Norah appeared to be completely confused, but Charlie looked as guilty as Warrant when he was caught eating out of the garbage. Felicity’s expression, on the other hand, was one of pure triumph.

“I knew it!” Felicity crowed, slapping the table with her open palm. “I asked where your laptop was, and you did that mumble-mumble thing you always do when you’re trying to lie without really lying, and I knew you’d destroyed it somehow. Seriously, Charlie? You ran the poor thing over? Your innocent little laptop crushed? What is that? Your second new computer this year? Third?”

Charlie opened her mouth, but a heavy knock on the door interrupted her before she could defend herself. They all went still, their eyes wide as they looked around at each other. Even Warrant, who’d been napping under the table, using Cara’s foot as a pillow this time, stuck his head out but stayed quiet. At the next even louder knock, Molly shook herself out of her apprehensive paralysis and stood up. Her sisters followed her lead, and she snorted as she eyed them.

“Are we answering the door as a group?” she asked, leading the way to the front door. From the sound of the footsteps behind her, it seemed that the answer was yes. Privately, she didn’t mind the company. After everything that had happened with Jane, plus John Carmondy’s unexpected arrival early that morning, she didn’t mind having some backup—at least until their family’s luck changed for the better.

As she unlocked the front door and pulled it open, she squinted against the low-hanging sun that was perched right above the mountain peaks and peered at the pair standing on the porch. She bit back a curse when she saw the police T-shirts and the badges clipped to their belts. She had enough fingerprint powder all over her kitchen and garage from Sergeant Blake’s visit, thank you very much. Besides, she didn’t have the energy to deal with more cops today.

One of her sisters didn’t have her restraint. A low, drawn-out groan came from behind her—Felicity, if Molly wasn’t mistaken.

“Hello, Officers.” Molly plastered on a smile and flicked a glance at the logo on one of the men’s shirts. Denver Police. No wonder their faces weren’t familiar. She knew everyone at the Langston PD and the Gordon County Sheriff’s Office, at least by sight. “Are you here for some follow-up on my stolen car?”

“No, and it’s Detectives Mill”—he gestured toward his own chest—“and Bastien. We have a search warrant for this property,” the younger one said as the older cop—Bastien—silently and unsmilingly handed her the paperwork.

“Search warrant?” Her polite smile froze as she pulled out the warrant and scanned it, trying to push away her confusion and growing panic in order to take in the legalese. She knew she needed to focus so she could carefully check the areas the warrant allowed the cops to legally search and what items they were looking for.

“Give it here,” Cara said, plucking the paper from Molly’s hands. Once again relieved that her sisters were backing her up, Molly returned her attention to the detectives waiting not too patiently to get into the house.