Cam was numb.

Numb with disbelief.

The fear she’d experienced after being followed had subsided…but the news Nate had to share nearly undid her.

She’d made her way to the bungalow Nate shared with Sally, watching in her rearview as the Caprice rolled on by the driveway. With her sunglasses on, the people in the car had no way of knowing she was looking at them, especially when she pulled out her lipstick and pretended to be focused on applying that.

She’d gotten a good look at the people in the car. Two Hispanic males, probably in their twenties, occupied the front two seats. A Hispanic woman was in back, along with a toddler.

Cam frowned. Maybe the people in the back were a throwaway, planted to create the illusion of normalcy. People with kids in their cars didn’t commit crimes—at least that was the public perception. If Cam was being honest, it was often law enforcement’s perception, too. It was far harder to suspect a vehicle was involved in gang activity when there was a child inside. No one wanted to put little kids in harm’s way.

Except sometimes people did.

Especially to divert attention.

She waited in her car for a few minutes but the car never came back. She pulled out her phone and dialed Nate’s number.

His voice was sleepy. “Yeah?”

“Nate.”

“Mmm?”

“Nate, it’s me,” she said. “I’m outside your house.”

“What?” He was wider awake now. “Outside my house?”

“I think someone’s following me.”

“Following you?”

He sounded like a damn parrot.

“White Chevy Caprice, two Hispanic males in front, a Hispanic woman and a toddler in back. Adults looked to be mid-twenties.”

“You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” she snapped.

He swore under his breath. “Give me a sec.”

The line went dead.

A minute later, the door to the bungalow opened and Nate stepped outside, wearing nothing but a pair of black basketball shorts, his hair mussed, his cheeks coated in stubble. Any other woman who might have seen him like that would have probably swooned a little.

Not Cam.

He was just…Nate.

And right now, he was walking out to his driveway, ostensibly to retrieve the paper that was at the junction of where his drive met the street. But she knew what he was doing.

Looking for the car.

He knocked the side window of her car with his hand and she opened the door.

“No sign of them,” he said. He leaned down. “You sure they were following you?”

Cam leaned her head back against the headrest. “You’re sure?”

He nodded. “I checked both directions. Nada.”

“They were following me,” she muttered. “I swear it.”

“You look like shit.”

She scowled. “Thanks a lot.”

“Come in,” he said. “Sally is making breakfast now that my lazy ass is out of bed.”

Cam shook her head. “I can’t.” Her thoughts immediately returned to Alex. “I…I have to get home.”

“One cup of coffee,” Nate said. He was already pulling her door open wider. “Sally knows you’re here. She’s going to be pissed if you don’t at least come in and say hello.”

“I can’t.”

Nate rapped the newspaper on the roof of her car. “And I can finish telling you about the BOLO call.”

She froze.

He noticed. An amused smile lit his face. “Ha. Knew I had something that could lure you in.”

With that, he straightened and headed toward the house.

“Nate, wait!” she called.

He kept walking and there was nothing left for Cam to do but to scurry after him.

The inside of the bungalow was bright and cheery. Sally had parked herself in front of the stove and was expertly flipping pancakes on a sizzling griddle. A golden retriever sat patiently next to her, his eyes locked in on the food cooking on the stove.

“Morning,” she said to Cam. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her cheeks were pink and rosy. She was like living sunshine.

“Morning.” Cam’s response felt muted. She liked Sally very much, but she wasn’t in the house to see her.

She wanted news about Alex.

Nate poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

She tried not to wrinkle her nose. No cream, no sugar. It was like drinking motor oil.

“First batch of pancakes is up,” Sally announced.

She set a plate of steaming blueberry pancakes on the kitchen table. “Eat up.”

Nate sat down at the table and forked two pancakes onto the plate in front of him. He smothered them with syrup.

“You gonna eat?” he asked, looking up at Cam.

She shook her head. There was no room for pancakes in her stomach, not with the giant rock of anticipation, of dread, sitting inside of her.

“Suit yourself.” He popped a bite in his mouth.

Cam perched on the chair next to him. In a lowered voice, she said, “What’s going on with the BOLO?”

Nate swallowed a mouthful of coffee to wash down the pancakes. “Not really sure,” he admitted. “All we have that’s concrete is a name. But there’s some speculation.”

She frowned. “But you said—”

“Hold up. A name and an occupation.”

Cam waited.

After he told her, the rest of the time at Nate’s house became a blur.

She couldn’t think.

Couldn’t speak.

Somehow, she’d gotten out of his house.

Back in her car.

Somehow, she’d managed to answer her cell when it began to ring.

In an almost dreamlike state, she saw the number flash on the screen.

Knew it was Alex calling.

Somehow, her voice cooperated.

She’d asked questions, questions she couldn’t remember now.

And she’d convinced him to stay put.

To stay at the house.

That was what she knew.

Knew to be true.

But what Nate had told her? She needed to talk to Alex himself, to look him in the eye and ask him the question, not only hearing his answer but watching his reaction.

Because then she would know what was the truth.

She pulled into the driveway, not bothering to park the car in the garage.

Alex was waiting for her when she got herself inside.

Immediately, he began peppering her with questions.

She didn’t listen to what he was asking, at least not for content.

She paid attention to the manner in which he asked.

The words he used.

The tone.

The information he was seeking.

Her legs buckled underneath her.

He noticed. “Are you alright?” He reached out a hand to steady her but she lurched away from him.

“Tell me,” she said, her voice hoarse.

His eyes clouded. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me who you are.”

His brow furrowed. “I’m…I’m Alex.”

“Tell me what you do.”

He stared at her, his expression unreadable.

“Tell me what you do,” she repeated, her voice a little louder, a little stronger this time.

“I…” He swallowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

There was a roar in her ears, so loud it almost drowned out his response.

She stared at him. “You’re a cop.”