I went home for car papers—and overheard my husband laughing on the phone: “I messed with her brakes.” Then he added, “See you at your sister’s funeral,” and I realized the “accident” he planned wasn’t meant for me alone.

Logan flinched. He looked at the front door.

“Expecting company?” I asked.

“No,” he whispered.

“That’s funny,” I said. “Because I invited a few people. They should be here any second.”

Blue and red lights flashed through the front window, strobing across the dining room walls, illuminating Logan’s sweat-drenched face in a grotesque disco of consequences.

Part 4: The Arrest
The heavy thud of boots on the porch steps was followed by a sharp, authoritative knock that rattled the pictures on the walls.

“Police! Open up!”

Logan looked for an exit. He glanced at the back door, calculating the distance.

“Don’t,” I said. “Mike from the garage is parked in the alley. He’s watching the back. And Henderson is out front. You’re surrounded by the people you underestimated.”