I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. Instead I shifted my gaze past Dean’s shoulder, past Linda’s smug face, out toward the large window overlooking the street.

Through the gathering twilight, I watched two unmarked, matte-black SUVs roll silently to a stop against the curb.

Dean was too busy with his tyrannical monologue to notice the shadows moving across the front lawn.

But I saw them.

And for the first time that whole terrible day, I smiled.

Dean’s expression shifted, confusion warring with anger. His grip on my jaw loosened. “What the hell is funny?”