Frustrated, stretched thin, and running on only a few hours of sleep each night, Kristi barely had time to breathe. She’d taken on a few hours working at the registrar’s office to gain access to files regarding the missing girls’ addresses and families, and insight into the inner workings of their jobs and backgrounds. She was still working at the diner, taking a full load of classes, and struggling to keep up with the mounds of homework assigned.

And the missing girls were forever with her.

On her mind during class, or walking across campus, or while she was working. She’d started making a few social inroads, meeting friends of the girls, but they were few, far-between, and extremely closemouthed. Of the girls she’d tried to interview, no one had any idea about a special group to which any of the coeds had belonged, but she sensed they had been hiding something.

Something she damned well was going to uncover.

Even if she had to enlist help from someone on staff. She’d been fighting the idea, but was tired of hitting her head against a brick wall.

Today, in the sunlight, she felt uplifted. For over a week the overcast days had seeped into her bones, the thickness of the night had made her want to curl up by the fire and double- and triple-check the locks on her doors.

She’d never had serious issues with fear, not after her mother died, not even after the attempts upon her life. It was odd, she thought, that she wasn’t one to experience panic attacks considering all she’d been through. But lately, in the dead of winter, in this apartment from which a woman had vanished, on the campus where she had few friends, things had changed. At times she felt as paranoid as her cop father, who, even though he hadn’t left New Orleans, seemed to be breathing down her neck.

But not today. Not with the January sun chasing away the clouds.

Grabbing her backpack with her laptop computer, she headed out of her apartment.

It was Thursday of the second week and already she was caught on the horns of several dilemmas. First, there was the matter of Jay and her conflicted feelings for him. During the second class he’d been all business, his gaze never touching on hers for more than an instant, no more than anyone else’s as he’d reconstructed the evidence of a crime scene involving the serial killer Father John. Jay had been coldly clinical in his analysis of the differing pieces of evidence that the police had found. During the break, he’d been besieged by interested students as he had been after class. He hadn’t seemed to notice when she’d left.

So what? Big deal. All for the better, she’d tried to convince herself. He’s your professor. End of story.