But that didn’t explain catching sight of her in the woods the other day. Nor running into an alley or strolling through a park, but here, alone with him in his own backyard. The times he’d caught glimpses of her in public places might have been brushes with someone who looked similar, but the two times he’d seen her alone at the hospital and in the yard had been different—not a play of sunlight and shadow, not easily dismissed.

Was the woman who had been standing in his backyard a figment of his imagination? A product of wishful thinking? Misfiring synapses from an injured brain?

Who knew?

“Get over it.”

Whistling to the dog, he walked inside, showered, shaved, and, spying the exercise equipment in the den, promised himself he’d work out in the afternoon. Today he intended to drive into the city, to plead his case with Jaskiel again, get out of the ever-shrinking rooms of this cozy little cottage.

He brought his cane.

Melinda Jaskiel had asked for six more weeks and half that time had slowly passed. He didn’t think he could wait any longer. He was on his way to try to convince his boss that he was ready to work, at least part-time, but just as he was climbing into his Jeep, ignoring the pain in his leg, his cell phone beeped.

Caller ID said it was Montoya’s personal cell.

“Hey,” he said into the phone.

“Back atcha. You got a minute?”

Bentz waited a beat. No doubt his once-upon-a-time partner was being a wiseass. “Just one,” he said dryly.

“Can you meet me in…say…an hour?” No joking now. Montoya was dead serious.

“At the station.”

“No. How about the Cat’s Meow?”

“I can be there in half an hour.”

“Good.” Montoya clicked off and Bentz was left with a gnawing in his gut. Something was up. Was there a rumor circulating that Bentz was going to be forced into retirement? “Shit,” he said and switched on the ignition.

The thought of turning in his badge soured his stomach. He wasn’t ready for retirement, damn it, and he didn’t see himself as a P.I. He threw his SUV into reverse, did a quick turn, and drove down the lane to the county road, where he stepped on it and headed to New Orleans and whatever bad news Montoya had to offer.