"Persons of interest," I say finally.
"Not suspects. Not yet."
"But close, how they hell did she find us?"
"No idea. But she meant to unnerve us with this. She could have sent police to the door, but she didn’t."
I turn back to the developing tray and pull the print out, hanging it to dry with hands that don't shake. Muscle memory, automatic movements while my brain processes the threat.
"We could run," Dom says quietly. "Pack tonight and be in Mexico by morning."
"And then what? Spend the rest of our lives running? Abandon everything we've built?"
"Better than prison."
"Is it?"
I turn to face him, leaning back against the counter. The red light casts shadows across his face, making him look dangerous and beautiful.
"Think about it," I say. "What does she actually have?"
"Something that was enough for her to find us."
"From eight months ago. Descriptions of two people who don't exist anymore. Dom and Roxy, whoever they were, disappeared. Died, maybe. Vanished into thin air."
"She's smart enough to track us here."
"How? Through what connection? We're James and Roxy Brennan. We moved to San Diego from Portland. We have tax records, rental history, business licenses. We're normal people."
Dom's quiet for a moment, thinking. "She could have tracked the van. Registration, VIN number."
“But you sold it in Reno. Cash sale, no paper trail. The buyer probably scrapped it or sold it again by now."
"Credit cards. Bank accounts."
"Everything we had as Dom and Roxy is gone. Erased."
"DNA. If she has DNA from the crime scene…"
"We've never been arrested. Never been printed. Our DNA isn't in any database." I pause. "And even if she somehow got a sample, what would she compare it to? James and Roxy Brennan have no criminal history. No reason to be in the system."
He's listening now, really listening. I can see his mind working through the logic.
"She wants voluntary interviews," I continue. "That means she doesn't have enough for a warrant. Doesn't have probable cause. She's fishing."
"And if we refuse?"
"Then we look guilty. Running makes us look guilty. But cooperating, answering her questions and providing alibis, being helpful citizens, that makes us look innocent."
"You want to talk to her."
"I want to test the cover. See if it holds under pressure."
Dom crosses to me and pulls me against him, his hands settling on my waist. "This is dangerous."
"Everything we do is dangerous."
"If she doesn't believe us, we’re fucked."
