I Caught My Fiancé Paying My Estranged Sister’s Rent—Then Found the Ultrasound in His Glovebox.

I looked through the peephole.

It wasn't Elena. And it wasn't Marcus.

Standing on my welcome mat was a burly man in a worn leather jacket with a badge clipped to his belt and a toothpick between his teeth.

I cracked the door open, keeping the security chain locked. "Can I help you?"

"Chloe Vance?" the man grunted.

"Yes."

"I’m Frank Miller. Miller Bail Bonds. I’m looking for Marcus Hayes."

"He’s in county jail," I said.

"He was in county jail," Frank corrected, leaning against the doorframe. "His mother posted his twenty-five-thousand-dollar cash bond two hours ago. But when he walked out the gate, he skipped his processing check-in. His ankle monitor signal cut out ten minutes later near your street."

My blood ran cold. The security chain suddenly felt paper-thin.

"He’s not here," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper.

"Well, his car was just found abandoned two blocks down in an alley," Frank said, pulling out a business card and sliding it through the crack. "If he shows up, don't try to talk to him. He’s facing fifteen years in federal prison and he knows it. A man with nothing to lose is the most dangerous kind of animal."

Just as I took the card, a sharp, metallic sound echoed from my back fire escape window.

The sound of glass shattering.

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