But . . . the short look she had gotten had reminded her of someone. She’d seen him before. In the past. But where?

Her phone buzzed and she snatched it from the holder clipped to the vent. “Hello?”

“Caden’s still trying to get the video down,” Brooke said.

FBI Special Agent Caden Denning, Sarah’s brother and a friend to them all. Heather let out a low sigh. “It’s probably a moot point by now. It has over six million views and is climbing. Talk shows are calling me. Can you believe it? I’ve had to refer them to my agent.”

“Your agent?”

“Sarah.” Sarah Denning, another good friend and fellow vet.

Brooke laughed. A deep laugh that reminded Heather once again why she and Brooke were friends. “Oh my. She didn’t tell me that.”

Four weeks ago, someone had posted a video of Heather performing surgery while in Kabul. It had gone viral within hours. When it had gotten to the point that people were stopping her in the grocery store to either lambast her for trying to save a suicide bomber or regale her with praise for her “saintly” heart, she’d had enough. For a week, she’d worked to get it pulled from the internet—all to no avail.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

Heather jerked. “Oh. Sorry. I’m here.”

“Well, are you going to sit out there all evening or come in?”

Heather closed her eyes and pulled in a deep, cleansing breath. “Sorry, I was just thinking about something. I’m coming.”

“You brought your suit, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Great. We’re in the pool. Get changed and join us.”

“Bossy today, aren’t you?”

Brooke simply laughed and Heather couldn’t help the smile that curved her own lips.

“You do realize it’s two measly degrees above freezing out here?”

“That’s why my husband put the heater in, and plus, we have the hot tub now.” Asher and Brooke had been married for about six months now. “Trust me, you’ll love it. It’s really relaxing.” She paused. “And relaxing sounds like it might be beneficial for you.”

Heather laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I’m on the way.” She hung up and grabbed her bag from the floorboard. When she looked up, her gaze zeroed in on a shadow of movement on the street in front of Brooke’s neighbor’s house. A fleeting glimpse of someone in a ballcap, scarf, and plaid jacket. The same outfit she’d seen yesterday when she walked out of the hospital. He disappeared behind the van parked on the street, then reappeared, hands shoved into his coat.

She shoved open the door, bolted from the seat, and raced in the direction she’d seen the person.

“Heather!”