She slid her thumb across the screen, silencing the ringer, but her fingers were shaking.

I walked to the window, keeping low, and peered through the gap in the heavy canvas curtain.

The second car, a dark SUV, had parked directly behind Rebecca’s sedan.

Its headlights died, leaving only the amber running lights burning in the freezing drizzle.

“Is it Harrison?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“He knows,” Rebecca said.

She stepped away from the door, her high heels clicking softly on the floorboards.

“He knows I took the files from the safe in the Greenwich townhouse.”

She unbuttoned her trench coat, her breathing shallow and fast.

The smell of expensive perfume and damp wool filled the drafty air of my studio.

I looked toward the back hallway, where Liam and Chloe were sleeping.

My heart hammered against my ribs at the thought of Harrison’s men being so close to them.

Jonathan stood in the center of the room, his shoulders tense.

“Why did you come here, Rebecca?” he asked.

She looked at him, then at me, her eyes lingering on the restoration tools on my workbench.