Which also means that Cam heard our conversation. He remembered the nanny cams, he was listening and watching. He heard everything.

“What?”

“Cam, when he called just now. He said, Jade, don’t listen to him, referring to me. It was one of the first things he said after I put him on speakerphone. What do you think he meant by it?”

“I don’t...” My voice breaks, and I swallow. Force myself to breathe. “I don’t know. He probably figured you’d been telling me all sorts of awful things about him. Which is true, by the way. You have been.”

“Possible, but it seemed like he had ears in the room or something. Almost as if he’s been watching us the entire time. What, does he have ESP?”

I think of my phone on the side table next to the gun, the colorful cartoon image of a baby’s face among the apps on the third page, above the word iSpy. Two little swipes of his finger, a couple of taps to the screen, and Sebastian would be staring at himself on the screen. He’d see me clinging to the recliner next to my strapped-down daughter. He’d hear my lame-ass lie, coming at him in stereo: “That’s impossible.”

Sebastian gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe, but Cam still knew. I mean okay, sure. Let’s say he had a hunch I’d gotten in your ear, but he sounded so certain about it. Not even the slightest hesitation or a question mark, just pure conviction right out of the gate. Doesn’t that seem kinda funny to you?”

“Not even a little bit.”

He regards me, silent, as the lights flicker on in the backyard outside, a golden glow that filters up to the window. They work on a timer, which means it’s dangerously close to seven.

“Right, right.” Sebastian’s shoulders relax under the black fabric of his shirt, and mine do, too. He goes back to his tape, and I blow out a silent breath while at the same time, my fingers tighten on the cushion.

He transfers the strip from his fingers to the side table, the stubborn tape not wanting to let go of his gloves. As soon as he frees one finger, the tape sticks to another, and he tucks the roll under a bicep so he can use both hands. When he’s free, he whirls to face me.

“But what if it was? I mean, you wouldn’t be the first parent to stick some spyware in a teddy bear so you know when the babysitter has fallen asleep on the job. What do they call those things? Nanny cams.” He looks around demonstratively, taking in the decor, his gaze finally landing on Baxter’s stuffed gorilla, sticking out from under the coffee table. He reaches down, wrangles it off the floor.