Where the hell did she go? He stared past the smokers, the weary travelers sitting on benches, the people talking on cell phones and waiting for their rides. Airport security attendants waved cars on, trying to keep the traffic moving.

Then he spotted her, crossing to the short-term parking lot. She moved out of the shade and into the bright sunlight. Bentz hurried after her, nearly tripping as his bag caught on the edge of the curb.

“Hey!” he shouted. But she strode on, cutting through the parked cars baking in the sun, not once looking over her shoulder. “Hey! Jennifer!”

She sped up, digging inside her purse. A moment later keys flashed in her hand.

Bentz scanned the parking lot ahead and spotted the car—the silver Chevy Impala with a faded parking permit.

Ignoring the pain in his leg, he sprinted now, his luggage jerking along beside him. “Stop!”

Frantically, she was unlocking the door.

Dropping his luggage beside the Impala’s bumper, Bentz lunged and stripped the keys from her hand. “Not a chance.” Breathing hard, he stared at her through sweat beading between his brows.

Who was this woman, this younger version of his ex-wife? Flesh and blood; no unearthly wraith.

She tried to get by him, but he blocked her exit by filling the space between her car and the minivan parked next to it. “Who the hell are you?” The smell of her perfume, gardenias, permeated the air and messed with his mind, but he refused to be seduced by the past. He was putting an end to this game, here and now.

She turned her beautiful face toward him and his insides turned to jelly. She looked so much like his ex-wife, she could have been Jennifer’s identical twin. Except that she was too young.

“I need my keys back,” she said firmly, without fear.

“Not yet, lady.” He grabbed her arm and held on tight, wanting to shake the truth from her.

“What’s your problem?” she asked.

“You are.”

“Me?” Her eyes narrowed in a scowl as she deliberately pulled her arm from his grasp.

For a millisecond he wondered if he’d made a mistake, if she really had no idea that she resembled Jennifer so closely. Except that she was in the same damned car he’d spotted in San Juan Capistrano and on the freeway. This woman had been dogging him.

“Give me back my keys,” she demanded as a man walking toward his car, jacket tossed over one shoulder, eyed them suspiciously.

Realizing that he might appear to be assaulting her, Bentz released her arm but stood his ground. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pushed her keys into his pants pocket.

“Do I have to call the police?” she said, and the man in the distance slowed down to watch.

“Great idea.” He pulled out his badge, flipped it open. “I am the police.”