The anger came first, a hot flare of it.

But underneath the anger came something stranger and worse, a cold slow turn in his stomach, because the woman’s face had been familiar.

He had seen that face before.

He could not place it, and the not-placing of it frightened him more than the kiss had.

He stood at the window a long time after the truck pulled away, worrying at it the way you worry at a name on the tip of your tongue.

He knew that face.