“He may know I’m undercover, but I doubt he’ll be up to speed on the details, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So much for my inside source.” Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Eve went back to stacking dishes.

“If there are no further questions”—Cate continued down the hall to discourage any—“I’ll get the game.”

But as she rummaged through the closet in her bedroom, the muted conversation between her sisters drifted toward her.

“. . . not telling us?” The tail end of Grace’s comment registered, and Cate tiptoed back to the door. Cocked her ear.

“. . . much as she can. But it doesn’t . . . as dangerous as the . . . earlier this year.”

It was hard to hear Eve, who was farther away, in the kitchen.

“I hope not—but she hated that other assignment. I can’t believe they talked her into doing this again.”

“I don’t know why . . . first time. She ever open up to you about . . . to do that?”

“No.”

“I think . . . complicated . . . ever shared with us.”

“That’s possible—but you know Cate. She can play her cards close to her vest.”

“Yeah, and despite her . . . I’m worried.”

“Me too. I don’t have a warm and fuzzy feeling about this whole thing.”

The murmured conversation continued, but Cate retreated, guilt nipping at her conscience. Eavesdropping was wrong, even if she was only trying to figure out how to spare her sisters further worry.

But that was going to be difficult to do, in view of Grace’s last comment.

Besides, how was she supposed to dispel her sisters’ bad feelings about this assignment when she had the same negative vibes?

Think positive, Cate. Banish pessimistic thoughts.

Excellent advice.

She reached up to the shelf in the closet for the Scrabble game and tried to look at the bright side.

It was possible they were all fretting unnecessarily.

Maybe there was nothing ominous at all going on at Ivy Hill.

Maybe whatever trouble Stephanie and her boyfriend had run into had happened off campus.

Maybe the concurrent traditional investigation would solve this case fast and she could return to her normal life.

However this played out, she’d be fine, just as she’d assured her sisters.

But her confidence wavered when she lost her grip on the Scrabble game and it fell to the floor, contents scattering all directions.

For as she dropped to her knees and began gathering up the wayward tiles, the cause of her clumsiness became apparent.

Her hands were shaking.

She closed her eyes.

This was not good.

She had to get a grip, corral the apprehension swirling through her.

Tracking down criminals was what she did, and if there were secrets in the bowels of Ivy Hill, she’d unearth them. That was her mandate, and she wouldn’t fail.

Clamping her teeth together, she tightened her ponytail and captured the last wayward tile. Threw it in the box.