“When did Dad hand Julian that key set?” I asked.

Harper pulled her robe lapels snug around her neck.

“Before we drove down from Maryland Tuesday morning.

Somebody has to keep this place secure while you’re distracted.”

Downstairs in the front living room, the gas fireplace roared behind its black mesh screen and dried out the warm air.

Julian Vance stood by the brick mantel, spinning his Audi key ring around his thumb with a steady metallic click.

His broad shoulders strained the knit of an expensive gray sweater, and his stance was easy and persuasive.