Behind him, two uniformed officers stepped into the study, their hands resting on their holstered sidearms.

I kept my hand near my utility belt, calculating the distance to the French doors.

The glass was behind me, but the heavy velvet curtains would snag if I tried to dive through.

“Brandon,” I said, keeping my voice level and low.

“Colonel Hart,” he replied, a thin smile spreading across his face. “You’re a long way from Fort Liberty.”

I evaluated the two officers.

They wore the patches of the local county sheriff’s department, but their posture was wrong.

They weren’t standing like men executing a lawful arrest.

They were standing like hired muscle, their eyes darting to Brandon for cues rather than securing the room.

“You’re trespassing on private property,” Brandon said, stepping further into the study.

The soles of his leather loafers made no sound on the thick Persian rug.

“I came for what belongs to my family,” I said.

“That book in your pocket doesn’t belong to you,” he said.

He gestured to the officers. “Search her.”

I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet, dropping my center of gravity.