A little odd, she thought, trying not to press the panic button. No one had told her why she was being escorted by an officer rather than renting a car or taking a taxi herself. Or, since Bentz knew her flight number and arrival time, why wasn’t he picking her up himself? Why meet at the police station?

Because there’s trouble. Serious trouble.

She tried Bentz’s cell and wanted to scream in frustration when he didn’t pick up. Then she dialed Hayes’s phone and again was sent directly to voice mail.

So much for the convenience of cell phones, of always being in touch. She slammed hers back into her purse and pulled her roller bag behind her as she followed the signs to baggage claim. Something felt off about this and if she hadn’t heard her husband’s request herself, she would have rented a car.

And gone where? He already checked out of the So-Cal Inn, right? You probably would have met him at the station anyway. Just be thankful that he’s still in L.A. You’ll see him soon. Less than an hour, probably.

Good!

Her cell phone rang and she saw it was Bentz’s number. Thank God! “Hi.”

“God, it’s good to hear your voice. I was worried.”

Her heart squeezed. “Yeah, I know.” She felt tears against the back of her eyes and ridiculously her throat thickened. “The, uh, the flight was delayed, a mechanical problem that took a couple of hours to fix. But I finally made it.”

“Good.”

She could barely hear him with the sounds of the airport filling her ears, announcements for flights over the loudspeakers, the squeak of wheels on roller bags, and the excited hum of conversation as throngs of people moved through the wide concourse.

“Why are we meeting at the station house? I thought you would pick me up.”

“Yeah, I wish, but I’ve got to make a statement. Some loose ends to tie up.”

“Oh, God, someone else died,” she said, knowing it was true. She stopped dead in her tracks and a woman pushing a stroller nearly ran into her.

“Sorry,” the woman said, diverting around Olivia, who moved to the side of the wide hallway to stop by a T-shirt shop. “Am I right?” she asked, her heart drumming with dread. “Was someone else killed?”

“I think so. It’s the person who impersonated Jennifer.” He sounded weary and distracted. “It’s a long story, but I saw her jump from an observation platform into the ocean, a good thirty or forty feet below.”

“She jumped?”

“She was running away from me.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, the cacophony of the airport turning into the rush of the sea, the people fading as, in her mind’s eye, she witnessed a woman leaping to her death in the water below.

“A few hours later, the Coast Guard found a body.”