“I believe so. The word is habitué. It means one who may be regularly found in or at a particular place or kind of place. His friends told police that he’d been living at the casino lately. He’d lost his job at the bike shop a few weeks ago.”

“Killed with a hacksaw. All right.” Gabriel reached for his pad. “How was he connected to you?”

Erin glanced up at him, surprised by the clinical questions. In stark contrast to his friendliness with the staff, with her he was all business. Her throat tightened, but she responded calmly, “My bicycle. He did regular maintenance for me every few weeks.”

“You saw him recently?”

“No,” she answered. “I haven’t been riding as much. I’ve spent most of the time with you. But we attended the same church. I saw him yesterday.”

“Oh.” The scratching of his pen was the only sound. Finished, he said, “I think we should turn this over to the police today.”

“Agreed.”

Gabriel rose and crossed to his desk. The tourmaline rock from his father felt smooth against his palm. He could remember his dad fiddling with it when he faced a tough decision.

His decision had been made when he’d heard about Tom Farnen dying in an alleyway. When he realized he wasn’t falling in love with Erin, because he’d already gone under. There was no way he’d risk her life again.

The safest course of action was for her to get out of town, a decision she wouldn’t like. He sat on the edge of his desk, his legs stretched out before him. “Gen tells me classes are over.”

“I turned the rest of my grades in today.” The shadows that she saw deepened. “Gabriel, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Well, for starters, there’s a psychopath who wants you dead. He knows where you live, where you work, where you wait for the bus.” He dropped the rock, and it clunked onto the desk. “He’s been to your church. He’s been to your bank. Hell, he’s watched you ride horses.”

Erin could hear the frustration. “We’ve been over this already. He’s watching me. And I think—”

Gabriel cut her off, jumping down from the desk. Fear for her twisted inside him, rose like bile in his throat. He’d read about Farnen’s death a thousand times that day, imagining what worse lay in store for Erin. Unable to hold it in, he raged, “What if he gets you?” He could see the terror, no matter how she tried to conceal it, because it mirrored his own. Yet, it was the bravery that terrified him. “You need to leave New Orleans, Erin. Tonight.”

“No.” Erin laid a hand on his cheek to calm him. “I don’t run anymore. I don’t think I’ll have to. I have a theory—”