He looked back at me, then signaled for me to step into the kitchen shadow.

I moved behind the pantry door, holding my breath as Julian opened the front door.

A draft of freezing Illinois air swept into the warm house, smelling of wet asphalt and pine.

“Can I help you, officer?” Julian asked, his voice steady and polite.

“We had a call about a black SUV parked behind the garage here,” the officer said.

“It’s mine,” Julian replied. “I’m visiting Mrs. Ramirez. I’m her nephew.”

A pause stretched out, filled only by the low rumble of an idling patrol car in the street.

“Just checking,” the officer said. “We’ve had reports of trespassers near the Caldwell estate down the road. Keep your doors locked.”

“We will,” Julian said. “Thank you.”

The heavy door clicked shut, and the deadbolt slid back into place with a metallic thud.

Julian leaned his back against the wood, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath.

Mrs. Ramirez reappeared from the hallway, her face pale under the kitchen’s yellow light.