Outside the room conversations buzzed, machines beeped, and carts rolled past. “What time is it?” she demanded.

“Two p.m.” The nurse crossed the room and tugged at the sheets and blanket that had slipped to her waist when she’d sat up. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

Her weapon. A ride out of here. Her vision. “Water.”

“Sure.”

A water tap turned on, and she imagined it streamed into one of those nauseatingly pink plastic patient cups. The nurse pressed it into Jordan’s hand.

“There’s a straw.” She guided the tip to Jordan’s mouth.

Jordan drank greedily, savoring the rush of water down her raw throat. “When does the doctor make rounds?”

“About five this evening.”

“Good. I’ll be more awake. And ready to grill him about treatment options.”

The nurse’s quiet was as unsettling as the inky blackness. The things people didn’t say . . .

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer your questions. Anything else?” Gina asked.

“No. Thanks.”

“I’ll be right outside,” the nurse said.

Jordan wanted the nurse to stay close and monitor her hospital door. She wanted some kind of backup. But she was in this alone and had to manage her fear. She had never given in to anxiety before, and she would not now.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Saturday, April 17

9:00 a.m.

Spencer arrived at the Travis County medical examiner’s office for Walker’s autopsy. He had slept only a few hours over the last couple of days, and fatigue had put him in a sour frame of mind. He did not want to see Walker’s dead body, a reminder of the failed drug investigation and the missing women. But his feelings did not figure into the equation.

He moved through the medical examiner’s building, winding down stairwells and hallways until he reached the changing room for the autopsy. He quickly donned a gown and gloves and pushed through the doors into the autopsy suite, where he found Dr. McIntyre gowned up and ready to open Walker’s chest.

“I was wondering if you were going to make it,” Dr. McIntyre said.

“Been one of those days.” Walker’s head now rested on a block that exposed his bruised neck.

“Already?”

“Been on the phone with Captain Lee.”

“How is Detective Poe?”

“Her vision remains compromised. Ocular nerve damage. The doctor is still being vague about her prognosis.”

“Dr. Kensington and I went to medical school together. He’s a sharp doctor, and if he’s not being straight with her, then he doesn’t know. The brain and the ocular nerve are very complex.”

“I wonder how I’d function without my vision,” he said. Jordan had to be terrified.

“I could ask myself the same question. I’d figure out how to function on a daily basis, but my career would be over.”

“So is hers,” he said.