She felt the blush that swept across her cheeks.

“It’s a little late to be shy,” he said, chuckling. “Regrets?”

“No,” she said without hesitation. “I haven’t quite figured that out, but no.”

“Good.”

She still hadn’t quite figured it out. But maybe there was nothing to figure out. Maybe she was just a grown woman enjoying the attention of a man. Maybe she didn’t need a reason or an agenda. And if she was supposed to be wondering where it would go . . . she wasn’t.

She pulled out of the parking lot and headed down Sycamore.

He had said he would probably be working late, but if it wasn’t too late when he hung it up, could he stop by?

Yes. Especially after the day she had had, yes. She was so tired. Tired in her soul from the things she had seen this past week. No one would ever have accused her of being Pollyanna, but she had certainly started out the week with a much sunnier opinion of the world than she had five days later. She felt like her optimism had been dragged down a gravel road behind a truck.

It would have felt very good to slip into Vince’s embrace and let him tell her it would all be fine, that he would take care of her. Definitely politically incorrect for a young, single, career-minded woman to think, but there it was. She had been strong a long time. Someone else could be strong on her behalf every once in a while.

She turned onto Via Colinas and noticed the car behind her turn as well. She turned on Rojas. It turned again.

Her heart picked up a beat. She was no longer downtown. She was on quiet residential streets. People were inside their homes, watching television—just as they would be on her block when she pulled into her driveway and had to walk to her door alone.

She could drive straight to the sheriff’s office, she thought, uneasy. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, red and blue lights came on behind her.

Groaning, she pulled over. She had probably forgotten to signal at one of those turns. That was what she got for letting her mind wander—her second traffic citation in a week.

She rolled her window down and reached for her purse.

“License, registration, and proof of insurance.”

The voice came from behind a ball of blinding white light and sent an instant burst of fear through her.

Frank Farman.

Tommy felt very satisfied with himself as he and his dad cut through the dental office to their car parked in back. He felt very grown up having had a dinner meeting, like his mother was always having.

“That was fun, huh, Sport?” his dad asked.

“Yep.”

“And you understand what Miss Navarre was saying about asking you those questions, right? She didn’t mean anything bad by it.”