Like most of my stuff, a title only becomes visible long after the writing is done, so for now this novel-in-progress is "Fake Death"
He turned away from his mirror and faced her. “How long have we been planning for this day?”
She hugged him and leaned in close. “Forever.”
“And here it is.”
“Like a memory.”
“I know what my mugshot would look like.”
She detached from him. “What do you mean?”
He pointed to his face. “Thirty-four years of fault lines converging like a target. This is what it’ll look like.”
She shook her head.
“No, because there won’t be a mugshot.”
“Confidence, I envy that. You have a way with it, like a snake handler.”
She stared into his eyes. “Well, tomorrow at this time you’ll be dead. What good would a mugshot do?”