Never Die Alone

“Detectives,” he said after introductions. Though he gri

“Not yet,” Bentz said, and he saw what little light there was in Carson’s pale eyes fade. “We have a few questions about your daughters.”

“I see. Let’s step outside.” His lips folded in on themselves and he motioned the two detectives to walk out a side door that opened to a veranda where a variety of lush ferns and palms offered shade. Overhead lights had been strung to create ambiance in the evening. Water spilled from a stone waterfall into a basin where goldfish and koi swam slowly, their scales catching the sunlight. Bentz looked up, noticed a screen stretched between the wings of the house so that no bird could fly in and make a meal of the brightly colored fish.

“Look,” Carson said, “whatever it takes, whatever I can do, just say the word. You have to find my daughters. My divorce from their mother was not amicable; it’s hard for us to be civil to each other, but my Zoe and Chloe . . .” He let out a shuddering breath and stared at the fish darting beneath the water’s surface. “They’re special. I’ll do whatever I can to help find them.” He sat on a bench and clasped his hands between his knees. “That being said, the less my wife, Erin, has to do with this, the better.” He looked up quickly, frowning. “I mean, she’s fond of Chloe and Zoe, of course. They’re, well, they’re contemporaries of hers, but because she’s related to Selma, it’s . . . touchy.”

I’ll bet, Bentz thought, though didn’t admit that he, too, had been through a messy divorce where family members were compromising partners. That, however, had been long ago; water under the emotional bridge.

“And really, other than my meeting Erin because of Selma, she had nothing to do with the divorce. Nothing.” He nodded, as if agreeing with himself. “The truth of the matter was that Selma couldn’t get over the loss of her twin, Sandra. That was the nail in the coffin of our marriage, though she wouldn’t believe it. I don’t mean to sound harsh, because it was a horrible ordeal that she went through, to lose someone that close to you. But it affected everything she did, all aspects of her life, of our life as a family. It was too much.” He stood, stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks, and bit his lower lip. “Since no amount of private counseling sessions seemed to have helped, I was hoping that twinless twin support group might be the ticket. I’m glad she joined. But about the girls, what can I do?”

“We just want to double-check some things with you, ask about their acquaintances, anyone you might know who might have been with them that night after they peeled off from the group of friends.”

“I wish I could. But . . . I didn’t talk to them that day, hoped to celebrate their birthday after the fact, when they could come out here. I thought I’d take them to di

Bentz and Montoya asked about Zoe and Chloe’s friends and, it seemed, Carson’s impression was nearly identical to his ex-wife’s. Neither one had cared for the most recent boyfriends, Zach Armstrong or Tommy Jones. “Oh, they were fine, I guess,” Carson said. “Just not going anywhere as far as I could see. What the girls found so fascinating about them was lost on me.”

Within forty minutes, they’d learned everything they could. As Bentz stepped out on the front porch, Carson stopped him, asking, “Are you doing everything you can to find my daughters?”

A good question. What was everything? The Missing Persons Departments of both New Orleans and Baton Rouge were working together, and the press had been informed that the girls had gone missing. The FBI had been called in, and half a dozen cops from each city were canvassing the area, talking to acquaintances, checking on leads, including the security video taken near Bourbon Street. Bentz and Montoya, homicide cops, were working the case as well, mainly because of Bentz’s experience on the original investigation of the 21 Killer. There was still no proof that 21 was behind this, especially since most believed that they’d locked up the killer when Donovan Caldwell was sentenced, but there was also no denying the crime pattern.

“We’re doing the best we can,” Bentz assured Carson, then asked him to call if he thought of anything that would help.

Once in the car and heading back to the station, Bentz said, “Twinless twins?” He snorted and shook his head as he opened his window a crack. “You know, I think there’s a support group for just about anything you want these days.” Before Montoya could add his two cents, Bentz’s phone jangled.

He slipped it from his pocket, recognized an LA area code, and answered, “Detective Bentz.”

“Hey,” Jonas Hayes said, his voice grim. Bentz imagined his ex-partner’s face set, his features hard, the harbinger of bad news. “I wanted to give you a heads-up before you heard it somewhere else.”

“Heard what?” Bentz asked.

“About Donovan Caldwell.” A pause. “He’s dead.”

CHAPTER 26

Bria

But not right this moment.

He’s called twice. Maybe he’s in trouble. You need to talk to him.

As they reached her car parked on the street, she noticed the time on the meter had expired.

She and Jase had already decided to work out of his apartment, on his computer. “What time works best for you?” she asked.

“I’ve got a few things to deal with right now. Give me a couple of hours?” His gaze delved a little deeper into hers and her stupid heart had the nerve to flutter. “Work for you?”

“Perfect.”

He gave her his address and she repeated it back to him. “You said apartment 3-C.”

“That’s it.” One side of his mouth twisted upward. “Okay, I’ll see you then.” He rapped on the roof of her car twice, then headed into the building that housed the Observer offices. She watched his tall frame disappear through the glass doors and couldn’t help but wonder about ru

Then why did she experience the same rush now? Why did she realize that her cheeks were warm and it had nothing to do with the Louisiana sun moving slowly across the sky?

“Because you’re an idiot,” she told herself as she settled behind the wheel. She didn’t have time for schoolgirl fantasies, not when Selma’s daughters were missing. “Get it together.” She jabbed her key in the ignition. As her little car started, she forced herself to concentrate on the importance of meeting with Jase. They had to find Zoe and Chloe. And in the process, she believed that they would prove that Donovan Caldwell was not the 21 Killer.

In the hours before she was to meet Jase, she needed to gather and copy her notes, make a few phone calls, and emotionally gird herself. She’d already discovered dealing with Jase was complicated. Not only was she fighting her attraction to him, but there was something else going on between them, something she didn’t understand, an underlying tension that she couldn’t pinpoint.