Thirteen years is nothing compared to seventeen, and it has me optimistic that the outcome of Kendall’s abduction won’t be as bad as I’ve been cautioned.
Desperate to have more to cling to than faith, I remove my artist’s hat and place on my agent’s hat. “Have we met before?”
Cameron is silent for so long that I don’t think she’ll ever answer me. “No. I don’t think so.”
“I could have sworn we’d met previously.” While adding depth to her jawline, I pay more attention to my sketch than her reply, acting unbothered. “Have you always lived on the West Coast?” Her lips twitch, yet she remains quiet. “I attended school on the East Coast, and there was a girl who dated one of my friends. She looked a lot like you. If she wasn’t you, she must be your twin.”
Her silence agitates me more than it should. Victims of trafficking have the rules beaten into them, but this feels different. Nothing I’m asking could get her in trouble… unless there are people other than Grayson watching our exchange.
Not wanting her snatched out from under Grayson’s nose for another seventeen years, I make light of my inquiries. “Though they do say we all have a doppelgänger.” I lift a stick of charcoal as if measuring the length of her petite nose instead of studying her response while murmuring, “And Grayson had a new girlfriend every other week. I shouldn’t be surprised their features have rolled into one.”
Though she stiffens, its ripple is only half the size of the balk that cracks out of my earpiece. Grayson is pissed that I broke his cover, but I need more from this sting than a handful of impersonal letters.
“You’re just his type. Pretty, smart, and petite enough to still rock a cheerleading outfit even a decade after your last tumble.” Ego strokes work well for Cameron, but since she doesn’t flinch, I give jealousy a whirl. “Though your hair is darker than he likes, and he prefers his girlfriends a little more bubbly. I could barely get a word in when we went on double dates throughout college.”
Cameron’s eyes narrow with jealousy, her usual defenses unable to conceal it. “Grayson, did you say?”
I can tell when I’m about to be played like a marionette, but I am too far gone to pull on the reins now. “Yep.”
A flicker of recognition forms in her eyes, a telltale sign that she knowsexactlywho I am talking about, yet she ignores the bait. “Never heard of him.” She adjusts her position as her expression stonewalls. “I’d remember someone like him. My father taught me how to steer clear of players like that.” She snickers as if she can smell my disappointment before she stands. “Are you done? It is getting late, and I’ve had a long day.”
You and me both.
“Almost. Just one last thing.”
Before she can react, I return her serve. A flash lights up her living room when I take my phone from my pocket and snap a photo of her.
“What the hell?” Her fury can’t be hidden with a friendly smile. She’s enraged.
Not looking up, I keep my tone casual. “I need it to finish my sketch.” She doesn’t argue. She just stares at me with narrowed eyes and lips pressed into a thin line.
I pack my pad and charcoal into the bag they were delivered in before twisting to face her. “I should have your sketch done in the next day or two.” I head for the door, my heart hammering my ribs the more Grayson’s big breaths barrel down my earpiece. “Oh, and thanks for the meal. It was amazing.”
Again, she doesn’t reply, but I know I’ve shaken something loose.
I’m just praying like hell it isn’t my close working relationship with Grayson.
25
GRAYSON
Igrip the steering wheel, wringing it of the frustration strumming in my veins. The van is silent except for the occasional rattle of the surveillance equipment in the back. Macy sits beside me, her arms folded and her gaze fixed out the window. Tension radiates off her, though it has nothing on the fury bubbling in my gut.
She blew my cover.
She said my name to Cameron.
Although I feel compelled to request an explanation from her, my experience has taught me that reacting with anger is neither practical nor advisable when everything is balancing on a knife-edge.
Even though I am feeling anything but, I keep my voice low and controlled. “You had no right to mention me.”
Macy doesn’t flinch or glower. She doesn’t even look at me.
I hate that even more than her breaking my cover.
“We don’t have time to stall, Grayson. I needed to know if she recognized your name.”
“Did she?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
