Sgt. Miller stepped out of his patrol car and walked up the driveway. “Sir, you need to step away from the door.”
Logan turned, surprised. Then, a smile plastered onto his face instantly. It was terrifying how fast it appeared. “Officer. Thank God you’re here. My wife is spiraling. She’s having a breakdown. She stole a car and ran off.”
Miller didn’t smile back. He kept his hand near his belt. “We’ve received a report of threats and suspected vehicle tampering. We have the texts, Mr. Pierce.”
Logan’s face tightened for half a second—a micro-expression of rage—before smoothing out again. He laughed lightly, a condescending chuckle. “This is insane. Carolyn—my mother—told you she has the car, right? She can confirm nothing’s wrong. I’m just bringing Claire her medication. She forgot it.”
He lifted the grocery bag.
My stomach dropped. He was so good at this. He was weaving a narrative where I was the crazy one.
“Carolyn told him,” I whispered, betrayal stinging my eyes.
Megan looked like she might collapse. “She promised.”
My phone buzzed again—not a text, but a call. Carolyn.
I answered, putting it on speaker without thinking.
Carolyn’s voice came through, breathless, panicked. “Claire! Claire, he’s there. He showed up while I was waiting outside. He said he just wanted to ‘check’ something under the wheel well. I tried to stop him—”
“Carolyn,” I said, sharp enough to cut glass, “did you let him touch the car?”
