I pulled Noah down just as another shot tore into the wall above us.
“Back hallway!” my father shouted.
We ran.
The house alarm shrieked, red lights flashing.
My father shoved open the mudroom door toward the garage—then froze.
Daniel Harper was already inside.
Older, heavier, one side of his face scarred by an old burn, but unmistakable.
He held a gun in one hand and a ring of keys in the other, smiling like he’d arrived for a private joke.
“Tom,” he said. “You always did wait too long.”
Rachel shrank behind me.
Noah stood close at my shoulder, breathing hard.
Daniel’s eyes moved over all of us, then landed on Noah.
For the first time, his smile faltered.
