Chapter Three

Zach tried to focus on the dark highway and the terrible task ahead of him—informing his parents that everything they thought they knew about Camille's death was wrong, but that she was more lost to them now than ever. But the woman beside him drew his attention away from these thoughts. He couldn't see her well in the darkness, but every nerve tingled with awareness of her—the vanilla-and-flowers scent of her perfume or lotion, subtle and sexy. Though why anything about an FBI agent should be sexy to him, he couldn't fathom. The agents who had dogged his family every waking hour after Camille agreed to testify against the Chalk brothers had been nothing but annoying.

None of them had been women. None of them had spoken to the family with Shelby Dryden's warmth or compassion. As much as he wanted to resent her for her part in keeping Camille's existence from him, he had a hard time holding on to his anger. Shelby had known Camille in her new life. She said she had been Camille's friend.

He believed that. He could see similarities between Agent Dryden and his sister. Not physical similarities, but they both had the ability to connect with others. Camille had been a great restaurant server, always pulling in big tips because she had a talent for zeroing in on the best way to put a customer at ease. People would confide all kinds of personal secrets to her, then thank her for listening to them. They seemed to sense that Camille truly did care about the lives of everyone she met.

He felt that in Shelby Dryden, too. When she said she was sorry for his loss, the words didn't come across as a rote platitude. She really did care. And he thought she mourned Camille's death and maybe even took her murder personally.

"Thanks for agreeing to take me to your parents," she said, breaking the silence between them. "I think it will be easier for them than having some unknown FBI agent show up on their doorstep."

"You didn't really give me much choice. But yeah, it probably is better this way." He turned onto Eagle Mountain's main street and headed toward the highway.

"I need to ask them some of the same questions I asked you—had they heard from Camille at all? Have they seen anyone suspicious hanging around?"

"No to both questions," he said. "They would have told me if they had. They still talk about Camille all the time." Some of those conversations were painful, but they were comforting, too, keeping the memory of his sister alive. "And they would have told me if they were worried about anyone or anything."

"Do you think they would? Parents often try to protect their children from things like that."

"I'm not some little kid. And I'm supposed to protect them." His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel with more force.

They turned onto the highway and headed toward more open country. "Tell me about your mom and dad," she said. "I know what our file says, but the file only contains facts—not a lot about their personalities or emotions."

"They're very strong people," he said. Despite losing two children under tragic circumstances, they still remained invested in life, active and involved, with many friends.

"They would have to be, to have gone through what they have."

"My dad is more outgoing, like Camille," Zach said. "He manages a hardware store and knows all the regular customers. He volunteers with the local parks board and is on the library board." Tightness pulled at his chest. "If someone wanted to find him, it would be easy enough to do."

"What about your mother?"

"She's quieter, like me. She works at home, doing accounting for small businesses. She had a really hard time during the trial. When they told us Camille had been shot, she fell apart for a while. She's been better lately, but..."

"But you worry about her," Shelby said.

He glanced at her, then back at the road. "Would you tell me if they were in any danger?"

"They're not in any danger that I'm aware of," she said. "I want to check in with them and find out if they've noticed anything we haven't."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I would tell you what I could." She paused, then added, "I have to balance an individual's desire to know with the big picture of whatever case I'm working on. Some cases require more secrecy than others."

He made a sound of disgust, low in his throat, but said nothing. Silence made a wall between them. She shifted in her seat, the fabric of her suit making a rustling sound. "Camille didn't talk about your parents much," she said after a moment. "I think it was too painful for her to do so. But she talked about you quite a bit."

A long silence. But he couldn't shut her out completely. Not when she was his only connection to Camille. "What did she say?" he asked, finally.

"She mostly talked about good times the two of you had together. She mentioned a trip to Cancun—just the two of you. You took a taxi out to Tulum, and when you had finished sightseeing, you discovered all the taxis were gone and you had to talk your way onto a tour bus headed back to the city center."

"She did the talking," he said. "I pretty much just followed her lead."

"She had a powerful personality," Shelby said. "When someone like that dies, it leaves a big hole."

He cleared his throat. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked.

"No, I'm an only child. My father is a symphony conductor, and my mother is first chair violin in the same symphony. Our lives revolved around rehearsals and performances."

Her answer surprised him. It didn't seem like the kind of background a law enforcement officer, especially an FBI agent, would have. "Do you play an instrument?" he asked.

"Not a note. To their everlasting dismay, I have a tin ear and can't carry a tune. I'm so unlike either of them that I think sometimes they wondered if I had been switched at birth. They still don't know quite what to make of me."

"My parents don't know what to make of me, either." He ran his hands along the steering wheel, surprised by this urge to confide in her. But he felt compelled to continue. "I kind of fell apart for a while, after Camille's funeral. I moved around, never held a job for long. I know it worried my folks."

"But you're here with them now."

"I'm trying," he said. "But I'm not Camille. I'm not Laney." Those two had been the perfect kids, the shining stars. The sunny, outgoing, smart kids, loved by everyone. He was just himself. Too big and too quiet and awkward.

She made a small noise he interpreted as an expression of sympathy, but when he glanced over at her, he saw she was sitting up straight, staring into the side mirror. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"That white Toyota behind us. I'm sure I saw the same vehicle in Eagle Mountain." She leaned toward the mirror, squinting. "I think it's following us."

Her words were so startling and unexpected Zach couldn't make sense of them at first. He glanced in the rearview mirror. There were headlights in the distance, but there was nothing unusual about that. "How can you tell anything in the dark?" This wasn't like the city. Once they were away from town, the darkness engulfed them, only a sliver of moon and stars like broken glass scattered overhead.

"I've been watching it for a while now. It slows down when we slow down and speeds up when we speed up. And it's staying just far enough back that I can't see it too clearly. But I got a better look at it when we passed through that lighted crossroads a few miles back. I'm sure it's the same car I saw near your townhouse in Eagle Mountain."

"Just because you saw the car in Eagle Mountain doesn't mean it's following us," he protested. "It's probably just someone headed to Junction to shop or go to the movies," he said. "It's the closest larger town, so people from Eagle Mountain go there all the time."

"It doesn't have a front license plate," she said. "That's very convenient for a vehicle tailing another."

"Maybe it's from out of state," he said. "And there are a lot of white Toyotas around. Are you sure it's the same one?"

"I'm pretty sure. I can't make out the driver very well. Like I said, it's keeping too far back."

"I don't think we're being followed," he said. "It's just someone else going to Junction."

She settled back in the passenger seat, but tension radiated from her. "You're probably right," she said, without the least conviction in her voice.

She was beginning to freak him out, though he didn't want to show it. "I guess you're trained to notice things like that," he said.

"Yes." She glanced over her shoulder, crouching down a little, as if she didn't want the driver of the vehicle behind them to see her.

"What should I do?" he asked.

"Just drive normally."

He tried to relax and do as she asked, though his gaze returned repeatedly to the lights visible in his rearview mirror. She was right—the vehicle wasn't getting any closer, or any farther away.

They reached Junction, and Zach signaled a right turn. The vehicle that had been following them sped past, continuing straight on the highway. "Guess they weren't following us after all," Zach said.

"I guess not," she said. "Though a skilled driver might go up a block and circle back, if they wanted to throw off suspicion."

By the time he reached his parents' house, his neck ached with tension, but he hadn't seen the Toyota—or any other vehicle—since. He parked at the curb in front of his parents' house and checked the time. It was after nine. "I should have called ahead," he said. "But I didn't want to tell them about Camille over the phone."

"We'll tell them together," she said and opened the passenger door.

Zach's parents lived in a blue-and-white ranch house in a neighborhood full of homes mostly dating from the seventies and eighties, judging by the architecture. Zach led the way to the front door, Shelby just behind him. She looked around, her attitude wary. Was she searching for signs of trouble or the person she thought had followed them here?

He rang the bell and had to wait a long minute before he heard the door unlocking. His father peered out. "Zach!" he said, then looked past him to Shelby. "Is everything okay?"

"Can we come in and talk to you and Mom?" he asked.

By way of an answer, his father stepped aside. Zach moved past him into the living room, Shelby on his heels. Zach's mother looked up from the sofa, where she was reading, dressed in blue-striped pajamas. While Zach's dad had his son's coloring and facial features, on a much smaller frame, his mother was the image of Camille, older and softer. She looked to Shelby. "Hello?" she asked, a question in her voice.

"Mom, Dad, this is Special Agent Shelby Dryden," Zach said.

His mom's expression changed to one of alarm at the words special agent . His father moved to sit beside his wife. "What's this about? Has something happened?"

Zach sat across from his mother. Shelby took the chair beside him. Zach had tried to think of how to break this news to his parents, but there was no easy way. "You've heard of the Witness Protection Program, right?" he asked.

"Oh, Zach." His mother covered her mouth with one hand. "What's happened that you have to go into witness protection?"

"Not me, Mom." He sent a desperate look to his dad, then added, "It's Camille. All this time we thought Camille was dead, she was in witness protection. Or witness security, they call it. In Maryland."

"Camille's alive?" The hope in his mother's eyes was like a knife to the gut.

"No, Mom, Camille isn't alive," he said. "Not anymore."

Shelby leaned forward. "I'm very sorry. I know this is beyond horrible, but Camille died this morning. She was in Eagle Mountain, under an assumed name. Someone killed her."

Shelby continued from there, laying out the story as simply as possible and answering his parents' questions. He watched his mother as the story unfolded. She seemed to get smaller as she absorbed the words, folding in on herself, her face crumpling. He started to go to her, but Shelby got there first. She clasped her hand and led her to the sofa, murmuring to her. Whatever she said must have been the right thing—his mother straightened and filled out again, more herself.

"I can't believe she was alive all this time," her father said after the whole story had come out. "And you say she was happy?"

"Yes," Shelby said. "She had a job she enjoyed, a house she loved, friends and a cat. She missed all of you. But she was happy."

"Why did she leave all of that to come to Eagle Mountain?" Zach's dad asked. "What was so important she jeopardized her safety?"

"We're not sure, but we believe she might have intended to contact Zach." Shelby glanced at him. "Some things she had heard from friends back in Houston—friends who didn't realize she was reading their social media posts—made her believe Zach might be in danger."

"From the Chalk brothers?" his dad asked.

"Yes. Though we haven't found any evidence that any of you are in danger."

"Except that Camille is dead," his dad said.

"Yes," Shelby said. "She may have been the only target, but we can't be sure. Which is one reason we're working with local law enforcement to have extra patrols in this neighborhood. And if either of you see anything suspicious—a person who looks out of place or anything threatening—you should call 911 immediately."

His mom nodded, her face pinched. "I haven't noticed anything," she said.

Zach squeezed her hand. "There's probably nothing to worry about," he said. "Everybody is just being extra careful." He didn't mention the possibility that they had been followed tonight. Shelby didn't either.

It was after ten thirty when Zach finally stood. His parents looked tired, and he was going to need to stop for coffee if he had any hope of staying awake for the drive home. "If you have any questions, or if you see anything suspicious, call me," Shelby said, and handed them a business card. "I'll be in the area a few more days, and I'm happy to stop by anytime."

"Thank you." Zach's mom embraced her. "It's so much to take in, but it was good to meet someone who knew Camille."

"She was my friend," Shelby said. "And I'm going to do my best to find out who killed her."

Neither of them said anything else until they were in Zach's truck again. "I need coffee," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed, sounding as drained as he was.

Z ACH FOUND AN open coffee shop on the route they had taken in to town, and they placed an order in the drive-through. Then they headed back out of town. "Thanks for coming with me," he said after a while. "That would have been a lot harder without you there."

"I'm glad I could help." That wasn't the first time she had had to notify someone that their loved one was dead, but it was the only time the people in question had to hear the news twice, four years apart. "Your parents are wonderful people," she said. "I would completely understand if they were bitter, but they weren't at all."

"Yeah. I don't know how they manage to stay so strong."

"I told your mom that Camille was one of the bravest, strongest people I knew and that she always said she got those strengths from her parents." She sank back in the seat and sipped her coffee, telling herself she needed to relax. The worst of this day was over. But a flash in the side mirror distracted her, and she glanced over, then sat up straight.

"What is it?" Zach asked, his voice sharp.

Her stomach tightened. Maybe she was wrong, but she didn't think so. "That Toyota is back," she said.

Zach started to turn his head. "Don't look back," she said. "Don't let them know we've spotted them."

He checked his mirrors. "Even if that is the same car, it doesn't mean they're following us," he said.

"No." She forced herself to settle back against the seat. To look relaxed, even if she was anything but. "Don't signal, but make a sharp right up ahead, then another right to go back one block."

He did as she asked, braking at the last moment and swinging hard into the turn. She heard the squeal of tires as the Toyota followed. "Can you tell who's driving?" he asked.

"No. I still can't see anything. Take the next left."

He turned the corner, which led to a neighborhood of narrow, curving streets. He headed up a hill and pulled into the parking lot of a church. "What are you doing?" she asked, alarmed.

"If they're following us, I'm going to confront them."

She grabbed his arm. "That is a very bad idea." She unfastened her seat belt and drew her weapon. Whoever was in that car might spray them with bullets before she had a chance to return fire, but she wasn't going to confront them unarmed.