“The footage is inside the house.”
“No.”
“In the recording unit?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“In the cloud.”
He stared at the camera.
I could almost see the calculations behind his eyes. He was trying to determine whether he could destroy the system, erase the recording, invent a story, or frighten me into silence.
“You’re bluffing,” he said.
“I wish I were.”
Rachel grabbed her purse from the counter and rushed toward the back door.
Before she reached it, a voice boomed from outside.
“P/O/LICE! REMAIN INSIDE! KEEP YOUR HANDS VISIBLE!”
Rachel stopped so abruptly that the purse slid from her shoulder.
My phone fell out and struck the floor.
The kitchen became completely still.
Then the voice came again.
“PUT DOWN THE WE/@/PON!”
Marcus turned toward me.
There was something in his eyes I had never seen before.
Not anger.
Not arrogance.
Panic.
“What did you do?” he whispered.
