He didn’t look at Julian. He looked down at me.

“Give me the device, Clara,” Harris said. “We can still make this look like a domestic accident.”

“An accident?” I laughed, though my voice cracked with fear. “With twelve thousand witnesses?”

“They don’t know who I am,” Harris said. “They just see a shadow on a low-res camera.”

He reached down and grabbed my upper arm, pulling me to my feet.

His grip was much stronger than Julian’s.

“You’re a police officer, Harris,” I said. “They will track your patrol vehicle.”

“My car is parked three miles away in the state park lot,” Harris said. “I walked here through the woods.”

He snatched the phone from my hand.

The screen illuminated his face, casting deep, dark shadows under his eyes and nose.

He stared at the live-stream feed.

The chat was moving too fast to read now, a vertical waterfall of words.

Names and locations flashed by in a blur of white text.

“They’re tracking the rental’s GPS,” Harris said, reading the screen aloud. “Someone hacked the rental agency’s fleet log.”