Then he turned and ran back to the driver’s seat.

The heavy door slammed shut.

The SUV reversed quickly, its tires spinning in the wet gravel before it sped back up the driveway toward the main house.

Mercer remained standing by his patrol car.

The deputy, Thomas, had not moved.

“What do we do, Sheriff?” Thomas asked.

Mercer looked at me.

“We wait,” Mercer said.

“Inside the car,” I told them.

Mercer didn’t argue.

He pointed to the patrol vehicle, and the two men climbed inside, closing the doors against the cold rain.

I stood alone in the driveway.

The cold seeped through my boots, but I didn’t feel it.

My focus was entirely on the heavy oak doors of the Whitmore mansion at the top of the hill.

The lights inside the grand foyer flickered once.

A shadow moved past the second-story window.

My phone vibrated again in my pocket.

I pulled it out.

The screen showed an incoming call from an unknown number.

I swiped the screen and held the phone to my ear.

“Arthur,” Colonel Ward’s voice said.

“I’m here, Sam,” I said.