I ran down the snack and chip aisle, then into the hallway. There was a storeroom on one side, a unisex bathroom on the other, and a door with a barely glowing exit sign over the doorframe. I peeked into the storeroom. It was cluttered, but there was no possible place for a guy as large as Garth to hide out.

I turned to the bathroom. The door was shut, and there was a nine-digit keypad over the handle. “Hey,” I called to the clerk. “What’s the code?” I keyed it in as he told me, then pushed down on the door handle, fairly certain the bathroom was empty. I couldn’t hear anyone in there, and I’ve got amazing hearing. Inhuman hearing.

“Garth?” I eased the door open. The bathroom was dark. And empty. “Damn it.”

I lunged to the exit and slammed the metal door open. And froze mid-step.

Garth moved into the glow of a floodlight a couple yards away, his sidearm drawn and aimed at my chest. “Why are you following me?”

Slowly, I raised my hands so I could push back my hood. As the damp fabric fell backward, I kept my hands up and where he could see them, assuring him I meant him no harm.

Garth’s eyebrows rose, his eyes rounding. “Kat?” He lowered his pistol.

The corner of my mouth lifted. “Jumpy much?”

He pressed his lips into a flat line. “I thought you were one of them.”

“I am one of them.”

He holstered his gun, and I lowered my hands. “You know what I mean.”

I took a step toward him, my eyes scanning his bold features. “You look good.” My eyes met his. His dark brown irises appeared black backlit against the floodlight. “Better, I mean.” I felt my lips curve into the barest of smiles. “You look better.” Not that he didn’t look good—he always looked good. He was an attractive guy, all tall and broad-shouldered and confident and kind. A guy who was a cop, while I was a killer. A guy who was human. A guy who nearly died because of me.

Garth laughed under his breath. “Just better?” He shot a quick glance around.

My cheeks warmed.

Taking a step closer, Garth ducked his head, his eyes skimming over my face and lower, taking me in. He frowned, placing a hand on my arm and moving me deeper into the shadows with him. “Everything alright? You look . . .” He trailed off when his eyes met mine. “How’s your brother?”

I touched the mirrored pendant through my sweatshirt. Dom hadn’t said anything yet, so I figured he was still back in the standing mirror on Bainbridge. “He died,” I said. “But he’s okay, sort of. It’s a long story.”

Garth nodded to himself, like my wackadoo explanation was the most normal thing in the world. “Are you okay?”

My lips parted and I inhaled, planning to tell him I was fine, but nothing came out. Because I wasn’t okay. Far from it. I just hadn’t realized how far until he asked me.