Regrets - Chapter Thirty Four
Cam is not prepared for what she sees in the lobby at Sorelle in "Like We Never Happened, and in "Probable Cause," a new player steps into the room.
Thursday - Week 3
(part 1 of 4)
Like We Never Happened - Cam
The spa café looked staged for a lifestyle spread. Blond wood, soft white linen, light pouring in like it had a certificate in serenity. Cam sat at the edge of it, shoulders hunched in a chair that cost too much, staring at the drink in front of her. Rosemary-lavender something, poured like art, went untouched. Her stomach wouldn’t take it. Not after the desert, not after Room 12.
She’d slept most of Wednesday. Body shut down after days of running on stress and gas-station coffee. When AJ’s message came about the federal meet, she only texted back Copy. No more.
Now Harry was sitting with her at the table. Dressed like an investor for their real estate tour with Maggie, posture quiet but alert. Reading her, watching every motion closely, concern in his eyes.
He nodded toward her cup. “Still not tempting you?”
Cam shook her head. “Hard to drink foam when we pulled a body out of a motel less than twenty-four hours ago.” He didn’t push. Just sipped his coffee. Waited. She leaned forward. “One of the cleaning crew. He didn’t know what he was up against. Single shot. Professional. Shadow says cartel-adjacent.”
Harry’s eyes sharpened. “And you were there?”
“Let’s say an hour after. Body was still warm.” Her voice dropped. “AJ’s contact called it in quiet. I think the Feds are looped now, we’re up this morning at local PD.” She paused, looking out front. “I’m too tired to drive, so I called a car.”
Harry stirred his drink slowly, like he was keeping count. “You think it ties back to the guy?”
Cam’s jaw flexed. “Someone’s cleaning house. And the guy made the call.”
Her phone buzzed. Secure line. Shadow.
Cam stepped away, voice low. “Yeah?”
“Package is sent. Encrypted. Bank trails, ghost accounts, AI clone data. Clean. Pass it to the feds but keep a local copy.”
“Got it.”
“And Cam?” Shadow’s voice shifted, less clipped. “The party Saturday…it’s for Nicole. She’s there. Her engagement party…to Aaron Scott.”
Cam froze.
Just then, he turned toward the glass wall. Outside, a group of women crossed the path to the yoga terrace. Towels, sunglasses, soft laughter.
In the middle of the group…Nicole.
Longer hair. Same walk. Same weight carried in her shoulders. The desert light curved around her like it belonged to her.
Cam’s breath stuttered.
That walk was muscle memory. After debriefs, after fights, after sex. Her body still remembered. And suddenly, the years hadn’t happened.
But they had.
Cam’s last memory of her was tangled motel sheets, a kiss at her temple, Nicole saying she’d wait. Then the call. Escort duty. An ambush. Shadow bleeding out. Cam patched and debriefed. And Nicole was gone. Scrubbed. Like she’d never existed.
Now here she was. Sunlit. Untouched. Moving on as if that life had never happened.
Cam felt it crack open inside her. Fury, relief, grief…all at once like an emotional kaleidoscope. And beside her, someone new. Honey skin, dark hair twisted back. Old money in the posture. Step for step with Nicole. And the look…Nicole locked on her, burning.
Not a friend. Not just a friend.
Cam’s stomach twisted. She didn’t need the name. She didn’t need the story. The woman was an upgrade. The version of Cam Nicole could take home.
Her hands curled into fists under the table.
Harry’s voice broke through. “Don’t.”
Cam didn’t look at him. Her pulse was hammering. She could feel herself moving, ready to cross the café, to demand…. ask…beg even…anything to explain the years.
Harry caught her wrist. Anchored. “Not now.”
“I have to…”
“You need to deliver the file,” he said evenly. “If she’s wrapped up in this, emotion won’t help. Handle the meeting. Then go to her…when you know what you’re walking into.”
Cam blinked, throat tight, but nodded once.
Harry stood, steady as ever. “Car’s outside.”
She followed, heat pressing down, pulse ragged. The curated quiet of Sorelle felt fake now, air too thin. Harry put her in the car and the ride down the hill was silent. Plush car, soft-close doors, meant to calm. Cam didn’t feel calm. She felt like a fuse burning fast. She opened her bag, tablet screen lighting up with Shadow’s file. Names, trails, accounts. Data neat enough to turn the tide against Aaron Scott or at least set him up for review.
But all she saw was Nicole.
Alive. Changed. Claimed by someone else.
Cam pressed her knuckles to her lips, forcing herself to breathe. Trying to slow everything down as the desert landscape rolled by outside the windows. Her pulse hadn’t slowed since the café. Nicole was here. Engaged. And possibly standing on top of a landmine she didn’t even know existed.
By the time the car pulled into the precinct’s bland concrete lot, Cam had worked to force it down. Breathing even. Face unreadable. Trying to be professional, detached even.
It wasn’t working. She wasn’t detached.
She was a lit match.
Probable Cause – Cam
The station lobby looked and smelled like a holding pattern for the dammed. AJ stood near the vending machine, thumbing through his phone like the case would rewrite itself. Cam kept to the wall, working to stay still and unreadable.
The inner door creaked open.
“Stuart. Spencer.”
Detective Marquez looked like someone who knew how to keep things quiet. Mid-thirties, clipped haircut, rolled sleeves, tension running just under the skin. Not jaded. Just done with surprises.
“Appreciate this,” AJ said as they followed him down the hall. Cam kept pace silently. AJ had said they were academy roommates for about five minutes. Marquez owed him a favor. That didn’t mean it would come cheap.
They stepped into a briefing room that looked like it hadn’t had a proper wipe-down since last fiscal year. One screen. Two chairs. No window. No clock. The kind of room where inconvenient truths got processed slowly, then shelved.
AJ sat. Cam didn’t.
Marquez cracked open a thin folder. “So. This the fiancé thing?”
AJ nodded. “Started that way. Client suspected infidelity. I was hired to confirm.”
“You confirm it?”
“Yes. My private surveillance caught it. But it’s not admissible. Interior cams inside a private residence.”
Marquez didn’t blink. “And?”
AJ exhaled. “The client delivery package was compromised. Someone copied it. I flagged it. Called in Cam.”
Marquez tilted his head. “So why were you still chasing it?”
AJ glanced at Cam, then back. “Because my client deserved peace of mind. We wanted the footage back, tie off the loose end. We traced it to one of the cleaning crew, followed the line to a hotel and found him dead. Close range. Execution shot. That’s why I called you. We weren’t going to leave him there.”
Marquez’s brow furrowed. “And you’re bringing me this info because…?”
AJ’s jaw set. “Because it’s not our thing. But someone should know.”
He looked to Cam. She reached into her bag, pulled out two labeled drives, and set them on the table.
“Tracking was for infidelity,” AJ said. “That’s all we were looking for. But we ended up capturing more.”
He tapped one of the drives. “Shadow made this for you. Audio picked up a call that sounds like a blackmail threat. Other audio asking to take care of it. The other’s video. Conversations in the residence that are not …proper. Money exchanging hands in a way that is not aligned with the fiancé’s business practices.” AJ paused and looked at Marquez. “It’s not admissible,” he added. “But it’s troubling. We figured someone should know.”
Marquez squinted at the labels. “Shadow?”
Cam nodded once. “My tech. Yvonne McKensey. She tracked the breach, traced the clone, and recovered the thread.”
AJ added, “She’s sharp. Been working with Cam for years.”
Marquez gave a short grunt. Half skeptical, half impressed, but didn’t push further. “I have to tell you…the feds want to talk to you, this hit their radar.”
Then the door opened.
Cam didn’t look right away. She felt it first. An energy that cut through the room clean. Not loud. Not showy. Just calibrated, like someone who’d lived inside command decisions. Cam’s spine straightened before she registered the why.
She stepped in like the room with authority, like the decision was already made who owned this. Her eyes swept the room, precise. First Marquez, then AJ, then landed on Cam. “Marquez…I got the ping…” She looked back to AJ. “Agent Riley Burke. FBI. Financial Crimes.” Her voice was even. No bluster. The kind that didn’t need volume to land.
Cam clocked posture first. Shoulders squared, gaze level. The kind of entrance that didn’t ask permission. Blazer tailored, heels silent, hair pulled back tight. One silver ring. No wasted movement. Not flashy, just razor sharp.
And then, eye contact. Direct. Intentional. Held.
Cam didn’t look away.
No overt challenge. No threat. Just two people taking each other’s measure. A quiet calculation that skipped language entirely. And something under it; faint, but there. Recognition. Like she knew the stillness Burke carried like gospel.
Up close, Burke’s face was clean lines and control. High cheekbones, strong jaw and a steady mouth. Eyes a deep, unreadable gray. Not cold, but focused. The kind of stillness that came from experience, the wrong kind. Cam felt it, because she’d worn it often.
Burke’s brow ticked up. The barest flicker of recognition.
Neither woman moved.
Marquez cleared his throat, almost reflexively. “Yeah, they told me someone might check in.” He made the introduction and Cam watched Burke examine both of them.
Burke turned to AJ. “Stuart, right? You led the case?”
“Yes,” AJ said. “Basic infidelity job. Client confirmed after install.”
She turned and looked at Cam. “And Spencer, what are you doing here?” AJ jumped in. “She is my associate…I called her in after the breach.”
Burke’s brow lifted slightly. “Nicole Templeton. You didn’t know that when you started?”
The question was aimed at AJ. But her eyes locked on Cam.
The name landed, but it was Riley’s voice that stuck. Measured, precise, cut with something that reminded Cam of late nights in the Army and closed doors.
Across the table, AJ stiffened. “Of course I knew. I’ve met with her four times.”
Burke’s mouth curved, just barely. “Right. Templeton. Big name here, guess I’m behind on Tucson society connections.”
AJ didn’t return the smile. Cam didn’t look away.
Burke turned to Marquez. “Gentlemen...give me and Spencer the room. Marquez, blackout please.”
AJ bristled. “Wait. This is my case…”
Marquez watched for a second, then stepped in smoothly. “Actually, Stuart, can I borrow you for a sec? Got some paperwork needs your eyes. For the drive transfer.”
AJ hesitated. Looked to Cam. She gave him a nod. It’s fine.
He followed Marquez out. The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Cam had a hunch this might be recorded. Room like this always was. But that wasn’t the point. This wasn’t about what got taped. It was about what didn’t.
Burke stepped forward.
“You didn’t know she was the client?”
Cam shook her head. “Not until a couple hours ago.”
Burke let that hang. Then, like sliding a note across a desk, she spoke. “Nicole Templeton.” The name landed in Cam’s chest like a weight. Not pain. Not regret. Just recognition…something unfinished.
“You two have history,” Burke said.
“Yeah,” Cam answered quietly. “But I didn’t come here for her.”
Burke’s eyes didn’t move. “You sure?”
Cam held her gaze. “Positive. I’m here on a pilot charter job. I came in as a favor when the footage disappeared. My person, McKensey traced the breach, and the target before I knew who was involved. The address was clean…I didn’t recognize it. I don’t track society listings.”
A slight tilt of Burke’s head. Respect or doubt, Cam couldn’t tell. But she felt the scrutiny land clean. Not personal. Just precise.
Inside, the fuse burned hotter. Burke wasn’t saying it, but Cam could feel it. She’d been right, Scott was already under watch. Already dangerous.
“She’s not the one being tracked,” Burke said finally. “But you’re circling close.”
“I’m not circling.” Cam’s voice was low, flat. “The video feed for Nicole was cloned. Someone else already has the footage. That puts Nicole in the blast zone whether she knows it or not.”
Burke’s jaw flexed, not disagreement, calculation. “She’s not complicit. But she’s exposed. And you know what happens when people start asking questions someone else is not ready to answer.”
Cam’s chest tightened. She did know. Too well.
“You care,” Burke said.
Cam didn’t dodge it. “Yes.”
The silence between them deepened. Not adversarial. More like recognition. Like looking into a mirror set at the wrong angle. Burke’s eyes stayed steady, but there was a flicker beneath them. Something that felt like: I know what you are.
“What are you doing here, Spencer?”
Cam’s reply was quiet. Absolute. “I’m just the pilot.”
For a half-second, something flickered across Burke’s face. Curiosity, maybe. Or something else. But she let it go.
“She trusts you?” Burke asked.
“She used to.”
“She’ll flinch.”
Cam nodded once. “Probably.”
Burke stepped back. “Here’s what happens next. She’s AJ’s client. But you’ve got half the picture…McKensey’s trace, metadata, audio context. She’ll have questions. You’ll answer them. Together. Quietly. No federal narrative. Let her reach her own conclusions.”
Cam didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Inside, the fuse hissed hotter. Burke was right, Scott was dangerous. And Nicole was in the middle.
Burke’s voice cut through the room, crisp and final. “Don’t spook her.”
She stepped to the door. With one hand, she cracked it open.
“Detective. Stuart. Back in.”
Marquez entered first, AJ close behind, tension tight in his jaw. They both looked like they’d been waiting for a verdict.
Burke didn’t waste a second. She gestured toward the drives on the table. “Here’s how this works. You inform your client. Together. Quietly. She gets just enough to validate what she already suspects, infidelity, financial inconsistencies, tracking flags, behavior shifts. That’s it. No names. No narrative. No federal involvement. You let her draw her own conclusions.”
AJ shifted. “And if she asks for more?”
Burke’s gaze flicked to him, even, steady. “She will. That’s where you stop. You give her the picture she can hold. Nothing else.”
She turned to Marquez. “If Scott gets spooked, he won’t just vanish. He’ll take the whole house down on the way out. That’s your concern now.”
Marquez gave a short nod. “Understood.”
Burke placed two more cards on the table, one in front of AJ, one in front of Cam. “You contact me after your conversation. Not before. Not during. After. And you keep it quiet. Any noise, and this whole thing collapses before it starts.”
Her eyes flicked once more to Cam, unreadable but sharp. “Marquez, I’ll need these drives stat. I need to call this in, so lets get the paper going so I can leave with them.”
With that, she turned and left, heels silent against the linoleum.
The door clicked shut.
Silence pressed in. AJ stared at the cards like they’d been rigged with explosives. Marquez looked between them, then pushed his chair back. “I’ve got paper to do so FBI can take those. I’ll file this under quiet oversight. You two do your part.”
He left without waiting for a reply.
AJ exhaled hard through his nose. “Well. That was a hell of a handoff.”
Cam didn’t answer. She slid the card into her pocket, gathered her empty bag, and headed for the hall.
AJ followed, irritation radiating off him in waves. By the time they hit the lobby doors, he snapped: “She cut me out.” Cam didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look at him. “Not here.” They stepped into the heat, bright and merciless. Cam turned just enough to meet his eyes.
“Bar,” she said flatly. “Now.”