“Ten minutes ago,” Harris said. “I responded to a silent alarm.”

“Good. And you found the house dark.”

“Yes.”

“You smelled gas, you tried to get her out, but the house exploded before you could reach her.”

“I’ll have a few minor burns,” Harris suggested. “To make it look authentic.”

“A touch of smoke inhalation,” Julian agreed. “It plays well in the local papers.”

I felt a tear slip down my cheek, cold and wet.

These men were discussing my death as if they were planning a kitchen remodel.

My mind raced through the items stored in the pantry.

Cans of tomatoes.

Gallon jugs of vinegar.

Bags of rice.

A heavy cast-iron mortar and pestle on the bottom shelf.

Nothing that could stop a gas explosion.

Nothing that could break through a steel-reinforced frame from the inside.

“Where is the main valve?” Harris asked.

“Outside, behind the ivy trellis,” Julian said. “I bypassed the regulator. It’s flooding the basement crawl space right now.”

“How long do we have?”

“Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen before the concentration is right.”

I looked down at my phone screen.