Deven knew they both were thinking the same things, though neither actually voiced their perplexity. How—better yet why—did Kennedy have a picture of Paul? It was too much of a coincidence to ignore; like a clue hidden in plain sight. To what, Deven had no idea. She sure as hell knew Paul had nothing to do with the situation surrounding her sister.

Benji must have read her mind. “I’ll look into him.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Look, Deven. Even if you think you know this guy—”

“I do know him.” Didn’t she? Deven stood up and folding the picture in quarters, she shoved it in her back pocket. Since Benji was still watching her with that skeptic arch of his brow, she sighed. “Okay, I know this looks weird,” she added. “It looks weird to me, too. As far as I know, Kennedy has never even heard of Paul. So . . . let me just talk to him.”

“People lie.”

She didn’t like how his tone was infused with enough pessimism to have her nearly doubting her own notions. “I’ll talk to him first,” she reiterated. “And I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll talk about it and see what we need to do.”

It was clear Benji wasn’t satisfied, but instead of another rebuttal, he just shrugged. “I think we’re done in here.” He didn’t wait for a response and Deven didn’t offer one. She was consumed with enough uncertainty, and it was making her head hurt. So much so, that it wasn’t until she and Benji parted ways, that she realized she hadn’t asked him whether he found anything in Kennedy’s apartment. Nor had he willingly divulged that information either.

Deven didn’t even realize she was headed to Paul’s office until she saw his building come into view. Interesting that she hadn’t been to his office in years, but her muscle memory steered her down the proper streets like it was second nature. Sure, the route was familiar, but everything else was different. Yet, all the torment she had experienced before came barreling back with enough intensity to leave her blinking back tears.