Victoria’s POV

I sit in my car with the engine off, windows cracked, phone glowing in my hand, and a man I should not be sitting next to watching me like I am a business deal.

He is older. Not old. Just the kind of older that knows how to wait. He smells like cigarettes and leather and something bitter I cannot name. His hands rest on his knees, calm, patient, like he has all the time in the world.

I hate that.

I turn my phone toward him and zoom in on the picture.

“That’s her,” I say. ...