Then she turned and walked away.

The entire drive home, my thoughts spiraled. Ex-girlfriend. Childhood friend. The daughter of family friends.

Because none of those explanations fit all the pieces. Not the tattoo. Not the lies. And certainly not the fear I had seen in her eyes.

By the time I reached our driveway, I was worked up. Ryan was sitting on the porch. The moment he saw me, he smiled.

I did not smile back.

His expression changed immediately. “What happened?”

I walked directly toward him.

“I met her.”

For a second, Ryan simply stared at me. Then all the color drained from his face. It was not guilt. It was not panic over being discovered.

It was fear.

The exact same fear I had seen in the bakery.

“Who?” he asked.

“You know who.”

Ryan looked as though I had struck him. For several seconds he remained silent.

Then, “You talked to her?”

I folded my arms.

“Interesting choice of words.”

He ignored the comment.

“Did she seem okay?”

The question hit me like a slap. Not “What did she say?” Not “How did you find her?” Not “What happened?”