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He sits.

I narrow my eyes. “Don't look at me like that.”

His tail thumps against the comforter.

“I don't even know who she is.”

Which is the problem.

She could be anyone. An ex-girlfriend. A woman he worked with. A random woman in a bar. Someone who apparently did something memorable enough to earn him the nickname Hot Lips.

My jaw tightens. “I don't like her.”

Alibi yawns.

“Exactly. We hate that basic boring bitch.”

I pull his blanket over him. He immediately crawls out from under it.

“Fine.” I grab the remote from my nightstand and turn on the television. Scooby-Doo fills the screen.

Alibi's ears perk.

“There. Entertainment.”

He settles onto the blanket.

“You stay here.”

His attention remains on Scooby.

“I'm going out.”

No reaction.

“Don't wait up.”

Scooby runs across the screen. Alibi doesn't even look at me.

“Wow. Okay.” Apparently, I've already been replaced.

I walk into the kitchen and grab a reusable tote from the pantry.

If I'm going to conduct surveillance, I’m going to do it properly.

Roman has taught me several things.

One, don't follow too closely.

Two, don't reuse the same disguise.

Three, reflective surfaces are traitors.

Four, stalking works up an appetite. Which means snacks are necessary.

I open the pantry and grab chips, beef jerky, peanut butter crackers, and gummy bears. I hesitate over a package of cookies. This isn't a picnic. I shrug and put them in the bag anyway.

I add two granola bars, then grab several small bottles of water from the refrigerator.