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Anger rolledoff Dana in waves. She replayed the Alchemist’s condescending words as she drove through the quiet neighborhood of Georgetown student housing. She could navigate these streets in her sleep, which only gave her irritation more time to simmer.

Dana regretted letting Raynard get to her. She left without even telling Hartwell where she was going, partly because she didn’t exactly know. When she’d gotten in her car, she thought she was heading home, but with her mind elsewhere, she found she’d changed course, heading toward the Smithsonian.

Not too long ago, it would’ve seemed like the most natural thing in the world. But it had been a while since her office had felt like a sanctuary. She paused at the light on 10th and E street, wondering if she should follow whatever instinct led her this way, or turn back toward home. Toward the people who were counting on her.

As if sensing her dilemma, Jake’s name flashed across Dana’s caller ID. She accepted the incoming call despite knowing she didn’t have the answers he was calling for.

“Hey,” she answered.

“Just checking in,” he greeted. “How’s it going?”

“It’s been a long night.”

“Always are.”

When she was silent, Jake said, “We’ll get through it, Gray. Remember, one step at a time.”

She sighed. “I know. But these steps don’t seem to be leading anywhere.”

“Wanna talk it through?” he offered.

“When I get home,” she replied.

“When will that be?”

The light turned green, and Dana pulled a U-turn on the abandoned street. “On my way now.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all night.”

Dana could hear Jake’s smile through the phone, and it lightened her mood considerably.

“You hungry?” he asked. “I can whip something up.”

She hadn’t eaten, but the crime scene killed her appetite. “Thanks, but I don’t think I can eat.”

Jake’s voice was gentle now. “Tell me what I can do.”

“There’s a bottle of Pinot in my pantry. Have it open when I get home?”

“Done.”

Jake’s voice filled the car, wrapping around Dana like a security blanket she didn’t want to let go of. She wanted to be with him. The ache came on as sudden and ferociously as an earthquake, threatening to shake loose her grip on reality.

Putting whatever they were to each other on hold was the logical choice, but ignoring her feelings wasn’t working. Dana was constantly oscillating between desire and denial. One minute she was pushing Jake away, the next she was imagining his arms around her.

It was infuriating, and it was affecting her ability to think clearly.

Their current living arrangement wasn’t helping. Without time apart Dana was having trouble compartmentalizing the case. She knew Jake would want to know everything about the crime scene the moment she walked in the door.

Truthfully, there was no one’s input she wanted more, but sharing the horrific details of Cash Holloway’s murder would only make it harder for Jake to follow orders and stand down. She didn’t know what to do—about the case, or her feelings.

“How’s Claire?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

Jake sighed. “She’s in her room.”

“All night?” Dana asked.

“Just since we had a difference of opinions.”

“About?”

“She wanted to have Betty over. I told her it wasn’t a good idea.”

Dana frowned but didn’t answer.

“What?” Jake asked. “Was that the wrong move?”

“No. I would’ve said the same.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Dana hesitated to say it, but she couldn’t fight her suspicion. “When’s the last time you checked on her?”

“I’m trying to give her some space.”

“Jake, I don’t know if—” The flashing red and blue lights in Dana’s rearview choked her words off mid-sentence.

“Dana?”

“Shit. I’m getting pulled over.”

“What? By who?”

It was hard to see past the glare of lights, but Dana recognized the outline of the government vehicle. “I don’t know. Black SUV. Unmarked. Jake, I have to go.”

“No! Dana, listen to me. I’m going to hang up and call you back on a video call so you can screen record your interaction. Whatever you do, keep recording.”

“Jake—” Dana tried to object, but he’d already disconnected. Seconds later his incoming video call lit up her phone. Dana glanced in her rearview. The driver was exiting his car. If she didn’t answer now, she wouldn’t have a chance to.

Dana hit the green phone icon and Jake’s face filled the screen. “I’m here,” he said. “Hit screen record.” She complied with shaky fingers. “Tell me what’s happening,” Jake ordered.

“He’s out of his car.” The knock on her passenger side window made Dana jump. The man standing outside her car wore black cargo pants and a black flak jacket. The absence of insignia made her pulse quicken. “He’s knocking on my window. What do I do?”

“Roll your window down an inch and ask for his identification.”

She did.

The man wordlessly complied, shoving a bifold with a heavy silver badge against her window.

“Give me his name and Metro ID number?” Jake demanded.

Dana stared at it in disbelief.

“Dana? Can you hear me? What’s his badge number?”

“He’s not Metro PD,” she whispered.

“Who’s he with?”

The man outside her window returned the badge to his jacket and leaned down to peer directly at Dana. “Special Agent Matthew Spector. Homeland Security Investigations.”

Jake swore but the agent ignored him, his gaze locked on Dana. “Dr. Gray, please disconnect your call and step outside the vehicle.”

“Dana don’t—” But she was already gone; her fearful eyes his parting gift.