Then came the sound of wet boots on the hardwood floor of the entryway.

Nathan was home.

But who had been standing outside the guest room door just moments ago?

I stood up, my knees trembling.

I tried to stuff the medical files back into the lockbox, but my fingers were too clumsy.

A sheet of paper tore, the sound incredibly loud in the quiet room.

I tried to force the lid shut, but the brass latch jammed.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, fast and heavy.

They were coming straight toward the guest room.

I shoved the lockbox under the bed, pushing it behind the dusty valance.

I stood up just as the brass doorknob began to turn.

The door swung open.

Nathan stood in the doorway, his coat wet from the evening rain.

His eyes swept the room, landing instantly on me.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked.

His voice was calm, but his jaw was clenched.

“I was checking on Eleanor,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He stepped into the room, closing the door firmly behind him.