Another pause. Longer this time. “What’s in your hand?”
I looked at the gun resting across my lap. “A bad decision.”
“Put it down,” he said immediately. “Walk out.”
“No,” I said. “Not tonight.”
I hung up before he could argue further.
Then I noticed the phone on my coffee table.
Unlocked.
Careless.
I picked it up, scrolled once, and hit “Home.”
A woman answered on the third ring, already angry. “Evan, if you’re not in this house in ten minutes—”
“This isn’t Evan,” I said.
Silence.
Then, slowly, “Who is this?”
“My name is Daniel Reeves,” I said. “And I believe your husband is currently upstairs in my house. With my wife.”
The silence that followed was heavier than anything I’d felt all night.
When she spoke again, her voice had changed. Not loud. Not hysterical.
Sharp.
“Stay right there,” she said. “Don’t do anything.”
The line went dead.
Upstairs, footsteps.
Then the light snapped on.
Clara appeared first, robe clutched tight, face draining of color as she saw me.
Behind her, Evan Carter—her boss—froze mid-step, like a man who had just realized gravity existed.
No one spoke.
I didn’t raise the gun.
Didn’t need to.
“You’re expensive, Evan,” I said calmly. “You just don’t know it yet.”