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Caleb gripped the edge of the pool.
“Marissa.”
I did not answer.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
There it was again.
The script.
The label.
The warning.
My fingers tightened around the wet fabric until it pressed cold against my skin.
Then I saw the red emergency button beside the kitchen entrance.
The security panel.
The one I had paid $2,700 to install after break-ins continue reading …
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