But something about the home spoke of family, a place where on lazy Sunday afternoons, people who loved each other gathered out front to eat homemade ice cream. Della remembered doing that on her parents’ back patio when she’d been part of a loving family. Or at her Aunt Miao’s when they’d go for dinners.

Pushing past that thought, she noted the untended gardens lining the front of the house. The sign of neglect hinted that all those loving times had somehow become lost.

Was this where Natasha had lived? Where her parents still lived and grieved for their daughter who they thought was dead? Who would be dead if Della and Chase couldn’t find her?

Tension filled Della chest. Was the sadness she felt from this place imagined, or was this somehow a clue?

She almost asked Chase if he felt it, but worried it sounded crazy.

The tires of Chase’s car slowly crunched over the gravel as he came to a complete stop. He cut off the engine and turned his head to the side just as she did, to see if they could catch any sounds inside the house.

“No one seems to be home,” she said.

“Maybe they’re at work,” Chase said. “Or maybe they’re just resting and not moving around. The car could be in the garage.” He dipped down a little and studied the attached garage.

Today had been one of those days that she’d lost track of time, so she pulled out her phone to see the hour. “It’s almost five.” Dropping the phone in her lap, she pulled out the files. “Is this the Owen or the Brian house?”

“The Owens,” Chase answered.

Della looked at the information they had on the file—basically names and the address of the parents, the name of the graveyard where a casket was placed in the ground to make her parents believe Natasha Owen was dead. It was the same graveyard Chan and other fresh turns held their fake funerals. The one where Chan’s body really was buried now. She looked up through the windshield at the lowering sun. The day was on its way out. The sky already had a dusky look to it.

“You want to knock on the door just in case?” he asked.

She glanced back at him. They hadn’t come up with a sure bet plan. She just wanted to check and see if one of the parents was Asian.

“I guess,” she said, her mind churning, still feeling the unexplainable sadness and loneliness. Was it because of this house, or were her emotions over Steve leaving finally sneaking out?

Chase’s gaze stayed on her eyes for a second longer than needed. He leaned in, bringing his face closer to hers … his mouth closer to hers. She jerked back, hitting her shoulder on the car door.

“I wasn’t…” Frowning, he turned to snatch something from the backseat. When he pulled back, he dropped some papers in her lap. “I was just getting this. I thought we could say we were selling magazines to help pay for a trip to Mexico to help build houses for the poor.”

Annoyed at her overreaction, she muttered, “Then maybe you should drive a few blocks up and hide the car.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because people who drive souped-up Camaros don’t sell magazines to help the poor.” Della inwardly flinched. Why was she being a bitch?

“Fine.” His frown deepened. He drove down the dirt road and around a curve so the car was hidden from the home’s view. When he parked, he looked back at her. “But you’re wrong. My sister and I did this twice a year. And you probably could have papered the whole state of Texas with the amount of magazines my mom bought. Of course, she’d turn around and donate them to shelters. Most of them before she even opened them.”

“Sorry.” Now even more embarrassed, she got out of the car with the paperwork on selling magazines in her hand.

He did the same, and in the blink of an eye, he stood at her side. “I didn’t take you for the prejudiced type. What do you have against people with money?”

“I’m not … prejudiced. I apologized.” She shut his car door, and the sound seemed to echo through the semi-wooded area that surrounded them. Feeling almost watched, she looked around at the LOTS FOR SALE sign staked in the ground. A few large and beautiful trees had already been cut down and lay dead in the thick brush.

“So, it’s just me?” He stepped closer, and she took a tiny step back. Her backside came against the car.

“Yeah. It’s you.” She said the truth. “And all this. I’m on edge.”

“But you blame me, huh?” His closeness seemed to be a challenge. She didn’t move, not wanting him to know it disturbed her so much.

“Blame you for what?” She tilted up her chin and met his eyes.

“Steve leaving.”

She frowned. “How did you know?”

“Today, after I left Burnett’s office, I heard someone say Steve was leaving.”

Emotion—anger, hurt, and maybe even some guilt—worked its way from that place she’d buried it earlier. The realization that Steve had told everyone he was leaving before he’d told her did a real number on her heart. She hated that number. She swallowed a knot that appeared in her throat. But the damn thing wouldn’t go down. It just grew bigger.

“I’m sorry,” Chase said, so close his breath tickled her temple.

That’s all it took. His breath and two words to gather all the emotion rising inside her and target it right at him. “Don’t lie. You’re not sorry.” She hit his chest with the palm of her hand.

He didn’t budge. He kept staring at her, into her eyes, as if he could read her heart, her mind, and her pain. And for that one second, she didn’t think there were any secrets between them. He knew everything. More than he pretended to know. He knew all her failings, all her regrets.