Jerking his head to the door, he walked out with Glen following. “What did you find in her system?”

“That’s the funny thing.” Glen tapped the electronic chart in his hand. “The chemicals all add up to plain old sleeping pills.”

“That’s not what it looks like.” She was too disoriented, her pupils hugely dilated.

“Unless . . .” Glen raised an eyebrow.

Dev’s mouth tightened. “Chance she did it to herself?”

“There’s always a chance—but someone dumped her in front of your apartment.”

“I went inside at ten p.m., came back out at ten fifteen.” He’d left his phone in the car, had been irritated at having to stop work to return to the garage. “She was unconscious when I found her.”

Glen shook his head. “No way she had the coordination to get through security then—she’d have lost her fine motor skills well beforehand.”

Fighting the rush of anger provoked by the thought of how helpless she must’ve felt, what might’ve been done to her in that time, Dev glanced back into the room. The bright white overhead light glinted off her matted blonde hair, highlighting the scratches on the face, the sharp bones slicing her skin. “She looks half-starved.”

Glen’s usually smiling face was a grim mask. “We haven’t had the opportunity to do a full checkup but there are bruises on her arms, her legs.”

“You telling me she was beaten?” Raw fury pulsed through Dev’s body, hot and violent.

“Tortured would be the word I’d use. There are old bruises beneath the new ones.”

Dev swore under his breath. “How long before she’s functional?”

“It’ll probably take forty-eight hours to flush the drugs out completely. I think it was a one-time hit. If she’d been on them longer, she’d have been even more messed up.”

“Keep me updated.”

“Are you going to call Enforcement?”

“No.” Dev had no intention of letting her out of his sight. “She was dumped in front of my door for a reason. She stays with us until we figure out what the hell is going on.”