Page 99 of The House Beyond the Dunes

“Sure.” He sounds pissed. “Took me six months to break in those gloves.”

I shift the weight from my left hip to my right. “They’ll turn up.”

He shakes his head as his gaze takes in my flushed cheeks and windswept hair. His frown softens. “You look a little off. The hip bothering you?”

“I walked too much.” I nod toward his hand. “What happened?”

He doesn’t spare his hand a passing glance. “Stupid accident. Not a big deal.”

The spiral fracture in the mirror says otherwise. “What’s on your agenda today?” I ask.

“Ripping up the flooring in the laundry room.”

“Progress?”

“Yeah. What about you? You finished with that house?”

I’m out of reasons to stay, but the longer I linger, the more questions appear. Footprints. Blood. Rope. Even Earl. Questions are piling on top of questions. “The weather is closing in fast, but I should have clear skies tomorrow.”

“Back to Norfolk?” he asks.

“That’s right.”

He nods, his gaze holding me a long beat that warms my chilled skin. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“What do you have to be sorry about?”

“I kind of blew you off.”

His loyalty to Kyle, Devon, and this world outweighs his desire for me. “This feels weird for you. I get it.”

“I like you, Lane.”

I think about the rope dangling from the chair. What does he know about that house? “I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” My smile is wan. “Good luck finding your gloves.”

That startles loose a smile. “Thanks.”

I climb the stairs to the house, and when I close the door behind me, I lean against it. I’m drained from a bad night’s sleep, the morning adrenaline dump, and walking on a bad hip.

I pull Reece’s gloves from my pockets and turn them over in my hands before raising them to my nose. My attraction to him is now drowning in suspicion. Very little happens up here without Devon knowing it, and Devon and Reece are clearly tight. How much do they share with each other about me?

Tucking the gloves back in my pockets, I shrug off my jacket. I’ll find a way to drop them by his car or the house sooner or later.

I dig a couple of slices of bread out of the plastic sleeve. I don’t bother with toasting or butter. Just plain white bread to settle my stomach.

“What happened at that house, Kyle? Who was tied up?” My thoughts go to Nikki and Stevie. Both vanished six months ago around the Fourth of July weekend. And if I can believe what I’ve heard about Jeb, he was dead by then.

According to the diary, Sully told Stevie he was going to run down local addresses for Kyle. I wonder if the woodland house showed up in his search.

I walk into Kyle’s office, pausing at the threshold before flipping on the light. Slowly I move behind his desk and toward the closet behind it. I open the door, drink in the faintest scent of new paint, and stare at the plain white walls.

Why was the closet painted? I don’t remember the scent when I stood in this office with Kyle, but I’d been distracted and more interested in his diplomas.

I pull the sweaters off the hangers and toss them on Kyle’s desk. I smooth my hands over the walls, pressing against the drywall as if I expect to find a secret wall or panel. I move up and down the walls pushing and prodding, hoping that something will give and prove to me that I’m not losing my mind. But each section is solid, secure.

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