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her shoulders. “You didn’t know, Van,” he said softly.
    â€œThat doesn’t matter,” she said, jumping up from the chair and throwing the switch on the computer. “I should have known.”
    She headed for the door.
    â€œWhere are you going?” Dirk hurried after her.
    â€œTo see Lisa Mallock. To warn her. To tell her she was wrong about trusting me. In this world you can’t trust anybody. Not even yourself.” Tears flooded her eyes as she strode down the hallway and out the back door of the station. “Dammit,” she muttered as she got into the Camaro and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving Dirk standing alone and looking concerned on the station steps. “I should have known. I’m sorry, Lisa . . . . Christy. Dammit, I’m so sorry.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    W hen Savannah had left the police station, she had fully intended to drive straight to Lisa Mallock’s home, ring the bell, and warn her about a possible contact from her ex-husband. But after arriving at the address, Savannah checked her watch and realized it was only five-thirty in the morning.
    Lisa would be distressed enough about the information, without being summoned out of bed to receive the news.
    Sitting in the Camaro, Savannah studied the surrounding parking lot, play area, and laundry room. No one was stirring. All was silent and still. With the first pink and lavender rays of dawn tinting the sky, it seemed hard to believe that anything sinister was likely to happen soon.
    Seven-thirty, she decided. With a child in the house, she’ll probably be up and about by then.
    After drinking a cup of coffee or two, Lisa would be fortified, at least a bit, to hear the bad tidings.
    Checking everything once more, Savannah headed home. She intended to spend the next two hours combing the information that she and Tammy had uncovered . . . . or the misinformation, as it had turned out to be. She needed to see what had gone wrong and how she might redeem the situation.
    But another shock greeted her as she hurried up the walkway to her house. At first she thought it was Earl Mallock, standing there on her front porch, partially hidden by the bougainvillea. The red hair, the slender build, were all too familiar.
    But when the man turned toward her and she could see his face, she had an instant idea who her early morning visitor was.
    â€œI’m sorry for the early hour,” he began, “but—”
    â€œIt’s all right. Let me guess,” she said dryly, holding out her hand to him. “You’re Brian O’Donnell. The real one, that is.”
    He looked genuinely confused as he accepted her handshake. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œYour sister’s name is Lisa Mallock, and I’ll just bet you’re looking for her. Right?”
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œJust a lucky guess.” With a tired, defeated sigh she opened her front door. “Come inside, Mr. O’Donnell. It’s about time you and I put our heads together.”
    Â 
    Savannah offered the man one of the wing chairs in her office, and she sat in the other opposite him. There was no time to mess with coffee, cookies, or Southern hospitality. “Talk about a creepy sense of déjà vu,” she muttered as she stared at the red-haired man across from her.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind. Let me ask you a question,” she said. “First, why were you on my doorstep so early in the morning?”
    â€œI couldn’t sleep. I was worried.” The dark circles under his eyes attested to the fact that he was weary, but Savannah wasn’t ready to believe anything too readily anymore.
    â€œIt’s a condition that’s going around,” she replied. “Why were you worried?”
    â€œI talked to my wife, back in Orlando, Florida, last evening, about eight o’clock Pacific time. She told me that you, or someone from your office, called