Harris walked further into the room, his heavy boots squeaking on the hardwood floor.

He stopped near the island and looked up at the camera dome on the ceiling.

“That red light means it is recording, right?” Harris asked.

“Yes,” I whispered.

I pointedly did not look at the camera.

I did not want Julian to know I was trying to signal the detective.

But I also did not trust Harris.

He had shown up far too quickly.

During his visit last week, he had asked more questions about Julian’s offshore accounts than about the physical threats Julian had made.

“You look pale, Clara,” Harris said, turning his gaze back to me.

He pulled a small leather notepad from his pocket.

“Have you heard from your husband today?”

“No,” I said.

If I told Harris the truth, Julian would hear it through the live audio feed.

He could shut down the power, lock the doors permanently, or do something far worse before Harris could even react.

“Are you sure?” Harris asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Because a black sedan matching his registration was spotted three blocks away about twenty minutes ago.”