He looked at the rain falling behind him, then back at me.

“Well,” he said. “If you’re sure. My wife was worried.”

“Thank you, Mr. Henderson,” I said. “Please go back inside. It’s freezing.”

“All right,” he muttered. “Good night, then.”

He pulled the door shut, and the latch clicked into place.

The moment the lock engaged, Harris let out a long, ragged breath.

“That was too close,” Julian said, his voice shaking.

“He’s going to call it in,” Harris said. “He saw me.”

“He didn’t see anything,” Julian said. “He’s eighty years old.”

“He saw my face, Julian,” Harris said, his voice cracking. “He knows my name.”

The sirens were louder now, the high-pitched wail echoing off the glass windows of the kitchen.

They were turning onto my street.

The blue and red lights began to flash through the bare branches of the oak trees outside.

They cast long, moving shadows across the white subway tile of my backsplash.

“We have to go out the back,” Julian said, looking toward the mudroom.

“They’ll have the perimeter covered,” Harris said. “They aren’t stupid.”