It had happened so quickly she might have imagined it if this weren’t a repeat performance. She’d seen him do the same thing two days ago in Roscoe Village. She’d noted the incident in her log but hadn’t known what to call it. Those pseudogrenades would go unnoticed unless someone was actively looking for them. What was he doing?

Just as she decided to drive back to investigate, she heard a siren behind her. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a squad car approaching. She moved over to let it pass. Instead, it settled behind her, lights flashing. The cop was after her.

Cursing under her breath, she swung into a strip mall. That bastard! He’d been playing cat and mouse with her. From the beginning, he’d intended to call in the police.

The squad car followed her into the parking lot, its flashing red lights smearing a path across the front windows of a Subway and a dentist’s office. The reality of the situation hit home. It was over. Graham was going to file charges against her. Every penny of her savings was gone, and she had no safety net, no other wealthy client waiting in the wings to take the place of the one she was about to lose.

Using all the curses she’d learned at her father’s knee, she retrieved her driver’s license—her real one—from her wallet. Her fake IDs were safely stashed in her underwear drawer. Not her Glock, though. Concealed carry was legal in Illinois, but she still kicked it as far under the driver’s seat as it would go, praying for a miracle.

While the cop ran her plates, she extracted her registration and insurance card from the glove box. When he finally approached, she saw that he was about her age, early thirties, one of those super buff guys who should have been Mr.January on a Naked Cops of Chicago calendar. She put down her window and worked on her friendliest, most innocent smile. “Is there a problem, officer?”

“Could I see your license, registration, and proof of insurance, ma’am?”

She handed over the papers. As he examined her license, the smell of his cologne drifted through the open window. She was clearly coming unhinged because “It’s Raining Men” buzzed through her head. She wondered if his uniform was being held together with strips of Velcro.

“Are you aware that it’s illegal to tape up a broken taillight?”

This was about her taillight? Graham hadn’t turned her in? She went weak with relief.

“I saw you were cited with a defective equipment violation in August,” he said, “but you didn’t get it properly fixed.”