When I dressed for the flight home I had chosen stretchy yoga pants and a long-sleeve running shirt. It was supposed to be comfortable on the cramped airplane. A female agent stood behind me in the ladies’ room while I used a scratchy paper towel from the dispenser to try to clean the cheerful fabric. I had bought it so I could run at night ane be seen by cars. The vibrant tangerine was like an arrow pointing to me when I walked through the halls.

She watched me in the mirror. Her arms folded. I could see the gun on her hip. I washed my hands and wiped the smudges from my face. She led me along the hall, but guided me to a different door.

The interior of the room looked the same as the last one, only it wasn’t filled with the stench of sickness.

I sipped on a bottle of water while Agent Kenneth waited for me.

The agent was now wearing a T-shirt. I had soiled his suit and the red tie. I had never vomited on anyone. A part of me believed he was responsible. It was his fault he was down to an undershirt. I didn’t owe him an apology after he mangled my happiness just as severely as if his hands were clasped around my throat, squeezing the breath from my body.

My fingers trembled as I fastened the lid to the bottle.

“Are you ready to continue?” He wasn’t harsh, but I didn’t detect sympathy.

My stomach hurt. My clothes smelled despite my effort to wash them in the bathroom sink. I was reeling from being hauled into this stale interrogation room with no windows to the outside world. No. I didn’t want to continue. But the only way out was to comply. I knew that much.

“I-I guess.”

“Look, Mr. West has been on our radar for a number of years. We haven’t been able to bring him in. Any information you can provide will help us do that.”

“I don’t know anything.” I swallowed. The hollowness filled me. I didn’t. I didn’t know who Vaughn was or Jeremy. He wasn’t a Jeremy.

“What seems like insignificant details to you can add up to complete the puzzle we have. You might have the missing piece, Miss Charles. You just don’t realize it. Together, we can figure out what that is. If you agree to help us, I believe I can have all charges against you dropped.”

“I don’t care about the charges.” I gritted my teeth. My eyes lifted to his. The tears slipped from my eyes in heavy droplets. “You just told me the man I’ve spent the last few months with is a criminal. That everything he told me was a lie. That he used me to steal from my best friend.” I clenched my jaw. “I will fight the charges against me. We both know I didn’t help him.”

“Good. It sounds like you’re willing to cooperate.”

“I didn’t say that,” I snapped. “I need more than five minutes to process this.” I glared at him.

“How about I wait outside. I could use a cup of coffee. You?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Another bottled water?” he offered.

“No.” Did he think hospitality mattered in here?

“I’ll give you some time to think about the offer. But, it’s not open-ended. Realize you need to make a decision.”

He walked out of the room. I stared at the mirrored glass. My mascara was smudged beyond recognition. I wondered who was on the other side. Who was witnessing my heartbreak. Who was watching me fall apart. Who saw the moment my life was shattered.

What were they thinking now? That I was a pathetic mess? That I had let a man ruin me? That I had been conned? I should have been smarter. I should have been suspicious. I should have been anything but weak.

I spilled out of the chair and onto the floor, pulling my legs under me.

It wasn’t a con. It couldn’t be.

Everything was real. He was the reason I breathed. He was the man who stirred my blood. The man who brought me back to life. Who kissed me. Held me. Loved me. Worshipped my body. Tested my sexual limits and explored the deepest part of my sensuality. I had given him everything. Opened everything to him.

It was not a con.

I squeezed my eyes together. My head hurt. I pulled my palms to my lips as one sob escaped after another.

It was not a con.

He said he loved me. That last day before he went out of town. He said it.

It was not a con.

I heard the whimpers as I cried on the floor. They didn’t sound like me. They sounded like a small child, missing its mother. Like a lost toddler frantic that it had been left behind.

No one had looked at me the way he did. As if we were connected from just one glance. One smile. Like all the kisses were the first and the last wrapped up in each other. Our bodies fit in a seamless rhythm.

He listened. We talked all night. I laid in his arms and talked about law. I talked about home. He challenged me to stick with the clinic on the worst days. He wanted me to apply for the faculty position.

It was not a con.

The notes. The texts. The places he took me. He shared his favorite memorial. He took me to the winery. We spent an incredible night together. And when I didn’t think I could find Lana, he helped me. That was the man I knew.

Who in the hell was Jeremy West?

I rubbed the tears against my wet cheeks. I didn’t know how much longer until Agent Kenneth came back.

The door opened and he walked in.

I knew I looked like a wreck, but I was past caring at this point. The agent had been the entire demolition crew.

“Have you had some time to think about my offer?”

I cleared my throat. “I have.” I struggled to my feet and took a seat across from him.

“And?” He looked genuinely interested.

“I want proof,” I demanded.

“What else do you need to know? West is dangerous. I’ve explained our case against him.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe you. The man I know is not Jeremy West. If you can convince me he is a criminal, then I’ll comply. I won’t impede a federal investigation. But I’m not just going to take your word for it. I want proof, agent. I deserve that much.”

“All right. I’ve got plenty.”

He slapped the files on the table again. I jumped.

“We can start with Sarah Jamison.” He showed me her picture. “Twenty-five years old. Her father was a senator on the oil and gas committee. Mr. West had a relationship with her that lasted three weeks before he helped clean out her father’s assets in Qatar.”

He pulled out another picture. “This is Hannah Pauley. Also twenty-five. Her mother is the ambassador to Saudi Arabia. One month after she and West dated, the ambassador discovered a data breach in the classified files of oil reserves that were going into auction in her territory.”

I held my breath when he slapped another picture in front of me. “Here is Kathryn Jergen. Twenty-seven. Miss Jergen was the aide to the pharmaceutical committee. She and Mr. West were involved only two weeks when there was a huge buy out from two companies that were under potential investigation by the government. All charges in question by the feds were dissolved with the merger. Not a coincidence,” he added. “I can keep going.”

“I don’t fit any of those categories. I’m not privy to classified information or lucrative international financial deals. I’m not like these women.”

He held up a picture of Greer. My chest tightened. “Meet Greer Britt. Twenty-eight. Aide to the Senate Arms Committee. In charge of land and air weapons contracts vetting and research.”

I stared in disbelief.

“But—”

“She was the intended target, Miss Charles. But Miss Britt’s relationship with her boyfriend Preston proved problematic for West. So you were the next best option to retrieve the contract data. Second choice I guess, but it worked.”

I was done being sick. I couldn’t throw up again if I wanted. All I had in my stomach was water.

“Second choice?” I seethed.

I looked at all of the pictures. Beautiful women. Successful women. Some powerful on their own. Some within an arm’s reach of power and wealth.

I glanced at my reflection. And then there was me. The latest woman in the file.

What would the agents say about me? How would I be classified?

“Do we have a deal?” he nudged. “Can the bureau count on you?”

“I need a second to think.” My hands went to my head.

“He’s not your boyfriend, Miss Charles. He never was. He was paid millions of dollars for those contracts. You were a pawn. A target. It was not a relationship.” He closed the folder. “I’ve sat here like this before. With the other women: Sarah, Hannah, Kathryn. And they had the same look on their faces. They did.”

“And what did they decide?” I asked.

“They decided to make the bastard pay, Miss Charles. They wanted him to pay.”

* * *

I took a few breaths before standing on my feet. I walked over to the glass window and tapped on it.

“What are you doing?” Agent Kenneth asked.

“I need a pad of paper and a pen.” I knocked again and repeated myself.

I didn’t know what chance I had of getting it. Someone was watching me. Listening to the pain. They owed me.

A few seconds later the agent who had escorted me to the bathroom walked in with a yellow notepad and a ball-point pen. She placed them on the desk and left.

I pulled out the chair and sat.

There had to be a timeline. There had to be a plan. A methodical way he targeted me. I started with a chain of bullet points on the left side.

Agent Kenneth sipped his coffee. He didn’t interrupt while I made my columns. He seemed to accept I had to do this.

I wrote down our first series of dates. Under each one I jotted down the things we discussed: my career, his family, how often my roommate was home. The column continued with how dates turned into routine nights and weekends together. Our vacation at the winery. And then I saw it.

I saw Vaughn in the apartment. Always looking over the threshold of Greer’s bedroom door. I heard his voice in my ear: no roommate tonight? We have the place to ourselves?

And each morning he would ask if she had returned. Should we make more coffee in case she came home.

I scribbled every mention of Greer on the sheet of paper until I had to flip to the second page.

It had been there. Laced in all our conversations. His nonchalant way of drawing her into a conversation. His quick way of immediately pivoting to another topic. Until one day it all collided into a crossroads of perfect timing.

Greer returned to the apartment with everything from her office. Vaughn was on the deck. And we left him. Alone.

I gripped the pen, bearing down onto the paper. I almost scratched through it, I wrote with such force.

Agent Kenneth leaned forward. He must have detected I had discovered something.

It had seemed abrupt that afternoon, but I brushed it off as Vaughn’s usual unexpected work hazards. The minute Greer and I had returned from the grocery store he announced he had to travel.

I could see it play out. The way he swept me into the shower. The pain in his words when we admitted how much we loved each other. The good-bye. And then several days when I couldn’t reach him when I was in the middle of a family emergency.

It was as if I had been knocked flat on my back again. It had been obvious. Good-bye sex. It had been over the minute he walked out the door. He had the files. His job was done.

“Miss Charles?” Agent Kenneth interrupted the horror movie playing in my head.

“Yes?” I rested the pen on the ink-stained pages.

“Have you made a decision.”

I stared into his eyes. “I have.”