“I wouldn’t say that about you at all. I think you’re very emotionally giving . . . you’re loyal and loving and incredibly generous. But I think that’s why there are few people you really reach out to—you give so much, all of yourself, to relationships, that you can’t have a crowd of friends and lovers. You’re selective, with meaningful friendships instead of superficial ones, and I appreciate that about you.”

Sara felt so raw, so scraped and banged and smacked that Jocelyn’s words had her sucking in a huge breath to avoid tears, to hold it together. She would keep it together. “Thanks. That means a lot to me. And I do love Gabriel . . . I can’t explain how or why it’s happened so fast, but I met him and it seemed from that very first day, our paths were meant to cross. That we’re connected . . . that we knew each other already because we’re so similar.” She took a sip of her wine. “God, that sounds weird, but it’s true. I just adore him.”

Sappy and pathetic as it was, she did. She had never understood, never realized how uplifting and exciting it would be, to feel the kind of emotion she did for Gabriel. She had thought she’d loved men before, but this was different, deeper, richer, more exciting, more enticing, more all-consuming.

“So what’s going on? What’s with all the DNA, and why are you here in Florida and he’s in New Orleans?”

“I hope you don’t have any plans tonight, because it might take awhile to explain this.”

“I have no plans and I’m all ears.” Jocelyn kicked her shoes off and pulled her legs up onto the sofa. “There is obviously a story here.”

Sara didn’t know where to start, exactly, but she figured the easiest place was to explain why she was really in New Orleans. So she told Jocelyn about Gabriel contacting her, the book concept, meeting and working with him. The strange evidence that seemed to dead-end, the parallels between the cases. Two hours later, she thought she had Jocelyn pretty well updated, leaving out personal details like Gabriel’s unwillingness to have sex with her, and the absinthe encounter.

“So, that name you gave me—Marguerite Charles—was in the court records of the trial of Jonathon Thiroux. And Rafe’s girlfriend is named Marguerite too. So it’s all completely strange and doesn’t make sense. The print matching is just crazy. Obviously it’s not the same person.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong.”

Sara almost dropped her wine when she turned and saw Marguerite standing in the kitchen of Jocelyn’s apartment, leaning against the column dividing the kitchen from the dining area.