The triage nurse took one look at his gray, sunken face and flagged him for a private trauma bay. The attending, a sharp-eyed woman named Dr. Ross, ran a fast, thorough examination.

I stood at the stainless-steel bedside with my arms crossed hard over my chest to keep my hands from shaking while she worked.

The picture was grim. Dad was dangerously dehydrated, his heart rate lurching in an erratic rhythm. Dr. Ross ran a blood panel and confirmed what I already feared: he’d been kept off his daily cardiac medication for at least three days running.

She took his arms and inspected the dark bands around his wrists with a clinical focus, clicking on a penlight to check the damaged skin for abrasions and burst capillaries.

Then she switched it off and looked at me.

“Agent Vance.” Her voice dropped low. “These bruises aren’t from a brief struggle an hour ago. The way the hematomas have degraded, these injuries are at least four to seven days old.