In my rush to get inside, I almost miss it. But some things you don’t have to see to know they’re there. Some things you feel.

And the instant I feel it, I come to a dead stop in the middle of the lot. Rain soaks through my thin coat, but I ignore it as I turn to look at the one car that doesn’t belong here. That doesn’t fit. A shiny black sedan with tinted windows. Rolls Royce. Their signature vehicle. Old-fashioned. Elegant. And screaming of money and power.

My heart races.

Through the windshield, I can see that no one’s inside, so I walk a few steps closer, and if I had any doubt who it might belong to, it’s wiped out in the next moment because there, embossed on the leather headrest, I see it. Even through the rain-skewed glass, even in this dark night and without the help of the busted streetlamp, I can make out the gold lettering in the familiar font.

I.V.I.

I shudder, cold and sweating at once.

I always knew they could come at any time, didn’t I? That was part of the agreement.

“No.” Shaking my head, I turn to the building’s entrance and walk toward it, no longer hurrying through the rain.

It doesn’t have to be something bad. Maybe my dad’s come for a surprise visit.

Maybe it’s the reason Evangeline hasn’t answered her texts all night.

Once inside the building, I stop and take a deep breath in, then out.

It’s nothing bad. The car could be Dad’s.

Then where is Joseph, his trusted driver?

I climb the stairs to my second-floor apartment, looking around for Joseph or my father. I don’t see either man.

My father has a key, so he’s probably waiting inside my apartment.

But something’s wrong. I’ve felt it all day.

And there’s no avoiding whatever it is. I know that when I walk down the hall to see the door of my apartment is ajar. It’s just slight, not left wide open, and there’s a light on inside. Whoever it is doesn’t want to surprise me.

I push the door open but don’t quite enter. Instead, I stand on my own welcome mat looking into the living room of the small apartment.

The light is coming from my bedroom.

I take a deep breath in and step inside. I don’t close the door behind me. On the counter lies a ring of keys, a pair of worn black leather gloves ominous beside them.

But it’s when I smell the aftershave that my stomach sinks.

Not Dad.