The call to Marisol had gone through twenty minutes ago.

He stepped closer to the door, and his voice dropped to a sneer. “Time’s up. Step away from the glass.”

Lightning lit the porch through the peephole and my breath stopped in my throat.

Ryan wasn’t holding a key anymore. He was holding a heavy rusted crowbar he’d pulled out of the back of the SUV. And he was walking toward the bay window.

My heart slammed. If that glass went, they’d be inside in seconds. Three of them, one of me, in the dark. They could do whatever they wanted, stage whatever they needed, and hang all of it on my psychotic break.

“Ryan, don’t!” I screamed, backing away.