Glancing over his shoulder he spied his wife leaning in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb as she cradled a cup of tea in her hands. Though a smile caused her lips to twitch, she assessed him with serious eyes that seemed to see past his facade and into his very soul.

“How do you know what I’m checking into?”

“I’m psychic, remember?”

That he did. When he’d first met her, he’d thought her a bonafide nutcase. She’d shown up at the station, ranting about seeing murders as they’d been committed, and he’d written her off. At first. He hadn’t wanted to believe that this woman with her wild blond hair and gold eyes could read the mind of a cold-blooded killer. But she’d proved him wrong. He still felt sick inside to know what she’d experienced as she’d witnessed the most macabre and brutal of crimes. “You were only a psychic on one case,” he reminded her. “Since that time you’ve proven yourself utterly useless.”

“Oooh, low blow, Bentz,” she said, but chuckled deep in her throat. “So, okay, I’m lying about being able to read your mind, but I know you, Detective, and I do know how you think.” She walked into the room and propped that tight little butt of hers against the arm of an overstuffed chair that was pushed into a corner, opposite a twin bed covered with an aqua-colored spread. “You’re worried about Kristi.”

“You don’t have to have ESP to know that.”

“But it’s because of the missing girls and hence my warning that Baton Rouge is not your jurisdiction.”

“I know. But who cares about lines on a map when girls have gone missing?”

“Oh, yeah, like you would be thrilled if someone from another jurisdiction showed up and started nosing around your cases. Face it, Bentz, you don’t like it when the FBI shows up, and you’re not even crazy about sharing your cases with some of your own men. I don’t know how many times you’ve complained about Brinkman.”

“He’s a pain.”

“Hmm…I won’t argue that one,” she said, dunking her tea bag in the steaming water within her cup. The scent of jasmine wafted over to him as he stared at the images on the screen—pictures of the four missing girls.

“Brinkman might be resigning.”

“Really?” She looked up, letting the tea bag settle.

“Because of the storm.”

“It’s been over two years.”