It was a big house. It took him thirty minutes to go through it, assure them no one was hiding under any of the beds, and he advised they should set their alarm anytime they were in the house.

They managed to leave at last.

“Where now? What now?”

“We hope the tech and forensic people can get something. We go to your place. We pick up dinner and go to your place. I’m bushed.”

“Me, too,” she said softly.

They did a drive-through restaurant for a bag of po’boys. When they reached the house, the dogs were waiting at the gate.

Katie and Dan greeted them and went into the house. He looked up for the cameras as he passed—they all seemed to be in place.

In the kitchen, Katie set down the bag of food. She hesitated, looking at it, looking at him.

He didn’t know what drove him; they were both exhausted. But he found himself walking over to her and pulling her into his arms. She didn’t protest; she looked up at him with no surprise.

“No commitments,” he said. “You don’t even have to call me in the morning. Oh, wait. I’ll be here in the morning.”

She didn’t speak. She kissed him.

They began shedding their clothing downstairs. She hesitated when she felt his weapon, and he set his hand on it as well.

“Always with me,” he told her.

They made it up the stairs, laughing as they entangled with clothing on the way.

He headed to the guest room again. Maybe that meant no commitment.

No commitment, and no discussion, no talking...just breathless whispers that made no sense, sounds of pleasure that escaped. He focused on the feel of her skin, the scent of it, the way she moved, her flesh against his, naked and sweet.

The taste of her.

They made love, kissing, touching, caressing everywhere. It was even better than it had been the first time: it was exciting, it was comfortable, it was knowledge of one another, growing.

Climax, wild, exhilarating, almost violent in the force of it. Lying together, letting time go by, breathing, simply holding each other. Then his phone, in his jacket on a chair in the kitchen, began to ring. He leaped out of bed, heedless of his state of undress and tore down the stairs.

It was Axel.

“Yes, Brian and Aubrey... You found out who they really are? Do they really exist?” he demanded. “Did they manage to get social security numbers into the system—”

“Hey, hold up,” Axel told him wearily. “They existed.”

“What?”

“The two existed. They were from Baton Rouge. They disappeared about a month ago. Their families looked for them everywhere.”

“Then...wait. Is our dead woman Aubrey? And Neil-slash-Brian—”