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“Eli.”

Our maintenance contractor.

He helps with repairs when all seven of us are away.

I haven’t called him in more than a week.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Eli coughs hard.

“Security company called about the camera failure.”

He looks toward the house.

“I came to check it.”

“You went inside?”

“Saw the bag.”

He releases the strap.

The backpack falls against my knee.

Blackened in one corner.

Wet from whatever Eli used to shield himself.

But intact.

“You could have died.”

He struggles to breathe.

“Thought it belonged to one of your clients.”

It belongs to my daughter.

I grip Eli’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Paramedics race through the gate as firefighters surround the house.

They take Eli from me.

Kane remains beside the backpack.

“You going to open it?”

“No.”

“We should check for a tracker.”

He’s right.

I hate that he’s right.