David might have been from California, but he’d gone to college less than an hour’s drive from Richmond, and this alleged time in town had been over the fall and winter breaks. It was all doable. I had no idea who he’d stayed with, but the answer was there.

I dialed my phone. Jo-Jo picked up on the third ring. “M. What’s up?”

“I’m standing across from David’s house.”

“David. As in Brit’s David?”

“Yes. Do me a favor and call me in fifteen minutes.”

“Why?”

“Just in case.”

“Case of what? Should I call Jack and have him come over there?”

“No, no. It’s fine. Just call me in fifteen.”

“Not a second longer.”

“Thanks.” I looked down at the image Clare had taken of David. Richards had as much as told me, without saying it, he needed a DNA sample from David, and to have it tested before he could move forward. If it was a match to Clare’s baby, then Richards had reason to talk to David. Too many ifs . . .

I crossed the street to David’s townhome. As I climbed the steps, I ran my hand up the painted wooden railing. My fingertips brushed a section where the paint had chipped and someone had painted over it. I paused and looked at the railing. Carefully, I ran my hand back and forth over uneven wood, again trying to conjure any memory. Had I been here before?

I closed my eyes, coaxing any image or momentary flash from the shadows. But nothing presented itself to me. No memory whispered a lost truth.

Irritated by the nothingness, I climbed the remaining stairs to the front door. I rang the bell, adjusted my stance as I willed my shoulders to relax.

When the door opened to David, panic surged. It ran bone deep and went far beyond collecting a discarded cup or strand of hair. Suddenly, I was spooked and couldn’t give a logical reason why.

“Marisa?” Annoyance morphed into curiosity and then what felt like pleasure. “What’re you doing here?”

“I just had an early dinner with Brit. We were talking about the wedding.”

His head tipped a fraction, and his grin was pleasingly warm. “Girl talk.”

“Don’t let Brit hear you say ‘girl talk.’ She’d correct you and say ‘woman’s discussion.’”

He laughed. “Right. My very independent Brit.”

Hackles rose, but I smoothed them down. “I was hoping we could talk about the engagement pictures. I thought if we could put our minds together, we could brainstorm ideas. To surprise Brit, which is no easy feat. Is this a good time?”

“Right. That’s a great idea.” He nodded to the foyer behind him. “Come on in.”

“Great.”

Stepping inside, I gripped my purse strap. Tension rippled over my muscles and breath tightened in my throat. As I moved down the hallway, no sense of déjà vu set off any alarm bells.