Seven years on her own in San Francisco, and she still felt like a visitor here. The city overwhelmed her. There was too much of everything, and she found herself carried along, not choosing where to go. She wasn’t like Frost. Or Brynn.

Growing up in Modesto, she couldn’t wait to get out to the big world. Her parents lived in a boring suburb where girls became teachers and married guys who worked in banks or insurance companies. She’d wanted to escape all of that, but now it didn’t sound so bad.

There was a lot of sunshine in Modesto. There were no bridges.

She sipped her tea and thought again, I have something to do.

What?

Lucy peered down at the street below her window. The police car was still there, hammered by the rain. She’d met the officer inside, a woman about her own age named Violet Harris. Two hours earlier, Officer Harris had walked with her to the corner to get take-out coffee, and Lucy had bought her an almond–white chocolate scone. They talked about Macy’s and makeup, which was a strange conversation to have with a cop. When Lucy went back upstairs, Officer Harris told her to stop by the car if she needed anything. She’d be on duty until midnight, and then someone else would take over.

“I’ll have to use the back door to the alley,” Lucy murmured to herself.

She sat up sharply, almost spilling her tea. She had no idea why she’d said that or where the thought had come from. It just popped into her head.

Lucy got up and paced, unable to shake her restless, anxious feeling. Nothing felt right. Time barely moved. She didn’t want to put on music. She didn’t want to eat, because she wasn’t hungry. She turned on the television, despite Frost’s warning, but five minutes later, she turned it off. She wished he would come back, but she knew it might be hours before she saw him again. And even if he did come back, it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be what she wanted.

“This is stupid,” she told herself.

She reheated her tea and took it to the window to watch the black clouds slouch across the sky. The downpour sounded like fingernails tapping on the glass.

Luuuucy.

She spun around, stifling a scream. The mug slipped from her fingers and spilled. She’d heard a voice, but no one was there. The apartment was empty. She was alone in the silence. And yet the voice was in her head, as crystal clear as if someone were standing next to her.

Lucy grabbed her phone and dialed. She wanted to talk to Frost, and she was disappointed when the call went to his voice mail.