Page 91 of Taken Away

Above her, a different sound filtered through the ceiling.

A steady, rhythmic thud.

Footsteps.

Bennett was moving around the upstairs loft. The concrete floors muffled the sound, but she could trace his path: from the kitchen area, across the floating staircase landing, toward the master bedroom directly above her.

Then, the footsteps stopped.

Aubrey held her breath, staring upward as if she could see through the poured concrete. The thought of him up there—solid, vigilant—sent a strange, complicated warmth through her chest, chasing back the worst of the cold dread.

He was awake. He was watching the house.

Above her, the low murmur of a radio started, so faint it was barely a vibration in the air.

Aubrey rolled onto her side, facing the glass. The stars blinked back at her. She closed her eyes, listening to the faint, steady rhythm of Moose’s breathing down the hall and the ghost of Bennett’s presence overhead.

Minutes ticked by. Her mind did not stop.

She checked the digital clock on the nightstand.

10:52 p.m.

She tried closing her eyes. Tried counting backwards. Tried listing winery expenses.

By the time the clock rolled past 11:45, her muscles ached from tension and her sheets were a twisted mess around her legs.

Sleep wasn’t coming.

Sometime after midnight, Aubrey threw the covers back.

She padded to the door in her bare feet and eased it open. A sliver of soft light from a dimmed fixture in the main room spilled across the concrete. Moose’s head lifted as soon as she stepped into the hall. His tags chimed once as he stood and shook himself, then he fell into step beside her, fur brushing her hip with every stride.

The living room was a low-lit cathedral of glass and shadow. Someone—Bennett, obviously—had left a single recessed light on over the kitchen island. The rest of the house lay in darkness.

Aubrey drifted toward the massive leather sofa and sank onto one end, tucking her legs up under her. Moose circled once, then hauled himself up onto the cushions without invitation and sprawled along the length of the couch, his back warm against her knees.

“You’re not supposed to be up here, are you?” she whispered, resting a hand on his side.

He sighed, a deep, content rumble, and nudged her calf with one paw.

She let her head fall back against the sofa, staring up at the exposed steel beams, listening to the house settle and Moose breathe. Her eyes slid toward the glass. The vineyard lights were long gone; only the ghostly outline of the valley and the endless scatter of stars remained.

“Can’t sleep either?”

The voice came from the shadows near the kitchen.

Aubrey jumped hard enough that Moose’s ears shot up. She turned to find Bennett leaning against the island, arms folded across his chest, bare feet on the concrete, a dark T-shirt and gray joggers replacing his usual work clothes.

She pushed a hand through her unbrushed hair, trying to slow her heart. “No,” she admitted. “You?”

He shook his head once. “Not my best night,” he said.

He crossed the floor and dropped down on the far end of the leather sofa, leaving a stretch of Moose between them. Moose, apparently thrilled with this development, stretched farther, one massive paw landing squarely across Aubrey’s bare ankle and the other nudging Bennett’s thigh.

“Traitor,” Bennett muttered to the dog, scratching absently behind one ear.

Aubrey let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I thought he was your security system,” she said.