“We will handle this quickly, Claire,” he said.

“Stay behind my deputies.”

We drove down the long driveway of Hartwell House in a silent convoy.

The historic stone mansion looked imposing in the gray dawn light.

A single yellow light was burning in the library window.

We parked in a semicircle in the driveway.

The car doors opened with sharp, metallic thuds.

I walked up the stone steps, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Thomas stood to my left, his briefcase gripped tightly in his gloved hand.

Sheriff Miller stepped up to the massive oak door and knocked heavily.

“Sheriff’s department!” he called out.

The sound echoed off the stone walls of the veranda.

We waited in the freezing silence.

Inside, I heard the faint sound of footsteps.

The lock turned with a heavy click.

The door opened, and Patricia stood there, wearing a silk robe and holding a cup of tea.

Her eyes went from the sheriff to the deputies, and then to me.

Her face hardened.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked.

“We have an emergency eviction and restraining order for Mark,” Sheriff Miller said.