I quickly looked away, sliding down in my seat a little and raising my hand to fiddle with my hair, obscuring my face with my arm. I was sure he’d seen me. And if he’d been paying attention at the community center, he would recognize me. He would recognize us. And our car. We shouldn’t have followed him. But it was too late for that now.

Chris drove with purpose, but I could see his eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror every so often. When we were back on the highway, he hit the steering wheel with his fist.

I jumped. “What?”

“Waste of time,” he said, mirroring my earlier thought.

“Did you recognize the house at all?”

He shook his head. “And I couldn’t get a good enough look at anyone to see if I recognized any of them, either. Nothing.” He sighed. “I’ve got nothing.”

“That’s not true,” I said. Bubble gum, pearl, blue. Bronze, silver, foamy sea green. JSB946. “You have a license plate number. I have it memorized.”

“What do I need his plate number for? I already know who he is, where he works, and what he drives.”

“Not his,” I said. “The plates on the car in the driveway.”

CHRIS DROPPED ME off at my car in the community center parking lot, promising me he’d go home for the night, as one of his headaches was coming on again. The community center’s evening programs were getting started—people were heading in with their workout bags and dance uniforms. It was dark outside. We’d been at this forever. No wonder he had a headache.

“The database isn’t going anywhere,” I said, writing down the license plate number on a napkin I found in his glove box. “You can check tomorrow.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t. The pain was so bad he was squinting one eye.

“I still can’t believe you got the number. We drove by fast, and you barely looked out the window.”

I didn’t need to look too hard, I wanted to say. The number—the colors—came to me. As they always did. “Guess I’m just good,” I said with a smirk.

“Yet you don’t want to go into the police acad—”

I wadded up the napkin and held it up. “You say it out loud and I eat this. And you never get the number.”

“As much as I’d like to see you eat that napkin, my head hurts too much to argue. Good night, Nikki.”

He pulled the napkin from my hand, dropped it on his seat between his legs, and waved at me. I shut the door and watched him pull away. He was driving very fast. The headache must have been getting unbearable.