Richard looked from me to Derek, his analytical lawyer’s mind clearly picking up on the sudden shift in temperature between us.

“The stairs?” Richard asked, leaning in slightly.

“Yes,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “The ones leading down from the side door.”

Derek’s hand fell away from my waist, his face pale under the warm living room lights.

“The ones leading down from the side door,” I repeated, keeping my voice smooth and level.

Richard tilted his glass, the ice clinking against the crystal.

“I didn’t think you used that door in the winter,” Richard said, his eyes scanning my face.

“We don’t, usually,” I said.

I looked at Derek, whose jaw was set so tight a muscle twitched near his ear.

“But Derek wanted me to check the lock that night,” I said.

“It was late,” Derek interrupted, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

He forced a small, dry laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“The wind was howling, and I thought I heard the latch rattling,” Derek said.

“And you let Monica go out there in the dark?” Clara asked, her brow furrowing.