Page 23 of Kiss Across the Universe
Veris didn’t have a car. He seemed to be happy to have one or the other of his spouses drive him anywhere he wanted to go, so the lack of a third car meant nothing.
But still, the hairs on the back of Kit’s neck tried to stand upright, making him shiver under his coat.
He steered up the short incline to the flat shelf of land where the house and the small grove of pine trees were, and came to halt beside Taylor’s truck. He stayed in the seat, his hands on the wheel and studied the house.
There was nothing out of place. No obvious signs of violence.
Moving slowly, his heart thumping, Kit lowered the driver’s window and listened.
Nothing. Not a single human-made sound. No low-voiced conversations or the rattle of dishes or pots emerging from the half-open window. It was the window next to the big range in the kitchen. The matching window on the other side was closed.
There was no sound but the lonely murmur of the wind in the top of the pines, sounding cold and thin.
Kit closed the window and got out of the truck, shut the door quietly and stood still, every sense stretched to the maximum, taking in everything. From a tree behind the house, high up by the tip, a squirrel chittered angrily at him. The mountains that seemed to leap up toward the sky from directly behind the house bounced sound with the efficiency of cold rock. He could hear the tap-tap of goats’ hooves as they clambered up the sheer cliffs.
Nothing else.
The open window bothered Kit. If the house was truly empty, it shouldn’t be open.
He moved with cautious slowness around to the front of the house and the verandah with its stupendous view of the valley and Canmore. His hand was hovering by his hip, a leftover from his Army days. He neither resented the old habit, nor welcomed it. It was just a part of his past, that was all.
He stepped up onto the verandah. He hadn’t until now realized that it squeaked, just as verandahs did in the movies.
His heart picked up its pace a little more.
Normally, he would move straight over to the front door and use the brass knocker. As no one had popped up from behind the wood pile or the shed, he could do that now.
He refused to call the structure situated behind the pines a barn, despite it being painted red and having a big door and a loft. It had never protected livestock and, as far as he was aware, hay had never been stored in the loft. It was a workshop and would be protection for Brody’s car when winter fully arrived, which was only a few weeks away now.
Kit tried to shake off the cold fingers walking up his spine by calling himself paranoid. He moved over to the front door and gripped the brass knocker.
The door wavered open at his touch.
Kit bent to examine the latch, although he didn’t need to get that close to see the raw wood and splinters. The lock had been busted open.
He straightened, swallowed, and fought the need to look over his shoulder. There was no one out there. He’d visually checked every possible hiding place as he’d walked around to the front of the house.
Instead, he put one foot inside the house and leaned in and bellowed. “Taylor! Veris! Brody!”
Silence.
“Anyone!” Kit shouted.
No one answered.
He studied the front room. Nothing looked out of place. The chairs were not tipped over. They sat where they usually did. The room was mildly cluttered – books, an overflowing basket of toys in the corner, a tablet PC sitting beside an empty mug on a side table. The cushions on the window seat had been disturbed and a blanket was tossed to one end. Had someone snoozed there?
“Hello!” Kit called again. He weighed up moving further into the house, his gut instincts fighting with good sense.
Finally, he stepped out once more, moved over to the verandah steps and sat on the top one. He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contact and dialed, and was grateful when the call was answered almost immediately.
“Kit McDonald,” Aran said, sounding pleased. “What mountain moved to make you phone me?”
“That’s just it,” Kit said. “I think some sort of mountainhasmoved.” Quickly, he explained what he had found—or not found, in this case. Because Aran was a friend of sorts, he added, “It just doesn’t feel right.”
“Gut talking?” Aran asked. He wasn’t laughing or blowing it off as Kit being paranoid, at least.
“Shouting,” Kit admitted.
