Ducking behind a tree, he stared across at number 18. A small, unremarkable house. He didn’t know what he’d expected. He used his phone camera to zoom in subtly, seeing no lights or movement. When he panned up toward a dark window in the roof, he wasn’t sure why it sent a zip of adrenaline through his blood, an urge to holler his daughter’s name. Freya, are you in there? He could feel her everywhere now, even in this place where she didn’t belong.

What now? Wait, watch? Paul had almost forgotten the periods of anxious limbo that were a big part of investigating. The constant, smoldering fear—of discovery, of failure. He didn’t even have the cushion of a false identity anymore, the support of listening ears at the end of a wire. In fact, he felt gut-wrenchingly alone.

He had only one lifeline. In the shadow of the tree, he speed-texted Yvette: Do you know if Sanderson works? What are the chances of him being out right now?

Then, more waiting. Staring at his phone, at the house, left and right along the street. Spooking at every sound.

Finally, a reply: He works in a garage. Taylor’s. I don’t know his working hours but according to their website it closes at 6.

Paul checked the time: 4:40.

Tom Glover’s voice filled his head now, ordering him away. But Paul was far beyond caring about the consequences for himself or the police. Further down the street he found a small alleyway, overgrown with weeds, which led him round the back to a row of locked gates. He counted until he reached the right one, his gaze sweeping the rear of Sanderson’s house.

Stripping off his coat, Paul was reminded of how he’d felt after the Sanderson job had come to an abrupt end and he’d finally peeled off the clothes he’d worn while “in character.” He’d taken a long bath in searing-hot water, as though to burn away the last of Paul Jacobs, but afterward he’d felt empty. The real Paul hadn’t been waiting for him after he’d shed the snakeskin of his false persona. As months had passed he’d feared he’d never find him again, until he’d met Steph and she’d slowly helped him believe he still had substance, without even really knowing she was doing it.