His voice is so steady, so utterly emotionless, I find myself a little unnerved. This is not the passionate man I made love to less than an hour ago. This is not the man I’ve been studying over the years.

This is a stranger.

“Insecure biker,” I say, trying to keep my tone confident. “It’s an anagram. And so it makes sense that the other drawing you made that night would be titled with an anagram too. I mean . . . it makes sense for you. Normal people don’t turn random thoughts into anagrams. But there’s nothing normal about you, is there, Lander?”

“No, I suppose that’s something we have in common. You and I are two of a kind.”

I inhale sharply. It’s not his words that scare me. It’s his calm.

Right now I’m afraid of Lander.

I walk around the chair and slowly lower myself into it, keeping my eyes on his . . . just like I do when we make love. But the chemistry, while still intense, is totally different now.

“Kind, witty, heroine.” I say the words slowly. I gesture to the picture. “I was so flattered. I didn’t even recognize that you had me dressed up to look like Mata Hari.”

“Ah, you know your history.”

I don’t answer. My jaw is so tight it aches.

He sits opposite me, reaches for a pen, then pulls the drawing toward him. Below Kind, Witty Heroine he writes the words I Know Her Identity.

Seeing him write it out like that makes me think about his window. It makes me think about how easy it would be to fall.

He turns the paper around so the words are facing me. I read them over and over again, using them as an excuse to avoid his eyes.

“You’re not who you say you are, Bell.”

I hold my silence, reading and rereading those words and thinking about what they mean.

They mean it’s over.

I’ve failed, Mom. I didn’t get you your justice. I am as stupid as I’ve ever been.

“You act like you’re this carefree party girl, but that’s just a façade. You’re calculating, ambitious, determined . . . and you’re very manipulative, aren’t you?”

“Just more things we have in common,” I snap. But only my words are brave. Inside I’m trembling.

“That’s true. I’ve manipulated enough people to know what it looks like.” He leans back into the sofa. “You knew who I was when I walked into that bar, didn’t you?”

I swallow hard before whispering, “How could I have known that?”

“Come now, your Miss Innocent role’s played out. You have to be a more versatile actor.”

I lift my chin defiantly, hold in my fear.

“You thought I was going to change your life, didn’t you?” he presses.