More slowly this time, she lifted her head and closed one eye as she suffered through the throbbing beneath her skull. Trying to ignore the worst headache of her life, she surveyed this bend in the river. Surely there would be fishing boats or pleasure craft passing? Even one of those jet boats that roared up and down the slow-moving river, bayou, and inlets.

She squinted, searching through the brush and trying to determine where she was and how she could get out of these swampy woods and back to civilization. She must’ve passed the spot where she’d seen lights in the night. Now there was no sign of civilization. She had to get moving, couldn’t hang around with the vague hope that someone other than the freak would find her. No, she had to find a road, steal a boat, locate someone in a farmhouse or a cabin, or flag someone fishing from a dock. Anyone who could help her.

As she attempted to move, pain splintered up her ankle. She lifted her head to survey the damage. Sure enough a baseball-sized knot, blue-green and bulging, appeared above her foot. Broken or sprained, it didn’t matter. She had to leave this spot. But as the sun lowered even farther to the west, she eased her throbbing head back down and closed her eyes.

Just for a second.

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 9

Brianna figured she’d blown it.

Big-time.

Lost her cool as well as her perspective. And now, probably any chance for help.

The police department was teeming with people. Uniformed officers, plainclothes detectives, clerical workers, suspects, or people like herself needing assistance jammed the place, inside and out. Conversation buzzed and echoed off the tall ceilings. Cell phones rang and the slightly musty smell of the old building couldn’t be hidden by the acrid odors of floor cleansers, perfume, and human sweat.

“Crap!” she whispered as she left Bentz’s office and squeezed past a hefty man who was heading in the opposite direction.

Angry with herself, Brianna still held on to the hope that the Denning twins were alive as she made her way through the homicide department. She’d come on too strong, had gotten Bentz’s back up, just as she’d warned herself she might. The trouble was, she thought as she hurried down the stairs, the heels of her boots ringing, she was too passionate about this case, too personally involved despite what she’d told Bentz.

Scared to death for Chloe and Zoe, she was heartsick and frustrated and wanted to scream and rail at the heavens. Instead, she’d taken out her anxiety on a detective who hadn’t investigated the 21 Killer for years. Still, she was certain 21 was here because of Bentz. Call it a hunch. Or an educated guess. It didn’t matter; Brianna was certain she was right. Hence her overreaction.