Cate jotted that on her mental calendar. If Kayla wouldn’t share the man’s name, surveillance of the pickup could be in order. Best case, she’d get a glimpse of the guy and his license plate—but a license plate alone would do the trick. The mini binoculars she’d brought along on this gig were going to come in handy.

“Where are you going?”

“Starbucks.”

“Well, I hope that puts your mind at ease. I hate to see you so stressed. And I’ll be here if you decide you want to talk.”

“Thanks.”

Cate returned to her desk but kept tabs on Kayla in her peripheral vision.

For the remainder of the evening, her roommate didn’t crack a book—despite their history exam tomorrow. Nor did she work on her extra-credit paper for English lit.

All she did was hold her bear and stare at the wall.

An hour later, when Kayla turned in for the night, Cate doused the light on her desk too.

But as she prepared for bed and climbed under the covers, she knew sleep would be elusive.

And she’d be willing to bet it would be for Kayla too.

Because danger was in the air, as palpable—and chilling—as the ice crystals that had stung her cheeks the day she’d been attacked in the woods.

23

THIS WAS THE DAY.

In eighteen hours, all of the major players would be in custody—and if Jones cooperated and passed on what he knew, the head man would be next.

Zeke rinsed his mug, set it on the drying rack in his kitchen sink, and gave the condo a scan as he veered toward the foyer closet to retrieve his overcoat.

Nice digs.

But lonely.

If his prayers were answered, though, he wouldn’t be spending his free time alone in the future. By tomorrow, the case should end—and the rest of his life could begin.

With Cate, God willing.

A buzz of adrenaline heightened his senses as he opened the closet door—the kind he always got on the cusp of a takedown.

But today the epinephrine rush had as much to do with anticipation—and nerves—over Cate’s decision as it had to do with his case.

And that wasn’t good.

After all the work that had gone into this investigation, it deserved his full attention until all the ends were tied up and the players booked.

So he’d finish out his Spanish-teacher gig for the next eight hours, keeping up the business-as-usual pretense—but the minute he left Ivy Hill this afternoon, Zeke Martinez would cease to exist and Special Agent Zeke Sloan would be back on duty.

It was going to be a long, intense day—and a long, intense night—that would require every bit of his concentration.

Assuming all went as planned, however, the results would be well worth the extended hours and unwavering single-minded focus.