A shadow moved near the corner alcove, and Christopher stepped out onto the runner.

He held a cold cup of tea in one hand and adjusted his gold cufflink with the other.

“Where are you going with those?” he asked, his quick, clipped voice ringing off the tall plaster walls.

“To the master suite,” I said, stopping four feet away from him.

“What’s that paper under your arm?” he asked, stepping right into my path.

My left hand squeezed my wrist under the pile of cotton.