She found her composure nearly a half hour later. Charlotte scrubbed her face with a Kleenex, enjoying the roughness of the paper against her skin—it reminded her that she was still alive. Despite losing her job. Despite becoming pregnant.

Her eyes shifted down to her desk, where the paper she’d scribbled on previously still sat, with its cryptic message. She shook her head at her ludicrous idea, conceived in a moment of panic. If only she’d waited a few more days to speak to him in private. If only she hadn’t allowed her scattered mind to get ahead of itself.

As she crumpled into her seat, ready to begin packing her desk up, a question hit her like a figurative smack on her forehead. She paused, her fingers around a folder.

How in the world had Lyle gotten the note she’d written out for Sean? She’d written it and then dipped it into her folder, which she’d then taken to her office. She’d left that folder in her office overnight. And then—voila—Lyle had delivered the note back to her. Someone else must have retrieved it in the interim.

Something was definitely amiss.

As the realization dawned on Charlotte, she began to pace her office, her brain whirring.

Obviously, Katrina had noticed Charlotte when she’d scribbled the note and gestured for Sean to see it. Obviously, she’d sensed something was off—and she’d gone into her office to investigate. Charlotte didn’t lock her office door, and hadn’t ever seen a reason to, since the office was generally locked from people who didn’t work there. She hadn’t assumed any of her coworkers would want to betray her. She’d known Katrina disliked her. But why did she want to ruin her—and like this?

Of course, Katrina had been gunning for the Sean Lawson case from the beginning. And when Charlotte hadn’t opted wholly for Katrina’s strategy, she’d wanted to interfere somehow. It had been up to Charlotte not to make any mistakes. It had been up to Charlotte to keep herself safe, out of harm’s way.

Charlotte spent several hours brooding at her desk, watching as the rest of the interns, the attorneys, and Lyle’s tech-guru associates busied themselves like bees in the hive of the office. She felt like a spy, watching over them, wanting to alert them of the germ in their system: Katrina. Each time Katrina marched past, her eyes flashed toward Charlotte’s window, and Charlotte backed away, feeling that her gaze was a bullet.

It was around five o’clock by the time Charlotte had packed up her things, finally ready to flee the building. She’d halted her continuous crying; she’d found purpose in organizing her files in order to hand them over to Lyle. She’d made a certain level of peace with it all, if only because she knew she had to take care of herself. She had to keep her stress levels low. She had a baby on the way.

But as she stacked her final files, her eyes drifted toward her office window. She caught sight of Katrina, draping her purse over her shoulder, over her jacket. She was leaving—and nearly an hour before she usually did. This wasn’t the rarest of occurrences for Katrina, but she normally looked nonchalant when doing so; today, however, she had an air of nervousness, shiftiness, almost.

Charlotte frowned, her stomach flipping. This was sour. Something was off.

As Katrina bolted toward the elevator, Charlotte snuck from her office as well, slipping her arms into her jacket and casting furtive glances around, hoping to avoid Lyle. She knew he’d tell her she should have been out of the office hours ago, and she didn’t have the patience or energy to go through that again.

As she bounded toward the elevator, determined to follow Katrina, a quiet intern—one who’d generally offered to fetch her coffee when none of the others had—reached out her hand and patted her shoulder.

Charlotte lurched back, surprised. “What is it?” she asked. Her need to follow Katrina to the bitter end was bumping in her heart.

The girl looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” she said weakly. “I wanted to tell you I’m so sorry for what they’re doing to you. With your baby on the way and everything.” She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry. My friends all say I’m too emotional.”

Charlotte didn’t have time for this, but she swept a warm smile over her face, and gave the girl a quick, one-armed hug.

“Thanks for all you’ve done for me,” Charlotte said, hoping the girl didn’t sense how far away she was. And then, she swung back toward the elevator, her heels clacking wildly on the floor. She knew that everyone still in the office was watching her go. They all knew her secret.

She stabbed the elevator button, and it opened immediately, streaming her down to the ground floor. She caught a glimpse of Katrina in the parking lot behind the building, at her car door. She was chatting on the phone, and her flirtatious voice swirled into Charlotte’s ears, making her cringe.

Charlotte knew she needed to follow Katrina. But how? She’d ridden her bicycle to the office that morning, hopeful the endorphins would rally her brain, but that would be no match for Katrina’s car.

She ducked behind a pillar in the foyer, keeping Katrina in sight. She dialed Chelsea quickly, feeling the moments tick away. She hoped Katrina would continue her flirtatious conversation just a little bit longer.

“Chels?” she whispered. “Is your car parked at your office?”

“Sure is,” Chelsea said, her voice coy. “Why are you asking?”

“Listen. I don’t have time to explain. But I need to borrow it as soon as possible. Do you understand?”

“All right—”

“Actually, if you could just hop into your car and drive it to me right now—”

“Say no more,” Chelsea said. She clicked the phone off, and Charlotte sat in stunned silence, her heart racing. She prayed for Katrina to remain as long as possible, and luckily Chelsea’s office was only three blocks away.

A moment later, Charlotte watched as Katrina tossed her phone into the passenger seat, clearly finished with her conversation. She flipped her hair, twirling the curls, and then popped into the driver’s seat, opening the windows. She revved the engine, taking her time, and propelled the volume of her stereo up. The noise was obtrusive, loud during an otherwise foggy and dreary day.

“Come on, Chelsea,” Charlotte thought, growing nervous as Katrina began to back from her spot.

But then, Chelsea’s little white car pulled up on the outside of the parking lot, out of sight of Katrina, who was parked all the way on the other side. Chelsea gave Charlotte a slight wave and popped from the front seat.

Charlotte ran and caught the keys as they were thrown in an arc through the air. “Thanks, babe,” she said, her eyes wide. “You can walk back?”

“It’s three blocks,” Chelsea said with a wink. “You’ll update me on what this is all about soon, won’t you?”

“If I live through this,” Charlotte said cryptically, as she bounced into the front seat, just as she saw Katrina’s vehicle zoom from the parking lot and onto the main road.

“All right, James Bond,” Chelsea called out, but Charlotte had already revved from her position in the ‘No Parking’ zone.

She skated out onto the main road. Katrina’s car was just three vehicles ahead of her, stopped at the red light. Charlotte wanted to fist bump the air, confident in the smoothness of her chase, but she held back, her fingers tense around the steering wheel.

“Calm down,” Charlotte whispered to herself. “You’re not there yet.”

Charlotte tailed Katrina from downtown and out east, past Capitol Hill and to the outskirts of the city, where she didn’t recognize the street names any more. She ensured she stayed several cars behind her, out of sight, and was grateful that Katrina wouldn’t recognize Chelsea’s car if she saw it.

Beyond anything, Katrina’s personality was the greatest aid to the chase. She was bouncing her head to the music, thrusting her hand into the chill, foggy air, and generally driving without notice of others. Several drivers honked at her as she weaved between lanes.

Charlotte had no sense for where they were driving. For all she knew, they were driving all the way to Boise. Maybe Katrina had committed a crime and decided to skip town. Or maybe, maybe, this had something to do with the Lawson case, and everything to do with Charlotte being suspended that day.

Katrina’s car made a surprise left turn at a diner far out of town. Charlotte didn’t think they were in Seattle limits anymore.

She watched Katrina park her vehicle, and then drove around the block once, to avoid any suspicion. She parked far from Katrina’s flashy red sports car, and donned a sweatshirt from Chelsea’s passenger seat, flipping the hood over her head. She ducked into the back of the car and found a pair of Chelsea’s old tennis shoes, and stuck them on, tossing her heels in the trunk. They made too much noise, and didn’t allow for running—if it came to that.

As Charlotte neared the entrance of the diner, she noted, with a sigh of relief, that the restaurant was completely filled. There were tables and tables of large groups from both the country and the city, and their Friday night chatter echoed against the ceiling. Charlotte entered easily, her hood pushed over her hair, and she nodded to the waitress, who told her dismissively that she could seat herself.

Charlotte slunk down, easing into the crowd, her eyes searching the diner. A band of high school football players were seated at a large table near the window, shoving chocolate pudding into their mouths as quickly as they could. Old people, regulars for maybe thirty years, sat quietly, eating hamburgers without even a hint of pink in the middle. The scene was classic suburban America. It was everything Charlotte had grown up with.

Finally, Charlotte spotted her. Katrina had exited the bathroom door with a slight look of disgust, and was making a beeline across the restaurant, toward a man with dark hair and an immaculate suit, who sat glaring at his smartphone. He looked as out of place as Katrina in the characterless diner.

Spotting her, he stood up, standing tall against Katrina, and kissed her with a little too much enthusiasm for the setting. Katrina fell into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him, massaging his shoulders.

“You good, baby?” she cooed.

Shocked, Charlotte retreated into a booth directly behind them, forcing a menu over her eyes and slumping deeper into her sweatshirt.

She realized, all at once, who that man was. It was Evan Greene—Sean Lawson’s old roommate from college, and the very one who was in the midst of suing him. Charlotte knew he had a wife; Sean had mentioned it previously. And yet, it appeared that Katrina knew him rather intimately indeed.