Her jangled nerves finally calmed and she convinced herself that she had not met the gaze of some pervert in her open bathroom window.

Logging into her e-mail, Brianna found that Selma had sent her the information she’d requested. There was a list of people Selma had called or contacted, along with their responses. There were profiles of the girls that included cell phone and credit card numbers, previous addresses, places of employment, volunteer history, and social media accounts. She’d included some contacts she hadn’t reached, as well as past boyfriends and a handful of people either girl hadn’t gotten along with. Extended family members were included. The information was much more complete than the sketchy data she’d left with the police departments earlier.

It was a start.

And, from the looks of it, Selma had e-mailed the police departments directly, which was good. She was starting to be more proactive.

Brianna thought about sending the info to Jase, but stopped herself. She’d have to weed through it first, and she still wasn’t sure about Jase. But with time running out, she knew she had to do something, and soon. She caught sight of the most recent photo of Zoe and Chloe, both girls all dressed up, their smiles huge, each with an arm around the other, the lights of Bourbon Street visible behind them. Their last picture. So far, she corrected herself. There would be future photo ops. There had to be.

But her mind wandered to morbid images of those who had died at the hands of the 21 Killer.

Her throat grew thick. “Where are you?” she wondered aloud and bit her lip. Two beautiful girls out on the town, feeling safe with each other, their lives stretching out in front of them.

Were they alive? Just unable to communicate for some reason?

Or had they come to some horrid fate, possibly at the hands of the 21 Killer?

She glanced at the clock and felt a chill run through her.

With each passing hour, she knew the chances of finding them alive slowly dwindled.

Chloe could barely breathe.

Wincing against the smell of dirt and foul water, she watched as he went through the musty basement, straightening, sweeping, and then neatly refolding their clothes, as if he were in the military and getting ready for an inspection. Dresses were first, then underpants, her red thong and Zoe’s black one, which he held up to the light, then actually brought to his nose and sniffed.

Ick! She shivered, watching him.

He wasn’t as calm as he had been before Zoe attacked him. No, he was more agitated and antsy; whatever was left of his serenity was forced. A tic had developed under his eye, and a muscle clenched and relaxed in his jaw. She hoped his agitation meant that he hadn’t found Zoe.