My Sister Broke Into My Mansion

I said.

Which was true, in the irritating technical way Tammy hated.

The system had.

Tammy whispered, “Claire. Please.”

There it was.

Not sorry. Never sorry. Just please.

“Where are my things?” I asked.

“What things?”

“My master closet was open. My office door has marks on it. My storage bench is moved. Where are my things?”

She looked at Derek.

That one look continue reading …