“No.”
No one was coming through the window.
Kit looked around again. “Where are you sleeping?”
“On the floor.”
Kit’s brows furrowed. “Why can’t you sleep in the bed with me?”
“It’s not a good idea.”
The thought of lying next to his sweet boy? That way lay madness.
The cabin wasn’t designed to be a home. From what Red had gleaned from Mo’s limited conversation over the pool table, Mo had built two cabins to hire out to CDR as temporary safe houses as the location was well away from the city and a nightmare to access. Red hadn’t expected to be visiting it so soon. The cabin had one bedroom and bathroom, an open plan kitchen and seating area, and one other room he hadn’t shown Kit yet, but it was time he got that over and done with.
“Come with me,” he said abruptly. At Kit’s raised eyebrow, Red huffed. “There’s one more room you need to see.”
“Okay.” Now Kit looked curious and followed Red out of the bedroom without protest.
Kit looked around the cabin. “Is there another bedroom? A playroom?” Now he sounded breathy and excited.
“No.”
This was the one thing that might keep Kit alive. If he listened.
The panic room didn’t look like one at first glance. It was tucked behind what looked like an ordinary knotty-pine wall at the back of the cabin, the seams disguised by shadow and age-darkened wood.
“Watch what I do.”
Red pressed his palm to a spot just left of the old cast-iron stove, and a section of wall shifted soundlessly, swinging inward on hidden hinges.
Inside, the air changed.
The room was compact but solid, poured concrete reinforced with steel ribs, every surface bare and purposeful. No windows. No wasted space. The ceiling was low enough to feel enclosed without being claustrophobic, the kind of place designed toholdrather than trap. The floor was sealed concrete, warm underfoot from radiant heating that hummed quietly beneath the surface.
Red turned to Kit who stared into the room, his mouth open.
“What the fuck?” Kit said.
Quite.
“This is the panic room,” Red said, realizing he was stating the obvious.
One wall was dominated by a steel door—thick, matte black, with a manual locking wheel and an electronic keypad mounted beside it. The locks slid home with a deep, final thunk that promised nothing was getting through without permission. Another wall held a bank of monitors, dark until Red flicked a switch. The screens bloomed to life, showing exterior camera feeds: the tree line, the gravel drive, the porch, the ridge behind the cabin.
“Mo has an identical bank of monitors in his cabin. No one can approach without him knowing about it.”
Kit swallowed hard. “So if the hostiles find me, we hide in here?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be with me?”
“I will. My only job is to protect you. Mo and the team will deal with unwelcome visitors.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic,” Kit muttered.
Red viewed this through Kit’s eyes.
