The gang was halfway down the sidewalk, still talking—about timelines, fake names, motive theories—when it hit him.
That familiar prickling at the base of his neck.
Duke stopped mid-sentence and turned.
Nothing.
Just pedestrians heading home. A couple laughing near a crosswalk. A man locking up a bike.
Still, the feeling didn’t fade.
He scanned the street again, slower this time. Deliberate.
But he didn’t see any movement that didn’t belong or any shadow out of place.
His instincts didn’t care.
He’d learned a long time ago that the worst threats weren’t the obvious ones.
They were the quiet ones.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
As Duke drovethem back to the hotel, Andi rested her head against the seat and let the city blur past the window. Her thoughts replayed the day in sharp, unwanted fragments—meeting Emily, realizing Pam wasn’t who she claimed to be, the threat warning them not to mention Gina to the media, and the interview they’d just finished.
Her neck ached with exhaustion, but her mind refused to slow.
Just as Duke turned into the hotel’s circular drive, his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel before he frowned. “It’s the hotel—the first one we stayed at. The one where Fake Pam met us for dinner.”
Andi pushed herself upright. Fatigue evaporated. “Why are they texting you?”
“Looks like security.” He shifted the SUV into Park and angled the phone so he could read it. “They sent over an image from last night. Lobby footage. Of Pam.”
Before Andi could ask to see it, the valet approached.
Looking at the photo would have to wait until they were inside.
Duke handed over the keys, and they climbed out.
The hotel entrance was alive with motion. Their tour bus had just pulled up along the curb, its engine idling as the doors opened and staff spilled out—Mariella mid-conversation, Ranger scanning the area out of habit as Simmy walked beside him, Matthew already focused on his laptop as he walked.
The rest of the team slowed when they spotted Andi and Duke. They clustered in the lobby, and Duke stopped near the edge of the group. He held out his phone.
“This is security footage from the hotel we stayed at last night,” Duke explained.
Andi stepped closer, her stomach sinking the moment the image filled the screen.
The footage was grainy and distant, captured from a high corner near the elevators. Fake Pam stood partially turned away, her head angled down just enough to obscure her face—as if she knew exactly where the cameras were. The harsh lobby lighting flattened everything, washing out details and blurring features until recognition hovered frustratingly out of reach.
Andi leaned in, studying it more carefully.
“This is the best they have?” she asked, unable to keep the disappointment from creeping into her voice. She’d been hoping for clarity—for something concrete to hold onto.
“The head of security said it’s the clearest angle from that time frame,” Duke said. He twisted his neck, then scrubbed a hand across his jaw, frustration evident in the set of his mouth.
