Page 103 of The House Beyond the Dunes

I walk her to the door and open it. “I’ll get it before I leave. Thank you for everything.”

She stops and wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me with surprising strength. She smells of grease and cinnamon.

“I’m going to miss you, Lane.”

“Thanks, Devon.”

She peels herself off me, but her gaze lingers on my face. “Don’t be a stranger, Lane.”

I smile, wave as she sets out on the road toward the marshes. When she vanishes around the corner, I close and lock the door.

For the next hour, I search all the closets in the house. I open Kyle’s weekend bag and dump the contents on the bed. Clothes, shoes, shaving kit, and a box of condoms. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I open all the dresser drawers, look under all the beds. I pull back the coverlets and sheets on all the beds, looking for what, I don’t know. When I finally stop, I’m breathless. There’s nothing that tells me anything about Kyle, Nikki, or Stevie.

Back in Kyle’s office I open the closet door and pull out the carpet. I sit and stare at the stain on the floor. “I’m here because of you, Stevie and Nikki. What do I do next?”

I don’t need Stevie sitting beside me or another diary entry to know exactly what I must do next. I need to return to the woodland house, search it just like I combed this house. That house has secrets that are waiting for me.

When I head west toward the woods, Reece will easily notice me as I pass the house he’s repairing. Devon will be watching from her invisible trailer in the woods.

I could wait until dark, but the inky blackness will make the journey more difficult. A flashlight would help, but up here, the light will draw attention like a lighthouse beacon.

Rubbing my hip, I look out toward the rolling ocean. I’ll walk up the beach, cut across the dunes, and tackle the house from the back side. But before I go, I want to read Stevie’s latest diary entry. I enter Kyle’s office and pick up the printed pages off the printer.

Chapter Twenty-Six

STEVIEPALMER’SDIARY

Friday, July 7, 2023

7:00 p.m.

I call Kyle, Bourbon, Dr.Iverson to schedule an appointment. He has an opening tonight and tells me to arrive at his office at seven. The number he’s given me goes directly to his private line. No receptionist. Feels a little squirrelly, but he’s totally professional. The quick turnaround feels off, especially on a Friday night, but no time like the present, right?

When I arrive at the building, it’s ten after seven. I’m late thanks to summer beach traffic. Normally, I don’t care, but I do this time. Kyle is my only lead on Nikki, and I’m not letting him off the hook.

The front door is open, and a guard at reception directs me to the fifth floor. When I enter the waiting area of the office, I see no one. There’s a receptionist’s desk, a couch, a coffee table, and two closed doors. I sit on the couch and prop my feet on the coffee table. Leaning back, I close my eyes. It feels good to sit. I rarely stop moving, but occasionally nature forces it.

A door opens, and I raise an eyelid. Kyle, Dr.Iverson, is staring at me. He looks annoyed that my feet are on his coffee table, and I take pleasure in the knowledge. I want to be under his skin. I want him to show me the man hiding behind the smiling mask.

“I’ve seen patients like you before,” he says. “They go out of their way to look like they don’t care. You’re hoping I react, so you won’t have to.”

“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here.” Feet off the table, I roll my shoulders and stand as I brush bangs from my forehead. “Dr.Kyle Iverson. You look different in your office.”

“How so?”

“Maybe less or more dangerous? I can’t decide.”

He grins. “Hopefully less. It’s important to me that you have a positive experience.”

“Me too.”

It’s after hours, and the office is quiet. We’re the only ones here. I thread fingers through my hair. Thick chained bracelets, multiple rings, and hoop earrings clatter. Easy to pass me on the street and assume I’m trouble, but I’m not. Leave me and mine alone, and I got no problems with anybody.

“Please come into my office,” he says.

He waits, allows me to pass. I catch the scent of aftershave and mints. I glance left and right as I move into his office. Hanging behind his desk is a large-print photo of a beach cottage. The house is a modern sculpture set in what looks like a remote setting. My breath hitches, but I force it out slowly.

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