“When was this?” Molina asked.

“About three months ago. I mostly did stupid little stories, like parades or New Year’s resolutions of sorority girls, that kind of thing. But then that serial killer was caught back in February, you know?”

“Yes,” Molina said mildly. “I know.”

Jeff knew that she did. She’d been on the scene the night it all went down. “I read about the three women who escaped and I figured that was the story no one was really telling. Well, until CNN told it last week. But at first, nobody was really talking about the women who lived, just the killer himself and the women who died. And I wanted to know more, especially about Mercy Callahan.”

Molina tilted her head to one side. “Why Miss Callahan?”

“Because she intrigued me. I saw the footage taken at the hospital when she was abducted. It was like she’d gone catatonic and I wanted to know why.” He’d seen that same look when she’d nearly been abducted the night before and for some reason, it made his chest hurt. Now, he knew why. Now he knew that she was a victim of sexual assault. And I’m the scum of the earth.

Because of him, Mercy was having to relive her assault again. I am the worst.

But he was trying to make it better. That counts, right?

“So what did you do?” Hunter asked, even though the man had to have known the answer.

“I started researching her. I found out where she lived, where she went to school, and that she’d grown up in the foster system here in California, but moved when she aged out.”

Agent Hunter narrowed his eyes. “How did you know that she was in the foster system?”

Because it hadn’t been in any of the newspapers or online rags. “I, um, talked to her next-door neighbor. In New Orleans.”

Molina’s expression never changed. “You followed Miss Callahan all the way to New Orleans.”

“Um, yes, ma’am. Gabber said they’d reimburse me for my travel, so I took a few days and went out east. My mother didn’t know. She’s not involved in any of this. I told her I was with my study group on campus.”

Molina was scarily silent, not even an encouraging nod. So he focused on Agent Hunter, bothered by the knowledge that he’d seen this man before, but couldn’t remember where or when. “I started out at the university in New Orleans, asking people in her department if they remembered her. I thought it was worth a try because it had only been four years since she graduated. Most of the staff did, but nobody would talk about her. They all scowled at me and told me to leave, that they didn’t talk to gossip magazines. I was about to leave when this woman called me over. She said that she’d taken classes with Mercy and that she was a ‘stuck-up bitch.’” His glance flitted to Molina. “Sorry, ma’am. That’s a quote.”