She stopped in front of the apartment door and put her ear up against it, trying to hear if there was any sound of movement inside. A television blared a Law & Order rerun, but she couldn’t hear anything else. Still, the television indicated someone was probably present.

She rapped on the door and waited, her hands hovering near her waistband. Several seconds later, the door swung open and a young, petite woman with long brown hair and a fading shiner on her right eye looked out at her.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“I’m looking for Ron Duhon. Are you his girlfriend?”

The girl shot her a derisive look. “Hell, no, I’m not his girlfriend. You think I stick with guys that punch me in the face? I kicked his ass to the curb a week ago.”

“Did Ron do that?” Shaye pointed to her eye.

“Yep. I told him to consider it his eviction notice. He was never on the lease anyway.”

“But he used to live here?”

“If you want to call it that. He worked offshore most of the time. When he was in town, he showered here. Slept here sometimes, but spent most of his time in French Quarter dives waving dollars at cheap whores. I shoulda kicked him out before he hit me.”

“Do you have any idea where he’s staying now?”

“Nowhere that I know of. He came by here yesterday to get the last of his things. Said he had a job with a pipeline in Alaska and was leaving tomorrow. Good riddance, I say.”

Shaye’s mind raced. The new job matched what Ron said when he gave notice at the oil company, but she couldn’t work up the same “good riddance” sentiment as Ron’s ex. No way would he leave town without finishing the job. And for all Shaye knew, that might mean cleaning house—Emma, Shaye, Corrine, and the girl standing in front of her.

Indecision coursed through her as her mind weighed the pros and cons of giving the girl information. What if she was lying and in on it with Ron? The black eye was real, but she could have gotten it from someone else. What if the girlfriend changed her mind and took him back? She’d probably tell him everything Shaye told her.

What if he kills her?

That one question outweighed all the risks. No way was Shaye living with this woman’s death on her conscience. She pulled out her identification and showed it to the girl. “You might be in danger. Can I please come in and talk to you?”

The girl’s eyes widened and she stared at Shaye as if waiting for the punch line. When none was forthcoming, she stepped back and nodded. Shaye walked into the apartment, praying she was doing the right thing.

Chapter Eighteen

Emma poured herself another cup of coffee and checked her cell phone for the hundredth time. She was breaking the rules by having it on her during her shift, but she was beyond caring. As soon as her boss arrived in the morning, she was resigning anyway, and with no notice. If anyone wanted to put remarks in her permanent file for that decision, then so be it. Better a mark on her employment record than an obituary in the local paper.

It had seemed impossible, but after Shaye’s phone call on her way back from Fort Polk, Emma had been more nervous than ever. The story the soldier had told Shaye horrified her, but at the same time explained so much. Maybe David had suffered some sort of mental break. Maybe this Ron was the source.

Maybe Ron was her stalker, getting revenge on Emma for killing his ally.

Ron made as much sense as anyone else, and Shaye seemed to think he was capable. She’d told Emma her plan to contact Ron again with the hope of getting a photo that the skater kid could identify. It sounded like a good idea, except for the part where Shaye was essentially going to willingly put herself in front of a crazy man. Emma had tried to talk her out of it, but Shaye had insisted that they needed something to give the police so they’d pick Ron up. Even if they couldn’t hold him for long, it would buy Emma time to get out of town without being observed.

Emma couldn’t argue with Shaye’s reasoning, but didn’t like the young woman taking such risks. Shaye had promised to meet Ron in a public place and call Emma the moment she had the photo. Emma had been obsessing over her silent phone ever since. Shaye should have made it back to New Orleans over an hour ago. Where was she? Why hadn’t she called?

Every time Emma started to dial Shaye’s number, a range of thoughts went through her mind from “she’s checking on her mother” to “what if Shaye’s phone rings while she’s sneaking up on Ron for a picture and he catches her?” So far, she’d ended up sliding the phone back into her pocket, deciding the risk to Shaye was too great.

If she was being honest with herself, Emma also felt guilty. After her conversation with the detective that morning, Shaye had called her, trying to convince her to go to the police with all the evidence they had so far. It wasn’t that Emma had found fault in Shaye’s arguments, but the truth was, after she’d discovered the bracelet, she’d driven straight to the hospital and hidden in the break room until her shift started, too afraid to leave.

She’d tried calling the police, but the person who’d taken her call hadn’t been helpful at all, insisting that she had to come to the police station to file a report. Emma supposed she could have tried harder to get an officer dispatched to the hospital to take a statement, but given the prejudice the police already seemed to have against her, she simply didn’t want the hassle. She promised herself she’d go in tomorrow, right after she gave her notice.

Her phone vibrated in her hand and she jerked, spilling coffee onto her hand. She gasped as the hot liquid scorched her skin and immediately tossed the Styrofoam cup into the garbage. As she turned on the cold water in the sink, she checked the display and saw it was Shaye. She shoved her burned hand under the cool stream and answered the call.

“Are you all right?” Emma asked.

“Yes,” Shaye said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner.”

“Did you get the picture?”

“No. Ron’s disappeared.”

Emma stiffened. “What?”

“He quit his job with no notice and his girlfriend kicked him out a week ago for slapping her around. He picked up his clothes yesterday and told her he had a new job in Alaska.”

“What do you think that means?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I’m worried it means he’s about to flee New Orleans.”

Emma clutched the phone, her voice catching. “He…he won’t leave as long as I’m alive.”

“That’s the part that worries me. Are you staying at the hospital tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m going to contact the cop I talked to earlier and see what he can do about Ron. I filled the girlfriend in on everything, and she’s going to file charges tomorrow. At least the cops will go looking for him then. Maybe by the time they find him, I’ll have something for them to use to hold him.”

“If they pick him up, how long can they hold him?”

“Forty-eight hours. Then they have to charge him or let him walk.”

Emma blew out a breath. Forty-eight hours wasn’t a lot of time, but it might be enough to hand over her house to Patty, do something about her car situation, and get the hell out of New Orleans.

“I’m quitting my job tomorrow morning,” Emma said. “I need to meet Patty sometime tomorrow to give her a house key and pack up some of my stuff, but I’m leaving.”

“I don’t blame you. I’ll collect your stuff at the hotel tomorrow morning and take you to your house to meet Patty. Then we’ll deal with your car situation.”

“None of that falls in your job description.”

“I work for you. Keeping you safe seems like a good way to spend my time and your money.”