“Just be careful, Emma,” Dina whispered. “They are desperate.”

The line went dead.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the blank screen.

A sudden sound outside made me stiffen.

It wasn’t the wind.

It was the distinct crunch of tires on wet gravel.

I looked toward the front window of the cottage.

A pair of bright headlights swept across the damp walls of the kitchen, cutting through the darkness.

The headlights died, leaving the house in shadow once more.

A car door slammed.

I slipped the flash drive into my pocket and shut the laptop lid.

My heart pounded against my ribs as the floorboards on the porch creaked.

The brass doorknob turned slowly, resisting at first, then clicking as the latch released.

The door swung open, letting in a gust of cold, wet air and the smell of pine needle rot.

Helen Caldwell stood in the doorway, holding a black umbrella that dripped onto the hardwood.

She wore a beige trench coat, her silver hair perfectly coiffed despite the storm.