As if he’d been chasing Jennifer along these very streets.

He stared after the bus as it disappeared from view, considered chasing it down, trying to outrun it and board at the next stop.

Get a grip, he silently told himself. It wasn’t her. It’s just the power of suggestion, all because of Shana, the bitch. Jennifer, living or dead, is not on that bus. Come on, man, get real! When in known history did Jennifer ever take public transportation?

“I just don’t like it, that’s all,” Kristi admitted. She was driving with one hand, her cell phone in the other as she talked with Reuben Montoya, her father’s partner.

“He needed to get away.”

“Why?” she demanded, working her way through the narrow streets of Baton Rouge as she drove toward All Saints College.

“He just said he needed some time away. He was going stir crazy not being able to work.”

“Why go back to L.A.?”

“Ask him.”

“I did and he stonewalled me.” Kristi was beginning to panic. Something was wrong, really wrong. Ever since the accident her dad hadn’t been himself. She’d thought—no, hoped—that after he worked through physical therapy he would return to normal, but that wasn’t the case.

“Your father can handle himself,” Montoya said. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to.” She hung up and drove into the parking lot of her apartment building, which faced the campus. A once-grand old house, the building had been cut into single units, each one becoming a basic collegiate apartment. She lived here alone with her cat, punctuated by the occasions when Jay taught forensic science at the college. Those nights he stayed with her. The rest of the time he lived in New Orleans and worked for the crime lab.

Once they were married this December and she was finished with school, they would live in New Orleans. Fingers crossed that the first draft of her true-crime book would be finished by then.

But first, her father. God, what was Bentz doing? She mulled it over as she pulled out a sack of groceries from the back of her Honda hatchback and hiked up to her third-floor studio. She toyed with the idea of calling Olivia, her stepmother, but their relationship hadn’t always been smooth. It would be better to talk with her in person, but who could find the time?

As she was placing the last of her cheapo low-cal meals-for-one in the freezer, she saw Houdini outside the window. The black cat slunk inside and she picked him up, stroking his head as her phone chirped. “Hello?” she said as her quirky feline hopped down to the floor.

“Hey, Kristi, it’s Olivia.”

Perfect.

“Hi.”

“How’re things at school?”

What was this? Olivia never called. “All good,” Kristi said tentatively.

“And the wedding?”