“And maybe an Aston Martin,” Peri said, coming to a satisfied halt before it. Silas was hiding a smile, but Peri didn’t care. It was a nice car, and she didn’t have much of a chance to show it off.

“I’m on a list, but I haven’t had a Detroit address long enough. Does it really change color?” Cam asked, and Peri went around to the driver’s side.

“As you say, that would be illegal,” she said as she lifted the latch. The car recognized her print, not the fob in her pocket, and unlocked. She slid in, and as the car enfolded her with the scent of leather and suede, she flicked through the onboard screen and toggled the color from its energy-saving white to black with a surge of extra electrons.

“That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Cam said, his voice breathy.

“It gets me there.” Relishing his appreciation, she shut her door, eyes closing briefly in bliss at the soft thump that said money. God, she’d missed this. But it wasn’t the kind of car she could go to the store in for cat food.

Silas intentionally bumped Cam as he went between him and the front. “Pick your jaw up before she runs it over,” he said as he reached for the handle.

Peri hit the lock button, but she must have cleared him in the past because it recognized his print and opened. He got in with a hasty lurch—as if she might bolt out of the garage with him half in it. Secure in his seat, he looked across the surprisingly wide expanse, his eyes glinting in challenge.

“You’ll have to shoot me,” he said breathlessly. “I’ll get blood all over your seats.”

Frowning, she hit the start button. “At least if I shoot you, you’ll wake up in the morning.”

Cam’s tall shadow was flitting in front of the car as if not knowing what to do. Peri revved the engine to get him to move, and he darted to her side. Silas put his belt on, adjusted the vent, and turned on the seat warmer. Clearly he’d been in it before, if the lock being primed to him wasn’t enough of an indication. Nodding, he hit a dismiss key on the lighted touch screen. Maybe he’d helped me set it up.

“We going or not?”

Sighing, she twisted in her seat and handed him the Glock from the small of her back. “Fine,” she muttered. “You can come. But you already knew that. Damn psychologist.”

“Just a matter of hitting the right buttons,” he said, clearly relieved. “God, I love this car. Hey, my station is still in the queue,” he added as the car found the satellite and slow jazz lifted from the speakers.

My gut feels good about this, she realized as she pulled slowly forward, the power and ability coiled up in the engine spilling into her through the wheel and gas pedal.

“Peri!” Cam tapped on the window, and she lowered it so he wouldn’t touch it again.

“We have to go,” Silas prompted, and she obstinately put the car in park.

“What?” she asked Cam, ignoring Silas.

Cam pulled his eyes from the lighted dash, his brow suddenly furrowing. “You’re not coming back, are you.”

“Yes I am.”

“No,” he insisted. “You’re not.”

Knowing he was probably right, she dropped her head and dug in her belt pack for the key. “Do what you want with the store,” she said, pressing it into his hand.

“Peri,” Silas protested, but the peace she’d found here was spoiled.

“Sell it,” she added, refusing to take it back. “Use the money for Carnac’s vet bills. Whatever. I don’t care. You saw the security code, right? Twenty, five—”

“One,” Cam finished softly. “Peri—”

“If I can take care of this, you’ll be fine,” she interrupted. “If I can’t, then Bill won’t have any reason to bother you.”

“Either way, you’re not coming back,” Cam said—and it hurt.

“I’m sorry.” The car rumbled under her, the embodiment of her wish to be gone.

“Don’t worry about it.” Cam tucked the key away and glanced at Silas. “I knew there was no real chance. My psychologist says I only go after the women I can’t have, and I thought I might have broken that, but I guess not.”

“I’m trying to fix this,” Peri said, not liking his sad smile. “Once Bill is gone, I have a chance at something normal.”

“But not with me,” he said, his eyes going back to Silas. “I know when a woman is in love.”

She flushed, her grip on the wheel tightening. Beside her, Silas cleared his throat. “It’s going to be light soon,” he muttered.

“Cam,” she said, not wanting to leave it like this, but he was backing up.

“Do me a favor,” the tall man said, his eyes on the lights of Detroit. “If you come back for Carnac, leave me a note so I don’t waste my time looking for him, okay?”

“Cam!”

He was walking away. “I’ll get the gate for you.”

“Jesus,” she swore, and Silas smirked. “Why is he laying this guilt trip on me? It isn’t as if we did anything together.”

“He seems nice,” Silas said dryly, and she inched forward.

“Not another word,” she warned.

“I was just going to say—”

“Stop,” she demanded, trying to catch Cam’s eye as she carefully drove out of the gate and angled into the alley. But he wouldn’t look at her.

This wasn’t what she had intended, but as Silas settled into his seat as if it were his lounger in front of his TV, shut his eyes, and went to sleep, she realized that it was the calmest, most relaxed she’d been in months.

Maybe, she thought, looking at him.

Maybe not.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

“There is no police report because I didn’t report it,” Bill said, his voice even but temper fraying as he argued with the disaster recovery company. “Get someone out to look at it. Give me a quote so I can write a check. Fix it. What is the difficulty?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we are required by law to report gun damage.”

Bill pressed his fingertips into his forehead, fighting the urge to pace the floor of the East Coast office that Helen had insisted he use while he was here. He wanted to go home to a house that had no reminders of Michael or his lifeblood spilling from him, but that was looking less and less likely. “Guns didn’t make the holes in my walls. Bullets did. Are you required by law to report bullet damage?”