“I figured it was best if he got out of Huntsville.”

“How did he even hear about this job?” Calvin said, peering at me. “I didn’t hear the phone ring last night.”

“You do sleep so deeply,” I pointed out. Then I flushed and avoided his gaze, thinking about that awkward middle-of-the-night encounter we’d had on Thursday. I stared at a knot in the floorboards and laughed nervously as I added, “Anyway, he called an old friend late to catch up and that’s when he learned about the job.”

I felt so many things, and not all of them made sense. I was ashamed and deeply upset for the Rhodes family—something I thought I’d never feel. I was so anxious I felt ill. I was confused. Henry was in trouble, and my instincts were to protect him. That was earnest—a pure expression of my love. But as my brother drove away, I was already wondering if I’d done the right thing.

“I’m worried about him. And more than a little hurt that he didn’t say goodbye this time,” Calvin admitted.

“He didn’t want to wake you,” I said. There was a rough edge to my voice, and I hoped that Calvin heard it as sadness that Henry was gone again. He offered me a sympathetic smile, then downed the last of his coffee.

“Do you want me to stay home today?” he offered. “I could help you in the garden?”

“It’s going to be so hot,” I said, my throat tight. “I’ll probably just wash the linen and maybe read a book. You should go.”

I knew he’d be back, probably sooner rather than later because it wouldn’t take long for word to reach the base about what had happened. My husband would inevitably come rushing home with questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

I hadn’t let myself think that far ahead. I had to go to the mailbox to send the photos back to Sofie Rhodes, and then I had to find a safe place far from my house so I could dispose of the bullets and the tin of red paint.

As soon as Cal’s car left, I ran to the laundry room and picked up the box of things from Henry’s room, intending to rush to my car to dispose of it all. But as I reached my door, I heard an engine on the street. Was Cal returning already?

No. It was worse.

A police car pulled into the driveway and parked behind my car. Panicking, I dropped the box to the floor and shoved it beneath a lamp table in the corner of my living room. The lace table square on the table hung only a few inches over the edges. The box was visible, but surely it wouldn’t arouse suspicion even if the officers did notice it.