“I had tunnel vision.” It happened when cops were in a hot pursuit. Their focus narrowed to only their quarry, and they missed what was happening around them. “The plastic was strong, and I was clawing at it. I reached for my pocketknife, cut enough so she could breathe, and saw the terror in her eyes. And then nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Is her phone still sending a signal?” she asked.

“No. I have an officer checking on the hour. Do you think it might have been a trap?”

“I don’t think so. I think Casey really called for help.”

“What if he made her call you?” Spencer said.

“It’s a possibility. But I think I spooked the killer. He could have murdered Casey and me, but he ran.”

“Maybe he thought he had killed you.”

“But why take Casey? He would have been able to flee faster without her.”

“Unfinished business. Maybe he’s compelled to kill Casey in his same ritualistic style.”

Suddenly she felt very tired and eased her head back against the pillows. She winced.

“How’s the pain?” he asked.

“Creeping back.”

“I’ll ask the nurses to give you something for it.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You don’t get extra points for suffering.”

“Too bad.”

“Seriously.”

Her head sank deeper into the pillow. “Big substance-abuse problem in my family. Mother died in a car crash because she was drunk. Sister had serious issues with drugs.”

“Avery?”

“You’ve met?”

“I notified her about you.”

“How did she seem?”

“Tough.”

“Mom could be like that, too. Seem tough, I mean. But inside, they can be fragile. Avery’s been sober two years. I don’t want my issues to mess her up.”

“Don’t underestimate her.”

Outside in the hallway she heard voices. A man and a woman. And then the door pushed open, bringing with it a rush of air.

“Jordan Poe?” a man asked.

Whatever bravery she had mustered for Spencer evaporated. “That’s right.”

“I’m Dr. Sam Kensington,” he said. “I’m your doctor.”

“The man who likes MRIs,” she said.

A chair scraped and the energy shifted. “I’ll take off now,” Spencer said.

Suddenly, her pride, always a sturdy shield, crumbled. She did not want to face this doctor’s diagnosis alone. “Spencer, stay. I could use an extra set of eyes. And a second set of ears.”

Spencer went silent for a beat. “As long as you need backup.”

Dr. Kensington came to her bedside. His aftershave smelled expensive and his energy field, for lack of a better word, was smaller than Spencer’s. “As you pointed out, we conducted three MRIs.”

“Why three?” she asked.

“The one before your surgery was difficult to read. Once the blood was drained from your skull, we tried for a better picture. Which we got.”