Just as the final stroke registered, a sharp chime cut through the quiet room.

It was not the sound of a completed transaction.

A bright red light began to pulse on the tablet screen.

The front door downstairs rattled, followed by a heavy, metallic thud.

Mark’s hand froze on my collarbone.

The pressure subsided, but he did not let go.

His eyes darted toward the bedroom door, then back down to the glowing red screen of the tablet.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, his voice cracking slightly.

“It’s over, Mark,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

A cold draft swept up from the hallway downstairs, carrying the smell of damp earth and rain.

The old Sonoma ranch house was drafty, but this was different.

The heavy front door had been forced open.

“Yasmin!” Mark shouted, his head turning toward the hall. “Go look.”

Before Yasmin could move, the sound of splintering wood echoed from below.

It was followed by the heavy, rhythmic thuds of boot heels on the hardwood foyer.

“Mark, someone is in the house,” Yasmin whispered, stepping into the bedroom.