Page 30 of Better Watch Out

Shit.

I hadn’t considered the very obvious footprints I’d be leaeaving in the snow. It’ll be clear evidence of where I’ve been, and I bite my chapped lower lip as I stand perfectly still, afraid to take a step closer.

Maybe I can disguise my intentions. If I walk around out here and call Sitka over to me, get her going, and push her into snow-plow mode, I can say I was out here playing with her and ended up being close to the shed. I can say she was fixated on something and I had to come after her and grab her collar to drag her away, which is the reason for my footprints and hers being right up against the shed, and for the mess of snow all over.

It might not work, but being this close to the shed means I don’t really have a choice. One more look shows me that the window is still empty, and I quickly slide the door to the shed open, slipping inside before closing it behind me.

It’ll be a dead giveaway if they see it open, after all.

The utter darkness reminds me of being a kid and screaming to be let out. Of the feeling of my fingers going numb and the pain when they’d warmed back up in the hospital. But I pushthat out of my head as much as I can, fumbling for my phone and turning on the light. The space is small enough that it takes only a couple steps to get to the back wall, and I start there at the shelves lining the wall. Scanning each shelf with my light, I go over them twice and find nothing except empty jars and insect corpses.

I suppose Cheryl took over this space for her yearly canning of veggies from the garden that’s long dead this time of year, and I wonder what she’s growing now. Not that it matters since I won’t be coming back hereever?—

The thought brings me up short with a quick, surprising pang of regret in my chest. I stand there in the quiet, cold shed for a few seconds, not looking at anything except the empty mason jars marked with dates on the lids.

Is this really going to be the last time I come here? That’s what I’ve been telling myself since Boone and Fletch showed up, but it finally hits me just what that means.

“Dwell later, look now,” I mutter, shaking my head slightly to clear it. I turn to look at the low work table placed against the wall, the surface only a foot or so wide and taking up half of the shed.

Immediately my phone light illuminates a familiar, water-stained box. Thesamebox that had been on the deck not so long ago at all. But when I peer into it, I find that instead of five or six photos like I’d found back then, there have to be at least thirty, maybe more. There are different bundles of them, I realize, as I reach my hand into the box to sort through them. Each stack is wrapped with a rubber band, but not marked. With just a quick look, I can see they’re all of bodies, though it’s hard to see details with only the stark light of my phone.

Now the question is whether I look through them out here and leave them, or I take some back into the house to continue my investigation.

Just as I’m reaching for the third bundle, intent on maybe snagging a few, Sitka’s bark of acknowledgment makes me look up, fingers frozen around the bundles. I don’t have even a moment to figure out what to do when the shed door is slid open roughly, revealing Fletcher in the doorframe.

He meets my gaze before looking down at my hand in the box. But instead of anger, a slow, lazy grin curls over his lips. “Oh, princess.” He sighs. “Hasn’t anyone told you that it’s wrong to try to find and open your Christmas presents early?” He clicks his tongue in disapproval, eyes glittering in the shed that’s lit only by my phone and now the motion light from the deck. “WhatamI going to do with you?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My brain takes that moment to stop working. All I can do is stare stupidly at Fletcher, my hand around the bundle of photos that I shouldn’t be holding.

“W-well that’s not fair,” I snap, stepping further from the dropped photos until my shoulders brush the shelves. “You left them for me on the deck the other morning, remember? And I never got a chance to look at them. What’s so different about me looking at them now, huh?” I try to sound accusatory, wanting to be ahead of the argument instead of feeling like I’m the one who should be in trouble.

Even though by the look on his face, it’s pretty clear Iamthe one in trouble. He folds his arms, leaning against the shed door as he looks me over, taking in my defensive posture and baleful glare.

“We left you a select few to look at. Not all these.” His eyes flick down to the box, then back up to me and his head tilts to the side. “Besides, I thought you were too horrified to look at them. I’ll admit…” he trails off, looking me over once more. “You surprised me by doing this.”

“Fine. Whatever. Be surprised, then.” I hate how defensive I feel, since I haven’t done anything wrong. “But be surprisedout here on your own. I’m going back inside.” With that bold declaration I stride forward, trying to act confident enough that he justmovesout of my way.

But this is Fletcher, so that doesn’t happen. He stands there, arms still folded, and I’m finally forced to come to a halt when I’m in danger of walking into him. “Move,” I murmur, tilting my head back to glare up at him. But his eyes narrow, and I’m uncertain enough to add, “Please, Fletch.”

“Oh, I like it when you say please to me.” His voice is low and rough, and it sends a shudder through me that I wasn’t expecting. It’s definitely not okay how hot I find him, how hot I findbothof them.

But I suppose that ship has sailed now.

“Okay then…?” I make moving motions at him, trying to shoo him with my fingers. “I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t try to look at anything. I’ll go sit in my room and glare at the weather until it spontaneously changes.” It’s hard to sound irritated when he’s looking at me like he can’t decide what to do with me. Though I worry whatever it is, I won’t like it very much.

Worse, though, is the possibility that Iwilllike it, because he’llmake me.

“You really think that’s going to work?” Fletcher reaches out, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You think you can try to intimidate me, to play this off like a mistake. Conor, if you didn’t think that this was a big deal”—he leans in close, until his lips brush my ear—“then why have you been sneaking around and trying not to get caught?”

Fuck.

Fuck.

I’m caught and both of us know it, but I don’t know what to say. My mouth opens, then closes as I filter through a list of comebacks. But none of them feel like they’re going to help.

“Come on.” He steps to the side with a chuckle, letting me out of the shed. “I know you don’t like it out here. Actually, that’s what surprises me. I never thought you’d go in there voluntarily after what happened.” I waste no time in stepping out of the shed, hands shoved in the pocket of my hoodie as I kick snow with my boots. Fletcher closes the shed, making sure to latch the door, and reaches down to tug on Sitka’s ears lightly when the husky comes around to sniff his boots.

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