“You’re describing a good percentage of the American population, Bridges,” she pointed out, “not a serial killer.” That warm connection she’d felt with him swiftly faded. “You know, people can be odd or ‘off,’ as you put it. They can even hate their siblings or other family members. That doesn’t make them killers.”

“Donovan Caldwell had assaulted a woman before.”

“A woman who dropped the charges. A domestic abuse case that was never proven, never went to court.” Her back was up now. “I don’t condone any kind of conduct where one party hits another, man or woman, but in this country, it’s still ‘innocent until proven guilty.’ At least it’s supposed to be.”

“Right. Okay. Got it.” His hands lifted in a gesture of surrender, and he quickly changed his tack. “You’re a psychologist.”

“Right.”

“That’s what this support group is about. The one you were at tonight.”

“It’s part of my work, yes. But it’s a nonprofit group, and I volunteer my time. Members come and spend time together, hang out, talk.” She was still a little agitated but tried to let her anger go. He now knew where she stood. “I organized the group, and I facilitate the meetings. All participants are twinless twins, people who have lost a twin sibling.”

“Like you.” Something skittered through his eyes, an emotion that she couldn’t name. The expression unsettled her, but it vanished a moment later.

“Yeah, like me.” She rarely discussed Arianna’s death with anyone outside the group. Even though she’d known Jase for much of her life, she wasn’t comfortable talking about the loss that still haunted her.

He began to say something else, but at that moment the waitress returned, placed their drinks on the table, and asked if they’d like to look at a menu. “The manager’s extending happy hour, and we’ve got incredible shrimp poppers and sliders that are to die for! No kidding!” She held up both hands in a motion of trust-me-I-know-of-what-I-speak. When they declined, she shrugged with body language meant to convey “your loss” before she was off again, making her way to a booth where two women were trying to get her attention.

“We were talking about your sister,” he said, getting right back to the subject.

Pinching the stem of her wineglass, she wondered why she’d ever agreed to this meeting. What good could come of it?