Megan’s eyes widened, the screen casting a pale light on her face. “Someone’s behind the house.”
The officer at the front radioed immediately. “Possible second subject, rear access.”
Logan heard it. His gaze snapped toward the side yard, his entire demeanor shifting from pleading husband to cornered animal. In that instant, I knew the “funeral” line hadn’t been metaphor.
It was coordination.
Within seconds, another figure appeared on the side walkway—hood up, head down, moving fast. The rear patrol unit, which had been silent until now, rounded the corner and shouted commands.
“Police! Don’t move! Show me your hands!”
The figure bolted, slipped on the wet grass, and went down hard.
They pulled him up and yanked the hood back.
It was Derek Voss—Logan’s friend from high school. The same “buddy” who always showed up when Logan wanted to feel powerful, the one who owed Logan money.
Megan stared at the camera feed, shaking violently. “He was going to come in the back. While Logan distracted the police at the front.”
Logan’s voice rose outside, losing all polish. He started yelling, his face contorted. “This is a misunderstanding! He was checking the gate! He was just checking on the dog!”
Sgt. Miller didn’t buy it. He grabbed Logan’s wrist. “Sir, turn around. Hands behind your back.”
