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"What?"

"Do you always text in dark parking lots?"

She stiffened in the passenger's seat. "Excuse me?"

"Last night," I said. "You were texting as you walked to your car." I paused to let that sink in before asking, "Did you see the guy coming up behind you?"

With no trace of laughter, she said, "You were watching me?"

"I wasn't the only one."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Some guy, maybe six-foot tall, dark coat, receding hair – he was maybe ten paces behind you."

She hesitated a long moment before saying, "So?"

"So that's a problem."

"Wanna know whatIthink's a problem?"

"What?"

"Somebody watching me when I don't know it."

My fingers flexed around the steering wheel. "Yeah. He was."And that guy – he'd been watching Cami with far too much interest.

She said, "I wasn't talking abouthim. I was talking about you. Where were you, anyway?"

"In the same lot," I said. "Three rows back."

She pointed vaguely toward the dashboard. "You mean inthisvehicle?"

"It's the one I drove, isn't it?"

"I don’t know," she said, "because I didn't see it last night."

"Right. Because you weren't looking."

She turned sideways in her seat to face me. "What is this, anyway?"

"What do you think it is?"

"You know, Ireallydon't like that."

"You don’t like what?"

With obvious annoyance, she said, "When you answer a question with a question."

She could be annoyed all she wanted. I wasn't letting her off the hook. "Wanna know whatIdon't like?"

"No. I don't actually."

I told her anyway. "I don't like the idea of you not being careful."

"Oh yeah?" she said. "AndIdon't see where that's any of your business."

I gave her a long sideways look. "Isn't it?"