And at the idea of him catching me. I’d have to be quick. His temper sucks.
I twist the doorknob, half expecting it to be locked from the outside, but it gives, and I enter, immediately seeing sunlight streaming in through the far window. Thank God. I don’t want to have to turn on a light and have him see it from the outside.
Stepping in, I close the door softly behind me and look around the large room, suddenly forgetting why I’m here.
I exhale, a smile playing on my lips. A large bed sits between two windows which must be the gables on the west side of the house—the same side my balcony faces right below him. Built-in bookshelves line the walls, spilling with books that are stuffed and stacked into every available space. Vertically, horizontally, on top of each other… Nothing has a dust jacket, and I know some of them have to be very old. He doesn’t read all these, does he? I’ve never seen him read.
A Persian-style rug covers the floor, the visible dark wood scuffed and unpolished, and a small fireplace sits a few feet down the wall from the door I just came through. I walk over, seeing the charred remnants of logs he’s burned. I inhale, smelling the burned bark as well as something else. Almost like patchouli. Or bergamot.
A table sits next to the wall with the belts and his supplies for working them, and I find more books on the floor next to his bed. The walls are pretty bare, but they’re not the lighter timber used in the rest of the house. This room looks like it’s something in the upstairs of an Old English pub. I’m surprised I don’t see old paintings on the walls.
I walk over to the table, picking up a few of the animal bones and searching for more information. This room says so much.
And still, so little.
He likes leatherwork. He likes to read. I don’t see a TV, a computer, or any electronics, though I know he has a speaker up here or something, because I hear his music sometimes.
It’s cozy, though. Dark, warm, and comfortable—a big, cushioned chair sitting in the corner of the room with another stack of books sitting next to it.
Walking over to his bedside table, I open the drawer, finding only an old copy of The Three Musketeers, a pen, and some condoms. I pick up the book, smelling it.
Tingles spread up my spine. It smells like the room.
I bet it’s nice in here when the fire is lit. Quiet, peaceful… warm. I look down at the bed, my mouth going dry.
I whip the sheet and blanket back, running my hands over his bed and searching for my panties. I’m guessing this is where he’d be when he jerked off with them.
Finding nothing, I dive down to my hands and knees, crawling around the bed to check the floor.
But as I reach the foot of the bed, I see something and stop. Three grooves are dug into the wood, and I reach out my hand, immediately fitting my forefinger, middle finger, and ring finger into the scratches.
Something scratched the floor. Or someone.
I lick my parched lips, the reality of the distance between the police and me finally dawning. It should’ve dawned months ago.
Rising to my feet, I search his drawers, his other bedside table, and any other little nooks and crannies I can find, but nothing. This is fucking ridiculous. Jake isn’t the panty-raiding type, and Noah wouldn’t steal nearly every pair of sexy underwear I owned, because he’d want to see me wearing them! I know it’s Kaleb.
I grab his pillow and dig inside, searching the last place I know of, and then take the other one, sticking my hand inside there, too.
I feel something and stop, rubbing it between my fingers. Cloth, silky… I pull it out and look down at the red ribbon in my hand.
The red hair ribbon.
My red hair ribbon.
Heat courses under my skin as heat pools in my belly.
The corner of my mouth turns up in a sly smile. Well, it’s not my panties, but it’s mine. Tossing his pillow back down, I tie the ribbon into my hair into a sweet, little bow.
It’s not much, but piece by piece, Kaleb is coming into view.
He might hate me.
But he thinks about me.
“It’s so quiet.”
Noah sits to my right, in his father’s seat, and I glance up, barely meeting his eyes before I look back down at my textbook. I take another bite of my biscuit, not replying.
Jake left hours ago. I wished he’d left earlier, because it’s started snowing again, and now it’s dark. I hate the thought of him out there alone. Why didn’t Kaleb go with him? Or all of us? I could’ve sucked it up. We don’t need fish that badly.
I turn the page, chewing my food as a shingle on the roof bangs in the wind and the ice maker drops new cubes in the freezer. The ribbon tickles my temple, and I fight not to smile as I feel Kaleb’s eyes boring into me from across the table.