Page 10 of After the Fall

“Unlike wolves, blueberries don’t bite.” My eyes darted toward the intrusion. Only this time, it was Fiona’s kind eyes staring back at me. My shoulders relaxed and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“That’s not the reaction I was expecting for my lame joke,” she laughed.

“Sorry. Tank caught me trying to leave the house a few minutes ago.”

Her brown eyes softened. “Tank is never a good way to start the day.”

“No.” I shook my head and poked at the muffin with my pointer finger. “I feel trapped here,” I whispered.

Her eyes darted around the kitchen and behind her. “Oh, fuck it. It’s only Tank here, and I don’t care what he thinks.” She settled onto the barstool next to me. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you,” she admitted, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. "But to hell with rules.”

She placed her hand over mine, and the warmth surprised me – both the heat and her kindness. “What’s going on?” she asked gently.

“Everything is so complicated right now,” I sighed. “Where do I even begin?”

Her head tilted. “Start here.” She smiled and lifted her hand off mine, nudging the plate closer to me. “Gloria bakes the best muffins.”

She crossed her arms when I didn’t reach for the baked treat. “Harper. You need to eat. You haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.”

“Are you keeping tabs on me again?” I stared at the plate, unwilling to meet her eyes.

“We all are. Listen, I know you feel like a prisoner, but if your dad is right about you being in danger, then the mansion is the safest place to be right now.”

My eyes quickly lifted to meet her gaze. “You know, you’re the first person to say the word ‘dad’. Thank you.” I gave a tiny smile, and as a show of gratitude, pinched off a small piece of muffin, shoving it into my mouth like a robot. The sweetness of the blueberries hit at once.

“Oh wow,” I exclaimed, shoveling more muffin into my mouth. “You weren’t lying,” I admitted with my mouth full.

“I told you,” she boasted, as I continued to shovel the muffin into my mouth, until only crumbs remained.

“That was honestly the best muffin I’ve ever had.” I rose from my stool with the intention of carrying my plate to the sink, but Fiona’s arm stopped me.

She shook her head. “We all have our responsibilities, and dishes are Gloria’s.”

“But…”

She shook her head again. “Gloria’s in charge of anything kitchen-related. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it,” she promised.

I sat back down. “If you say so. Though…” I sighed. “If I can’t do dishes, what can I do?”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re a reporter, aren’t you? I’m sure you can find a way to be useful.” She got up from the stool and walked toward the sliding glass doors.

Fiona was right. I didn’t need to galivant around Seattle to be useful. If there was one thing I was good at, it was research. My investigative skills were proven. They had led me to this very kitchen, where I was sitting with a sasquatch, having discovered one of Washington’s oldest, best-kept secrets.

If these walls were going to be my prison, then I’d take down the Carders from within.

“Besides,” Fiona said, the glass door sliding open. “If nothing else, this guy will preoccupy you.”

A tornado of brown fur came flying into the kitchen. Brown Dog rested his head on my leg, my yoga pants growing soggy from drool.

Fiona gave a slight wave before disappearing into the backyard.

I patted Brown Dog on his head, a smile back on my face. “Looks like it’s you and me, buddy. Want to take down some bad guys?”

He barked once as if to agree.

FIVE

WYATT

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