When I’m done, I indulge myself by peeking at the cameras again. It’s the same as I left it. Or at least, I think it is—until I see movement at the door.
Jillian storms into the bedroom with a pissed expression on her face. She stops a few feet inside the door and squints around. Her gaze sweeps over every little thing in sight, from bed to bureau to the firmly locked window. My frown matches hers. What’s my little fox looking for?
Then her eyes look straight into mine.
As I watch, she drags the vanity chair across the carpet and climbs up on it. Her face fills the frame.
She’s close enough that the pinhole lens captures every last freckle. Her eyes are forest green and furious, red strands of hair floating across her face, mouth twisted in a scowl. An enraged flush is stealing over he
