“Someone was in my room while I was at the pharmacy,” I whispered.

Raymond turned his head toward me, his brow furrowing into sharp lines.

“Did they touch your bag?” he asked, his voice raspy but clear.

“They went through my travel bag and moved my blue ledger notebook,” I said.

Raymond blinked twice quickly, studying my face.

“I found used swab wrappers in my trash can,” I whispered.

“The kind used for cheek DNA.”

Raymond’s left hand shot out across the wool blanket and gripped my forearm with sudden, surprising strength.