His throat closed as all the little questions that had been haunting him came to the fore. Hadn’t he wondered about Sophia’s rapid-fire changes in personality? How she could be almost saccharine-sweet one day and sarcastic, to the point of being brittle, the next? And there were the other discrepancies that he’d tried to ignore.

As the snow fell around his Explorer, he remembered her coming out of the shower, her hair pinned away from her face, freckles visible on her shoulder; yet another time, now that he thought about it, in a similar situation, when her hair had been swept up in a messy bun that same shoulder was flawless—no makeup. He knew. He’d kissed her bare skin. And then there were her toes. One had been broken and wouldn’t fit easily into a boot, and yet another time when she was wearing those same knee-highs, he’d watched her dress and the foot had slipped easily inside.

His stomach roiled.

He hadn’t been sleeping with one woman who was possibly related to him, but two. And one—God, he hoped only one—now claimed to be pregnant!

Saliva collected in his mouth, and he rolled down the window and spat.

Were Sophia and Julia somehow involved in the murders that had gone down? Did they have something to do with Megan going missing? Every muscle in his back and neck was tight, his fingers surrounding the steering wheel in a death grip.

“Look, I’m going to do some more checking, find out where Julia Harper is, and I’ll get back to you.” He disconnected before James could tell him that he already knew where Julia was.

Right here.

In Riggs Crossing.

Sophia had mentioned that James had caught a glimpse of her sister a couple of times when she’d dropped Sophia off at work. Always at a distance. Even so, he thought now that something was off. She was a heavy-set girl with dark hair and glasses.

No twin. At least not an identical twin. Or . . . a woman in a disguise.

His jaw clenched.

Crocker was right: He’d been played.

James tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. This was wrong. So very wrong. His thoughts spinning madly, his stomach turning over and over, the saliva forming in his mouth, a warning that had him fighting the bile that rose in his throat. He dug in the console and found the receiver for the GPS tracking device he’d bought in Seattle, then hidden on the underside of Sophia’s car when she’d been working.

As soon as the screen came to life, the indicator light starting to blink, he hit the gas.

* * *