Donovan didn't call me the next morning.

Ciar did.

My heart still hadn't settled from the hope that Donovan had kept last night's promise, and so when I answered, my "Hello" came out a little fainter than I meant.

"Maisye. Your car's ready."

I sat up, surprised at the businesslike clip of his voice. Not five hours ago we'd sat side by side in our underwear. He'd seen a piece of the most fucked up part of me.

"Thanks," I managed, then promptly hung up.

Of course he was calling about the damn car.

Still in last night's clothes—I'd been too exhausted and distracted to change before falling into bed—I grabbed my keys, opened the front door, and came face-to-face with Donovan.

I mouthed soundlessly at him for a moment before a single syllable finally escaped. "Hi."

He leaned away, eyes flicking over me almost warily. "Hi."

"I thought you were going to call."

At that, he finally grinned, such a simple gesture that made him look years younger. "Back in the day, this was calling."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the hideous giggle that escaped. For that brief moment, when the light had pushed the ghosts from his eyes, he'd looked just like the Mark from my dreams: blond, blue-eyed, waiting on my doorstep to ask if I would take him back.

Yes. The answer was always yes.

"Perfect." Donovan grabbed my hand, pulling me back to earth and out the door.

"Wait." I dug my heels in, yanking myself out of his grasp. "What?"

"You just said you wanted to come."

"Come where?"

"Provincetown." He squinted at me, enunciating the word slowly as if he could watch it sink into my brain. It obviously wasn't the first time he'd said it.

"I—"

Had he said that? Had I said that? I had been busy daydreaming about Mark.... But what about Ciar's call? The car was done. I had to pick it up.

I glanced down at myself. "I'm still wearing last night's clothes," I blurted. It wasn't something I wanted to draw attention to, but for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to tell him Ciar had called before him.

Donovan just shook his head with a small smile. "I already packed our things. There's plenty in there. If we go now, we'll be there before lunch."

I wanted to dig in my heels, spin around, and run away. Anywhere but Provincetown, the place where those engagement photos had come to life. He'd proposed to her there, he'd betrayed her there by sneaking out on a speedboat to get himself on the FBI's radar.

Was she with him? The same question I'd asked Clarissa sprang back to my lips now, but I bit it back before I blew my own cover. Still, it swirled just below the surface. Maybe this was a chance to find out.

I gave in and let him take my hand again, following him out to the Tesla parked in my driveway.

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

For the first hour, Donovan seemed content to sit in silence, holding my hand while driving with his free one. I wanted to ask him why he didn't just let the car drive itself, but the quiet was so solid and complete that I didn't feel authorized to break it.

Finally, a little past the hour mark, he shifted. "You okay?" he asked, glancing over. "Need a pit stop?"

I shook my head but returned his question with one of my own. "What's in Provincetown?"

"A lot." He shrugged as we sped down a surprisingly empty stretch of highway. "It's a pretty touristy place. You won't be bored, that's for sure."

"Is that why we're going?"

"I have business to take care of," he said after a moment's hesitation.

My heart leapt, then sank. I tried to talk it back up. This was what I wanted. It was what Clarissa wanted. A chance to spy, a chance for answers.

But the part of me that wished he would've just said he wanted to whisk me away and be with me wouldn't shut up.

I understood his choice of silence now. It couldn't hurt you. You couldn't hear anything you didn't want to hear in pure, unadulterated quiet. I folded my arms across my stomach and stared out the window, wishing the stupid engine was at least loud enough to offer white noise. If we were in Ciar's old-ass Mustang, I wouldn't have been able to hear every single breath.

I watched the traffic behind us through the side mirror. As Donovan weaved around a slow-moving semi truck, a sleek white sedan with tinted windows did the same two cars behind. I watched as it slid back into place in the right lane just as we did, and then followed us off the exit. When we turned right, it did, too.

I sat up straighter. "Actually, I need to pee."

Donovan shot me a look, eyes narrowed a fraction and brows drawn into a thick V, but he obeyed.

It's nothing, I chanted over and over as he started to pull into the parking lot of a gas station. There are hundreds of cars on that road. Of course some of them get off at the same exits.

I peeked in the mirror again. The white car was keeping further back now, but as Donovan glided to a halt in a parking space, the flash of headlights gave way to a gleaming white body, the driver inside hidden by the blackened windows.

I shot out of the car and into the tiny store, flying down the aisles and locking myself in the bathroom.

My heart pounded against my chest, leaving no room for my lungs. Gasping, I tried to calm my racing nerves. You're paranoid. Clarissa promised she would keep you safe.

But promises that hinged on the unknown never worked out. We didn't know who had tried to kill me or slashed Donovan's tires in my driveway. All we knew was that they'd gotten to me at least twice now—probably three times, counting the starter relay—even with her stalking me half the time.

I jumped when someone knocked on the door. I was bent over the sink without a complete memory of how I got there, and in the mirror behind me a row of empty stalls glared at me almost disapprovingly.

Another knock, more insistent this time. Someone probably just wanted to use the bathroom, but I still hovered with my hand over the lock.

"Who's there?" I called.

"For god's sake, Maisye, open the damn door before you blow both our covers."

The relief that swept through me at Clarissa's voice almost brought me to my knees. I pulled the latch back and threw the door open, ushering her in as if the apocalypse was coming outside.

"It was you?" I asked, grabbing the sink again to keep myself from collapsing. "You've been following us?"

"Of course." She folded her arms, frowning at me, and I once again became aware of my day-old clothes and wild hair as her eyes flicked over me. "You hopped in Donovan Cosgrave's car and were halfway to P-town before I could blink."

I sighed, grumbling to myself. "Do you ever sleep?"

The woman seemed to follow me around all day, every day. Not that I was complaining in this case, but it did beg the question.

"Of course I do," she scoffed. "One of my guys had the overnight shift. I was on my way to take over when he told me you left with Cosgrave. You are going to Provincetown, aren't you?"

I nodded.

She did, too, her eyes wandering from the grimy wall beside the sink to the stalls and back to me again. "He's planning something."

I looked away as his words rang in my head. I have business to take care of.

I nodded again after a moment's pause.

"Here." She handed me what looked like a flash drive. "I need you to keep that as close to him as you can at all times."

"What is it?"

"Something that'll help us get this guy for good." When I only stared at her, she sighed. "Look, something's going down out there. You know it. Don't you want to find out? For Tillie?"

I did want to know what had gone down in Provincetown all those years ago. How could he propose to her and sneak around behind her back all in one trip—a trip that was supposed to mean so much to her? Had he even gone behind her back? No one knew if she'd been on the boat with him that night or not.

"Just keep it in your pocket and stay by his side," Clarissa broke through my thoughts. "Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

I swallowed and slipped the device inside the pocket of Tilda's skirt. "You'll be there the whole time, won't you? You know, stalking me as usual?"

Clarissa let out a soft snort, but she gave me a small smile to go with it. "You know it."