The Secret Ingredient in My Crustless Quiche Recipe Was Survival
I had to be smarter than that.
“Well, if you are fine, I will head out,” Harris said, though he did not move toward the door.
He lingered by the counter, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his thigh.
“You should really lock that door, Clara.”
“I will,” I said.
“As soon as the system resets.”
Harris stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
He reached into his pocket and slid a business card across the counter.
“Call me if anything changes,” he said.
I picked up the card, my fingers brushing his cold leather glove.
He turned and walked slowly out of the house, letting the heavy front door click shut behind him.
I waited until the sound of his engine faded down the street.
The electronic lock on the door immediately slid open again with a soft whine.
The camera lens turned, tracking me as I walked back to my laptop.
The screen glowed with the draft of my upcoming post.
Suddenly, a harsh burst of static came through the built-in kitchen speakers.
Julian’s voice cut through the silence of the room.