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“Consent. Physical awareness. Reading people in addition to listening to them. I think it’s one of the things that made me good on cold cases.”

“You’re empathetic.”

His lips quirked. “Thanks, Bailey.”

“I’m serious. I’ve always thought that. It makes you good at putting yourself in a victim’s mindset, but also, it makes you a pretty good person.” Maybe she’d said too much. “My parents are great. They’re in upstate New York and have a hard time traveling. We get up there when we can.”

“I’m glad you have that.”

“I wish they were closer, and we talked about moving them close by, but after so many years of living here, I still don’t have roots. I feel like I’m stuck in the Cosgrove orbit. Can’t get away, but don’t know where to go.”

Why was she sharing so much? None of this would interest him. She opened her bag and retrieved the interview questions she’d already memorized. Bailey’s most important role today was not to be Caitie’s sister or Ryan’s widow while she spoke with Jennifer. Objectivity was paramount. Without that impartiality, Bailey could never uncover what others had missed.

She laid the notepad in her lap and glanced over as Wes moved into the right lane, then signaled again. “Why are we getting off the highway?”

“Just want to see something.”

Bailey scanned the exit. Gas stations and fast-food joints. Wanting to see something wasn’t the same as needing a bathroom or a snack break. Wes flicked his gaze toward the rearview mirror. She twisted.

“Don’t move,” he said, slowing at the top of the exit ramp, then turning toward a gas station. She knew they had a full tank. He parked at a pump. “Hang tight. I want to see something. Don’t look around.”

Nerves scattered in her stomach. “Why?”

“Give me a minute.”

“That’s not an answer,” she said as he shut the door.

Wes casually swiped his credit card and set the pump in his tank. The sound of gas filling stopped quickly. Wes didn’t pull out the pump. He ambled around the car, checking his tires and rubbing a mark on the truck’s hood as if trying to buff out a scratch. As if he had all the time in the day, he returned to the pump and scanned the parking lot of the burger joint next door.

It took all her willpower to stare at the notes, the loopy scribble unfocused, and not position for a better look at what had his attention.

Wes removed the pump and closed his tank, shoved his receipt into his back pocket, and returned to the driver’s seat.

Her fingers twisted in her dress. “I’m really not good at being told not to look somewhere.”

“Did a good job, though. Gold star for you.”

She rolled her eyes even as apprehension lay over her like cement. “Could you tell me what’s going on? You needed less than two gallons of gas.”

“We might have a tail. Give me another minute or so, and we’ll find out.”

“What? Someone’s following us?” She caught herself before she could look over her shoulder. “Why?”

“Good question.”

Her stomach felt sick. “What are you going to do about it?”

He tapped his index finger on the steering wheel as he pulled away from the pump. “Another good question.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear, Wes. Lots of questions and no answers.”

“I’ve got them. Just narrowing down my options.” Finally, he directed his Bluetooth to call Dean’s cell phone.

Dean picked up immediately. “How’s the road trip?”

“Just starting,” Wes said. “But we might have someone keeping tabs on us. What can you do about it?”

“A tail following you?”