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Returning to her car, Livia sent a quick text to Bryce. She didn’t want her friend worried when she didn’t return to Rushville. Then, feeling like she was running on autopilot, she drove to her house.

Pulling into the driveway, she parked her car and headed to the front porch. Once she opened the door, however, she shook off the numb detachment. Despite her anxious need to be safely tucked in her own home and surrounded by her personal belongings, she hadn’t forgotten that there’d been more than one intruder lurking around.

It was possible that someone had shot out her window to lure her back to New Orleans. If they’d followed her here, then they might be waiting for the opportunity to …

Actually, she didn’t know what they might want from her. But she was going to be on guard.

Leaning forward, Livia switched on the lights, cautiously glancing around the living room before stepping inside. She closed and locked the door behind her before moving from window to window to make sure they were locked, and then closed the curtains. She wasn’t going to risk exposing herself to a shooter who might be standing outside. Next, she went from room to room, opening closet doors and peeking under the bed.

Only when she was certain that she was alone did she grab some clean clothes from her bedroom and lock herself in the bathroom to take a shower. Eventually she ran out of hot water and, drying off, she pulled on her fresh clothes before doing another sweep of the house.

Confident she was alone, Livia headed into the spare bedroom. Her laptop was at the Willows, but she could use her old computer to do a search of Stella Gates.

There wasn’t much to find. Just a few articles about her donating cakes and pies to her local church charity events and one mention of her winning a five-hundred-dollar scratch-off ticket. Flora had been right. Stella really was lucky. But nothing about her life before she moved to Slidell or her time working as a nanny.

Accepting that it was yet another dead end, at least until she had a chance to confront her uncle with what she’d discovered, Livia returned to the living room and ordered a pizza from her favorite restaurant. For the next few hours she was going to veg on the couch and mindlessly stare at the TV. Tomorrow she would start again.

She turned on her favorite reality show and was headed into the kitchen to grab a soda when the knock on the door shattered the illusion of peace. It was too quick for the pizza delivery, but there was the possibility that it was one of her neighbors checking on her.

Grabbing a butcher knife from the wooden block on her counter, Livia commanded her heavy feet to carry her forward. It seemed unlikely that a criminal would knock before carrying out some heinous act, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

Once in the living room, she parted the heavy curtains a sliver, peeking at the slender form standing on her front porch. A blast of surprise raced through her as she dropped the knife on the coffee table and pulled open the front door.

“Bryce.” She swept a gaze over the tall woman’s casual jeans and New Orleans Saints T-shirt. “What are you doing here?”

“You don’t think I’m going to let you stay here on your own, do you?” Bryce held up her hand, her irresistible smile curving her lips. “Plus, this bottle of wine isn’t going to drink itself.”

Livia stepped back to let her friend into the house, feeling a shocking jolt of relief at having someone staying with her. This was her home, but as long as there was some crazed madman—or madwoman—out there tormenting and stalking her, she would never feel completely safe.

Still, it was too much to ask poor Bryce to give up her rare free time to babysit her.

“There’s no need for this, Bryce,” she insisted as the woman shrugged off a backpack and tossed it on the floor. “I appreciate your concern, but you have better things to do with your Sunday evening.”

“Sadly, I don’t,” she informed Livia. “My dad is at church playing bingo, and Josie won’t be home for a few days.”

“And the yummy Sheriff Finn?” Livia couldn’t resist asking.

The hazel eyes narrowed. “Stop.”

“Okay. I won’t deny that I appreciate your company. And I definitely need your detective skills. But first, you get comfortable while I pour us a glass of this.” Livia leaned forward to pluck the bottle from her friend’s firm grasp. “I have a pizza ordered with the works. Is that okay with you?”

“Perfect.” Bryce pulled her phone out of her back pocket before strolling with the grace of an athlete to drop onto the couch.

Livia returned to the kitchen, opening the wine and pouring two glasses. She also grabbed a bag of chips and the candy bars she kept in her emergency stash.

Bryce smiled as Livia returned, placing everything on the low coffee table. “Girls’ dinner. My favorite.” Leaning forward, Bryce grabbed one of the wineglasses, briefly stiffening as she caught sight of the butcher knife that Livia had dropped there earlier. Opening the bag of chips, she took a handful before settling back and studying Livia with a grim expression. “First, tell me what brought you back to New Orleans.”

“Marcel called to tell me the office alarms had gone off, and when he went to check out what was wrong, he found that someone had driven by and shot out the front window.”

Bryce was in instant cop mode. “Shot? You’re sure?”

“There were bullet holes in my wall. More damage I have to have fixed.”

“No other buildings were hit?”

“Not on that block. The patrolman who answered Marcel’s nine-one-one call is supposed to be investigating if there were any other victims.”

“Then the assumption is that you were deliberately targeted by the shooter?”