Eventually after the wheels in her head stop turning, she falls asleep. Hours later she feels herself being nudged awake. She feels an elbow trying to bring her back to consciousness.
"Wake up!"
"What?"
"There was someone looking in the window."
"Owen go back to sleep, it was just a bad dream."
"It wasn't a dream. I was asleep, and then I heard a noise. I woke up, and someone was looking in the window."
Jane rolls over, and looks out the window. It's illuminated by the moonlight. She sees nothing, but end the conversation she throws back the covers, and gets out of bed. She walks around the bed, to the window. She looks out the window. She sees nothing. She looks down, on the street, and sees no one. She double checks the lock, and shuffles back to bed. She climbs back into bed, and pulls the covers over her.
"Owen there is no one looking in the window."
"Not now."
"Owen."
"You don't believe me?"
"I believe that you think you saw someone looking in the window."
"Then you won't believe me, when I tell you who it looked like."
"Who did it look like?"
"Nick. It looked like Nick."
"Owen, that isn't possible. He's dead."
"Are you sure?"
"I saw his body."
"Did you..."
"Would you like me to call my friend Maura? She did the autopsy."
"That's where you cut someone open, after they're dead, right?"
"Yes."
"Call her."
"Owen, it's three o'clock in the morning. I can't call her, and wake her up."
"I know what I saw."
"Owen, go back to sleep. I know that you've been through a lot the past couple of days, and things are confusing right now. You're safe, here, go to sleep."
"Ok," he nods, closing his eyes.
She's nearly asleep, when she hears a noise. She reaches for the gun, in the drawer of her bedside stand. She listens closely. She pops the magazine into the gun. She looks over, and finds Owen sleeping soundly. She hears a door open. Her door open. She inches herself out of bed. She tiptoes out of the room, down the hall, in the dark. She bumps into Owen's bag, at the edge of the living room.
In the dark she can make out a figure. A male figure, who stands frozen, hoping she won't see him. Or hear him. She hears him breathing. She swallows hard.
"Drop your weapon," she warns.
He doesn't respond. She hears him step closer. She doesn't hesitate, going into protect, and serve mode. She aims, and fires, one shot. She hits the assailant in the leg. She hears him running out of the apartment. She resists the urge to chase after him, knowing not to leave Owen alone. She locks the door, and waits. She hears a car fire up. She looks out her window, and finds a black sedan speeding down the street. She makes some mental notes in her head, about the car, and then heads into the hallway.
She walks into her bedroom, to check on Owen. She stops in the doorway. She tucks her gun into the waistband of her pants.
"Owen, are you ok?"
"What's going on?" he questions.
"Turn on the light," she tells him.
He flips on the lamp. She checks the room, and once she's satisfied that it's clear she places the gun back in her bedside stand. She looks over at Owen. He leans against the headboard. He hugs his knees to his chest. She sees the fear in his eyes.
"What's going on?" he repeats his question.
"What's going on, is I should have listened to you earlier."
"What happened? Did you shoot someone?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Someone was in the apartment?"
"Yes."
"Should we stay here?"
"No, but I have to make a phone call first, ok?"
"You're not going to leave me, are you?"
"No," she shakes her head.
She calls Frost. When she hangs up she heads into her closet, and changes her clothes. She grabs a change of clothes, and throws it into a duffle bag, along with her toothbrush, and deodorant. She finds Owen where she left him.
"Come on."
"I'm scared."
She grabs her weapon, out of the drawer. She slings the bag over her shoulder. She reaches for Owen.
"Come on," she coaxes him.
He slides off the bed, and takes her hand. She flips on the light in the hallway. He sticks close to her side. She turns on the kitchen light. It illuminates the living room. She notes the blood trail, leading out of the apartment. She grabs Owen's bag. She points to the floor.
"Watch the blood."
"Ok," he nods.
When they reach the street, she puts him into the car. She checks the backseat, and the trunk, and then climbs into the car, herself. She locks the door, and dials her phone.
"Where are we going to go?"
"Somewhere safe," she answers.
The party on the other end of the phone finally answers, after four rings.
"Dr. Isles," she answers in a sheepish voice.
"I know that it's late. I know that I woke you up."
"Jane why are you calling me?"
"I need a place to stay."
"What's wrong with your apartment?"
"It's a long story."
"You're always welcome to stay here."
"I'm bringing someone else."
"Who?"
"It's a long story."
"Are you going to explain?"
"His name is Owen."
"And?"
"I'll explain when you meet him."
"I'll leave the door unlocked for you."
"You're not going to wait up?"
"No. I just got in a few hours ago, I'm exhausted."