I heard Voss rustling papers on his end of the line.

“I have the foreclosure notice drafted,” Voss said quietly. “It only requires your digital signature to file.”

My office door opened slightly.

My sergeant looked in, holding a clipboard, but I waved him away.

He nodded and closed the door, leaving me alone in the dim light of the desk lamp.

“Hold on the foreclosure for now,” I told Voss.

“Are you going to sign the waiver for the cabin?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I am going to New Mexico.”

“Maren, if you go there, Dorian will find out,” Voss warned. “He is already on his way to the cabin to meet the developer.”

“Then I will meet him there,” I said.

My phone vibrated in my hand, cutting off Voss’s reply.

The screen lit up with an incoming call.

It was Dorian.

I tapped the screen and held the phone to my ear.

“Dorian,” I said.

The line crackled with road noise and the high whine of a car engine.

“Maren,” he said, his voice tight and breathless. “Thank God you picked up.”