Her body went completely rigid and her heart pounded so hard she thought her chest would burst. Warm urine ran down her leg and trickled onto the floor around her feet. It couldn’t be him. It wasn’t possible.

She’d killed him last month.

Chapter One

New Orleans French Quarter

June 10, 2015

Shaye Archer looked around her empty apartment and felt a ripple of excitement and fear run through her. This was one of those big moments in a young woman’s life—when she left home and struck out on her own—but for Shaye, it wasn’t just big. It was monumental.

Are you sure you’re ready?

Doubt sneaked into her thoughts, as it had since she’d made an offer to purchase the apartment last month. She shook her head and pushed the negative thoughts aside. She’d mulled over this and little else for the past year. She had her bachelor’s degree in hand, her private investigator’s license issued, her business license, three years of experience, and the financial means to start her own agency. It was time. Every decision she’d made for the last six years had been about getting to this moment.

You can do this.

She smiled. That was more like it.

Now all she needed was her furniture and clothes and bathroom supplies and a host of other things coming her way on a moving truck, and she’d be in business. Literally.

She cast a critical eye at the front room of the apartment. It was a good-sized room, and its original hardwood floors, brick accent wall, and fireplace gave it a homey feeling. It was supposed to be a living room, but Shaye had other plans for the space. Clients would feel comfortable in this cozy room, and Shaye would feel comfortable having them here, rather than traipsing them through the apartment to the spare bedroom. No, this was definitely the best option for her office. All she had to do was find the right furniture for the space and she was good to go.

A horn sounded out front and she jumped, then immediately grew frustrated with herself for being so touchy.

You’re in the French Quarter. There’s going to be a lot of noise.

Much more than she was used to when tucked away in the back bedroom of her adoptive mother’s huge historical home in the Garden District. The only sounds that drifted into her bedroom there were made by the lawn crew who arrived every Wednesday morning to work their magic on the beautifully landscaped yard. The noise level in the heart of New Orleans would be both higher and different. In a couple of weeks, she’d be adjusted to the nuances of her new home and everything would be back to normal. She just needed to be patient. Not her strong point.

She headed to the front door and swung it open as the moving truck eased up to the curb. Her initial plan had been to throw her clothes in a duffel bag and a couple of boxes and haul it all over in her SUV, but her mother, Corrine, had insisted Shaye take her bedroom furniture and the couch and tables from her sitting room. Shaye couldn’t find a good argument against that plan. She’d chosen all the furniture herself, and it was good quality. It would last her a long time, and taking it with her allowed her to eliminate one more thing from her long list of things to do.

Hence the need for the moving truck.

Two young, athletic men jumped out of the cab and rolled up the back door of the truck.

“This is a great location,” one of them said, and smiled.

“Thanks,” she replied, but didn’t return the smile. He’d been trying to flirt with her since they arrived at her mother’s house to load, but Shaye didn’t want to give him any indication that she would consider him an option. Men were at the top of her list of things not to do. Not now. Maybe not ever. The idea of sharing her daily life and thoughts, especially her past, with someone other than Corrine caused a rise of panic in her that hadn’t diminished yet. She wasn’t sure it ever would.

One step at a time.

Shaye could hear Eleonore’s words echoing in her mind, and as much as they annoyed her, she also knew her psychiatrist’s sentiment was right. She sighed. It was beyond frustrating when things you didn’t like were also your reality.

“Where do you want the living room furniture?” one of the movers asked.

She directed him inside and showed him the dining area off the kitchen that would serve as living and dining. If it weren’t for Corrine’s forcing her to a table most evenings, Shaye would have eaten every meal curled up on the couch in front of a television, and now that she didn’t have anyone else to consider, that’s exactly what she planned to do.

The men made quick work of the furniture, expressed their thanks at the generous tip she gave them, then headed off. Shaye pulled her long, dark brown hair back into a ponytail and looked around the kitchen/dining areas trying to figure out the best arrangement for the two end tables. Only one fit next to the couch. The other would stick out into the walkway, so she moved it over to a corner. She could put a lamp on it and call it done…claim the minimalist look. Whatever kept her from dusting too often.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice sounded from the front of the apartment.

Shaye frowned and stepped through the doorway from the kitchen into her future office. A young woman with auburn hair and pale skin stood in the doorway, clutching the door handle and looking nervously around.

“Can I help you?” Shaye asked, figuring the woman was lost.

“Are you Shaye Archer?”

Shaye hesitated a second before answering. “Yes.” She wasn’t expecting company, and she’d never seen this woman before.

“My name is Emma Frederick. I, uh…I think I have a problem that needs a detective. Your website gave this as your office address…”

Shaye’s puzzlement switched to amazement. When she’d launched her website two days before, she hadn’t anticipated clients before she’d even gotten them a chair to sit on. But then, she hadn’t anticipated clients showing up at her front door without an appointment, either. Apparently, there were a lot of things she hadn’t expected when setting up her business.

“You’re in the right place,” Shaye said. “I’m just moving in today and some of the furniture hasn’t arrived yet.”

Emma’s expression shifted to disappointment. “Oh, well, I can come back. Can I make an appointment?”

Shaye started to say yes and schedule something for next week when everything would be in better shape, but then she took a closer look at Emma. Her hand on the doorknob shook, and with her other hand, she pulled at the bottom of her blouse. Two threads stuck out and the hem in one spot sagged a tiny bit. Her skin, while pale naturally, wasn’t only naturally pale right now. It was beyond that, almost blanched.

Emma Frederick was scared.

“No, please,” Shaye said. “Come in. There’s a couch in the living room, and I have my laptop to make notes.”

Emma hesitated a second, then stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind her. She followed Shaye into the living area and took a seat at the end of the couch where Shaye indicated.

“I would offer you a drink,” Shaye said as she grabbed her laptop from the kitchen counter, “but I don’t even have a cup unpacked yet.”

“That’s okay,” Emma said. “I’m too nervous to drink anything. I guess you noticed.”

Shaye pulled the end table she’d just stuck in the corner over to the middle of the room across from Emma and sat on it. “Right now, you’re in the safe zone,” she said, repeating the words Eleonore had said to her so many times. “Tell me about your problem.”

“I think I’m being stalked.”

“You think?”