MY ANXIETY SKYROCKETED WHEN the Tesla pulled over ahead of us. The driver's door opened. I slowed down, debating on running in the opposite direction. But it was possible that someone needed directions. It wouldn't be the first time I'd given them. The driver was tall and broad shouldered. He wore sunglasses, which was disconcerting because it still wasn't that bright outside. Then the passenger door opened and a shorter, bald man stepped out.
It was Detective Winchester. Now I really couldn't turn around. Besides, he knew where I lived.
"Ms. Parker. I thought that was you," the detective called out, his voice jarring in the silence of the morning. He stepped into my path on the sidewalk, forcing us to stop. Knox growled. The detective gave him an annoyed look.
"Heel," I commanded. Kno
