“Don’t touch him,” I told Christopher.

“Take your bastard child and get off my family’s land before I call the sheriff,” Christopher said.

The second guard grabbed my right elbow and pulled me toward the open hallway.

I could feel the hard, square weight of Raymond’s dark burner phone deep in my coat pocket, but I kept my right forearm pressed flat against my ribs so the fabric wouldn’t sag.

“Leave the bag,” the taller guard said, grabbing my cloth diaper tote off the dresser.