Heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel parking lot.

“I have to go,” I said.

I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Sarah was staring at the window, her face pale under the yellow kitchen light.

“Is it them?” she whispered.

“Get in the bathroom,” I told her. “Lock the door and stay away from the windows.”

She didn’t argue.

She moved quickly, her bare feet making soft slapping sounds on the linoleum.

The bathroom door clicked shut, followed by the turn of the deadbolt.

I moved toward the kitchen door, keeping low, below the line of the window sill.

The shadow of a man stretched across the frosted glass of Sarah’s front door.

He knocked.

Three sharp, heavy raps that rattled the cheap wood frame.

“Sarah?” a man’s voice called out. “Charlotte PD. Open up.”

I didn’t believe the badge for a second.

The voice was too smooth, the tone too demanding.

I slipped out through the back utility porch, my fingers brushing the cold metal of the screen door.

The air outside was cool and smelled of damp earth and coming rain.