“Yes.” The admission seemed to embarrass him.

“Considering you had a troubled youth and likely didn’t spend much time on schoolwork in high school, your PhD is pretty impressive,” Stella said. “Is your real name really McClellan?”

He crossed the room. “It is. My father was a Civil War buff.”

“Hence your brothers, Grant and Lee.” Stella sipped her coffee. The caffeine was working its magic on her brain.

“Exactly.” He reached for a sandwich and ate it in three bites. “Where does Stella come from? That’s not a name you hear very often.”

“I was named after my grandmother.” She handed him another without a word. When he’d finished it, he went to work on three glazed donuts and downed half a cup of coffee. Once she was satisfied he wasn’t dying of hunger, Stella got down to business. “Now tell me about the woman you saw tonight.”

Mac wiped his mouth with a napkin, balled it up, and tossed it into a trash can in the corner. “I only saw her for a couple of seconds as my headlights hit her. The road was wet, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t have any option but to swerve into the trees.”

“Anything you can remember will help.”

Mac rested his forearms on the table and closed his eyes. “She was naked and sprawled on her back.” He opened his eyes. “I wasn’t close enough to see her face, but her body was thin. Her hair was short. Don’t know what color since it was wet. She wasn’t moving. At the time, I thought she was dead. But I suppose she wasn’t.” Confusion lowered his brow. “Unconscious maybe?”

A thin woman with short hair . . .

Dena Miller?

It couldn’t be.

“If she was dead or unconscious, how did she disappear?” Stella asked.

“That’s the important question, isn’t it?”

Dena Miller went missing after a violent altercation. Why would she be lying across a rural road, miles from her house? And if she was, how did she get there? Mac’s story was plain crazy, but what were the chances a thin woman with short hair disappeared and he saw another thin woman with short hair under equally strange circumstances the same night?

Stella shifted gears. “How did you get shot?”

He closed the donut box and sat back in his chair. “I spent the last few weeks in the Amazon on assignment. My partner took some photos of coca dealers. They didn’t appreciate it.”

“But you study river otters.”

He studied her face for a few seconds. “Not exactly.” He set his coffee down, and his eyes turned serious. “Do you trust me, Stella?”

“In what way?” A vague sense of discomfort tossed the sandwich in Stella’s belly. What had Mac gotten himself into?

“You’re going to find my story a little hard to believe, but I need your assistance.”