Relief washed over Jordan. For a moment, she felt like she had landed in a safe space. Right now, she was tempted to stay here until her sight improved. The doctor had said her ocular nerve was not likely to fully heal, but she was clinging to the hope that her sight would return.

“Where’s my phone?”

“In your purse. Let me get it for you.”

Seconds later, Avery set the purse in Jordan’s lap. It was surprisingly light without her service weapon. Her fingertips skimmed the dimpled black leather, reached for the zipper, and tugged it open. Her fingers glided over her wallet, a packet of tissues, the notebook for case notes, and her phone. She thumbed through the case notebook, trying to recall all the details of the Jane Doe #1 and Tammy Fox murders. Her observations often felt random, but experience had taught her that the most important details could initially seem insignificant. And now they were lost to her. She ran her fingers over the phone’s smooth surface. “I live and die by this phone.”

“We can change that to voice activated,” Avery said. “Sally said it’ll enable you to use your phone.”

Jordan pressed the home button. Experience told her the home screen had appeared, but she could not make out the icons. Voice activation had to be in Settings. Wherever the hell that was.

“You want me to do it for you?” Avery asked.

“Yes.”

Avery took the phone and in seconds returned it to her. “Just talk to it. Ask it to ‘Open email.’”

“Open email.”

“You have two hundred unread messages.”

“Doesn’t take long for them to back up, does it?” Avery said.

“No.”

“Do you want me to scan them and read them out loud? It might be faster.”

“Maybe later.” She ordered the phone to close. “My brain is scrambled. Do I smell roses?”

“You received a large vase of roses.”

“Who sent them?”

“No card,” Avery said.

Who had sent her roses? Who knew where she lived?

Avery retrieved something, sat next to Jordan, and placed her hand on a shoebox. “Feel all the ‘Get Well’ cards.”

Jordan moved her fingers through the unopened envelopes, which came in varying sizes.

“Pretty touching, huh?” Avery said.

“Yes.” She set the box aside.

“What’s wrong?”

“I refuse to be a sick person who needs anyone’s pity.”

“No one pities you.”