Page 88 of Where the Snakes Sleep

“You’ve seen my kitchen wall. Is that where this would be?”

“Approximately,” I answer.

His entire posture changes. “Camille.”

“Yes?”

“You think there’s a hidden room in my cottage.”

“I think there is inaccessible space that is not adequately accounted for in the current interior.”

“That is the most obnoxiously scientific way you could possibly say ‘hidden room.’”

He drops back into the chair, photograph still in hand, then looks down at it again. The amusement leaves him shortly after, and he murmurs, “So whoever broke in…”

“May have known,” I finish for him.

His breathing accelerates, panic surfacing. “What if they found it?”

“We have no evidence that they did.”

“What if there’s nothing there anymore?”

“It’s possible.”

“But what if they come back because they didn’t find it? Would they hurt me?”

“Ryan.”

“What if they think I know where it is?”

“Ryan.” His eyes finally snap to mine. I soften my voice. “It will be fine. We can go look this afternoon. We will inspect the cottage in daylight, photograph anything unusual, and involve the police rather than tearing down walls ourselves.”

He shoots me an offended look. “I wasn’t going to dismantle half the house.”

“You tried repairing a stone wall with no experience.”

“That worked.”

“It remains mostly collapsed.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “I will try not to fuck anything up.” He then asks, “Why don’t we go now instead of waiting for the afternoon?”

“Because there are still things to do,” I answer. “Like shower.”

He frowns. “Lame.”

“You wanted to shower twenty minutes ago,” I point out.

“I also wanted to fuck you twenty minutes ago,” he snaps back.

“Your priorities are remarkably unstable.”

That pulls a laugh from him.

“Alright,” he says after a moment, still sporting a small grin. “I’ll shower, we’ll get my stuff, look at the wall, call somebody about the locks and cameras, and then…” He gestures vaguely between us. “I guess I’ll stay here.”

“For a few nights.”