Connie swallowed hard and bit down on her bottom lip, something she did whenever she was uncomfortable.

“We made eye contact, but only for a second or maybe two. Then just as quick, one of the other men pulled him out the door.”

“Damn, Connie. That means he might be able to identify you, too.”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t think so. It was just a split second. Trace, everything happened so fast. There’s no way he could’ve gotten a good look at me. Besides, he doesn’t know who I am,” she said in a rush, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself. “He knows nothing about me, and the FBI agent assured me that what I shared with them and my identity will be kept confidential.”

Worry wound through Trace as he watched her carefully, noticing how agitated she was getting. He reached over and massaged the back of her neck.

“If you believe that, then why are you trembling?”

* * *

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