But even as he says that, a key turns in the lock, sending him on high alert. Lars shoves me off the couch and dives toward the doorway that opens onto the hall. The front door opens, and I hold my breath, waiting for shouts or a gunshot or anything that will make all hell break loose.

Instead, a sort of familiar voice shouts, “Perry, where the fuck are you?”

“Margot?” I look out from behind the couch to see her and Elle walking along the hall. I’m up on my feet before Lars throws his arms up.

“Do you want to be fucking killed?” he asks.

“But … it’s only them.”

“And them could be here to kill you.”

Margot comes to a fast stop. “Kill him?” Her eyes fly to Lars’s gun. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Yeah …” Elle steps around her girlfriend and takes in the room. “I don’t think my brother will be too impressed if his charitable act ends up with bullet holes in his walls.”

Lars subtly lowers his gun but doesn’t put it away. “Why are you here?”

Margot scowls his way, and I don’t blame her. We’re the ones borrowing this place. “Because my brother sent me a concerning fucking message this morning, and now he’s not answering my calls. Where is he?”

Well, I’m not going to be the one to answer that. “He’s having issues with his phone.” Given how old it is, she’d have to believe that.

She glares at me instead. “That didn’t answer my question.”

“He went out for groceries.”

“Then we’ll wait until he gets back.” Margot crosses her arms and throws herself back on the couch, challenging stare never leaving mine. It’s so weird that she and Perry are related when they couldn’t be more opposite, at least in personality. Their thick black hair, dark eyes, and angular faces give them away as siblings.

“Anyone want tea?” Elle asks, hovering, like she’s torn between taking Margot’s side or making sure everyone is comfortable.

“I’m good,” I assure her, and Lars finally tucks his gun away.

“I’d like a tea. I’ll help you.”

The two of them disappear into the kitchen, and I’m terrifyingly left alone with Margot. She’s still watching me, and I’m doing everything I can to cement the view of Seattle to memory so we don’t have to address the way she’s doing the same with my face.

“If anything has happened to him,” she whispers, “it’ll kill me.”

Maybe not as literally as it will kill him, but I have the good sense to keep that to myself. “What did his text say?”

“That he wanted to let me know he’s sorry and he loves me.”

Fuck. “Well, that sounds ominous.”

“You think?”