone else. We can meet back at the station at eight, and we’ll interview her again as soon as we can. If something breaks before, we’re up and on it. Meanwhile we keep a guard on her door. Nobody gets in who shouldn’t, and she doesn’t get out.”

“I’m going up to check on Rachael.”

“If she wakes up before eight, and she remembers anything, you let me know. We got it, Sarge.”

JJ pulled the van onto an old logging trail about a quarter mile from Traveler’s Creek. The van didn’t much care for it, but he wouldn’t need it much longer. He needed a little sleep, and didn’t want any idiot cops or good Samaritans checking on a van pulled to the shoulder of the road.

He’d considered breaking into Adrian’s house while she slept, but he knew—because of her stupid blog—she had a dog. A big one. And he suspected she’d have an alarm system.

He figured he could handle the alarm system, but dogs barked. And they bit.

He’d do better to wait, deal with the dog outside.

Since he’d worked out a plan, he could catch some sleep, set his phone alarm for, say, thirty minutes before sunrise. Then he’d hitch on his backpack holding his tools and hike to the woods—he’d studied the lay of the land since she just fucking loved doing her fitness shit out there. He’d find a good spot to watch her house.

Once he’d dealt with the dog, he and his baby sister bitch would have a nice long get-together.

Years in the making, he thought as he settled down to sleep.

And he’d deliver her final poem in person.

She didn’t sleep well. Too much in her head, Adrian admitted as she gave it up and rolled out of bed at dawn.

She’d fallen in love and didn’t know how to handle it. And, she knew very well, when she didn’t know how to handle something, she picked at it until she found some fix, some work-around.

But this wasn’t a program or a recipe or a hairstyle.

Love was a singular condition.

And her mother was coming. She’d have to deal with the new complexion of their relationship, those cautious steps. And there might be a conversation in there about that singular condition.

She’d never talked to her mother about something like this, never considered that kind of sharing. So how to handle that?

Using her phone, she switched off the alarm so she could open the porch doors. She stepped out, studied the fire of the waking sun in the eastern woods, laid a hand on Sadie’s head as her dog joined her.

“Pretty morning, Sadie, so that’s something.”

She had a dozen decisions, big and small, to make on the youth center. It had to be right, had to be just what her grandparents had wanted.

Would they care if she chose the checkerboard pattern instead of a solid color for the safety tiles for the playground area? Probably not, but she’d pondered that at four in the morning.

Pondered it, and the choice of foundation plantings, the style of the juice bar. Worried over that and more to keep herself from thinking about the fact she had two half siblings who might want to kill her.