When the voices finally moved off below me, I did not feel afraid anymore.

Something colder and steadier had taken fear’s place.

They had a plan.

Now, so did I.

Chapter 8 — The Switch

I crawled back inside before my body could quit on me.

On the nightstand stood the tall glass of water Flynn had left within my reach — my good, attentive husband — and I carried it into the bathroom and poured every drop of it down the sink.

Then I filled it again from the tap, set it back exactly where it had been, and — because I had been raised by a careful man — I touched a fingertip to the faint ring of residue on the rim and smeared it just so, so the glass would look like something I’d sipped and abandoned.