I opened the app, stared at me standing in the center of my apartment. Watching the phone, I walked toward the front door until I was out of range and then toward my bedroom. Each camera caught a version of me, and the red lights signaled they were recording. The recording lasted only twenty-four hours, but that should’ve been enough time if I ever had a moment like the one I’d had last night.

Was I expecting to catch someone breaking into my apartment? No, not really. I hoped I was wrong and that it was my overactive imagination playing tricks on me. But a niggling feeling deep in my core whispered otherwise. Whatever had happened in the moments leading up to the accident meant something. The neatly made bed and open window meant something. I know where you live. I can get to you.

“Whoever you are, I’m now watching you,” I said softly.

29 BRIT

29

BRIT

Thursday, March 17, 2022

10:00 a.m.

I stared at the picture of the twin girls. They were wearing green dresses, bows in their red hair, and big grins. They’d been five when the picture was taken, and I remembered the day as if it were yesterday. Neither one of them had liked the bows, and Mommy had worked hard, smiling, waving favorite dolls, and promising ice cream if they’d smile. None of it had worked, until I had stood behind the photographer and started making funny faces. Clare had been the first to smile. Marisa, always the stubborn one, had finally given in and grinned. To this day I could tell them apart in the picture based on Clare’s bright grin and Marisa’s begrudging smile. Anyone else looking at the picture couldn’t have told who was who, but I could. I’d rarely been fooled by my girls.

A knock on my office door had me turning, squaring my shoulders, and smiling as my secretary poked her head in through the crack. “Jack Dutton is here to see you.”

A warmth still spread through me when I heard his name. Whatever we’d had a long time ago was gone, but he’d been my first, and that reserved a special place for him. “Send him in.”

Jack entered my office, grinning, standing tall in his navy sport jacket, white button-down, and khakis. At thirty-three he remained as fit as any teenage boy. In high school, he’d done time in juvenile detention, and when he returned to the outside world, the kids had been as fascinated as they were scared of him. The boys wanted that rough edge, and the girls were drawn to his dangerous good looks.

Now the dark-blond hair was shorter, but it was still thick, and the bangs were ready to slip over his forehead.