“Did you call them?” he asked.

“The stream did,” I said.

My voice sounded flat, even to my own ears.

“The viewers called them when they saw your face, Julian.”

He took a step toward me, but Harris grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back.

“Forget her,” Harris said. “We have to clear the drive.”

“We can’t leave her here to talk,” Julian said, trying to shake him off.

“If they find us in this house, we’re done,” Harris said.

His voice was rising in panic now, the cool authority he usually carried completely gone.

“The stream is live, Julian. Every cop in the county is watching this feed.”

He pointed a trembling finger at the phone on the island.

The red light continued to pulse, capturing the reflection of the stainless-steel refrigerator behind us.

The back door swung open another three inches.

A dark figure stood on the wet porch, silhouetted against the motion-sensor floodlight.

The light caught the edge of a yellow slicker.

“Officer?” a voice called out from the dark.

It was a neighbor’s voice—old Mr. Henderson from down the hill.