I swiped my sweat-slicked palms on my jeans as I stood in the middle of the office. “Think, Emma, think.”

My gaze landed on Marjorie’s computer. The screen saver was on, one of those migraine-looking designs flashing in strange geometric patterns. Her log-in and password for the computer were written on a sticky note.

I sat in her chair and logged in. The screen saver disappeared, revealing a background picture of Marjorie with her husband and their two grown children, smiling in front of a Christmas tree.

As messy as her office was, Marjorie’s home screen was organized with military precision. I scanned the screen, but there were no folders with passwords or what looked like a surveillance company file. I did a search for all the words I could think of on her hard drive: password, log-in, video.

Nothing.

Finally, in desperation, I clicked into her recent downloads. There! She’d downloaded the software for Sunshine Surveillance two weeks ago. And in the application folder she’d saved a Notes file with her log-in name and password.

“Bingo,” I whispered.

My phone vibrated. “She’s on her way up,” Gabe whispered.

“Shit.” Scalding jolts of adrenaline zipped through me. “How long?”

“She’s in reception at the elevator. Maybe a minute or two.”

I hung up. A bead of sweat rolled down the slope of my nose. I shook it away.

“Come on, come on.” I clicked through the folders until I found Recording Log. Each recording was categorized in a dated folder beginning last week. Looking at the date the application had been installed, I could tell they’d begun recording two weeks ago, but it looked like after a week the recordings started overwriting themselves.

I clicked Disable so no more recording would be done.

Control A to highlight all. Right-click. Delete. Accept.

I right-clicked on the Recycling Bin and emptied it.

My phone vibrated again. Gabe.

I lunged out of the office, just as I heard the horrible metallic slide of a door opening.

Marjorie had returned.

CHAPTER 18

I PERFORMED A DESPERATE gymnast’s leap down the hall into one of the exam rooms and threw myself behind the door.

I didn’t have time to close it, so I just huddled in the narrow crack between the door and the wall. My chest heaved as I tried desperately to catch my breath. My back was soaked with sweat. I couldn’t remember if I’d closed the recycling bin on Marjorie’s computer. What if she saw what I’d done? What if her screen saver hadn’t turned back on?

Marjorie was moving around the reception area. I froze, straining to hear. But I couldn’t tell what she was doing, the sounds muffled by the door. I rested my head against the wall, trying to think through my options.