Page 9 of Seale the Deal

Home sweet home, Remi says with a bright smile.

Yeah, I say nervously.

Right then, a cellphone starts vibrating. Remi grabs hers from the centre console and groans.

It’s my editor, she says, flashing me the caller ID. You go ahead. I’ll catch up.

I can wait.

Ruger’s probably already seen us. Not to mention half the street, she says as she answers the phone. You should be jumping out of my truck, thrilled to see your fiancé. Go.

I sigh and slowly open the door. The air feels crisp as I step onto the sidewalk and push open the gate leading into Ruger’s yard. As I look around, my eyes catch on a small, weathered wooden structure attached to one of the trees near the fence line. It looks vaguely homemade. Rustic in that rugged-Alaskan-man way where everything appears to have been built using leftover lumber.

Must be some kind of birdhouse, I say quietly to myself. The whole thing is weirdly painted black, and instead of a circular opening like a normal birdhouse, there’s only a thin gap along the bottom.

That’s odd.

Curious, I wander closer.

Hey, little birdies, I whisper, peeking toward the opening. Just wanna see what you’re—

Something black and furious explodes out of the box with a shriek.

I scream so loudly I genuinely hear my voice echo off the mountains. I stumble backward, nearly tripping over my own feet as another black blur launches itself out after the first and wings flap wildly around my head.

Oh my God! I shriek, throwing my arms over my face. I’m going to die!

Chapter 2

Ruger

DAYS LEFT ON VISA: 90

I’m halfway through putting the kindling I cut earlier into the bucket beside the fire when screaming erupts outside.

I make my way to the front door, assuming it’s likely the Nelson kids from across the street, but since I’m expecting my sister at any minute, I should probably make sure it’s not them. I still don’t know if agreeing to this was the dumbest decision I’ve ever made. I remember Wrenley. She was a little out of her element when she was here, needing more layers of clothing than I’ve ever seen on a person, but that’s exactly why I think it’s a chance it’s her.

When I step outside, I have to bite back my laughter.

My sister’s friend is practically dancing on her tiptoes, arms wrapped around her head like that’ll protect her from the vicious assault of a few tiny bats.

I have Canadian blood! she shrieks. It’s basically maple syrup! I’m gonna give you type two diabetes!

I lean against the railing and shake my head, wondering how someone can be this entertaining and awkward at the same time.

For the record, the bats couldn’t care less. They’re probably just pissed she woke them up.

Are they gone? she yells, spinning in a circle. Do I have any in my hair? Oh my God! What is that? It’s a bat… in my hair! I’m gonna get rabies!

There is no bat in her hair.

She crouches slightly, flailing her arms in a kind of frantic self-exorcism.

I sigh, walk down the steps, and head toward her. As I reach the woman pulling at her hair, I don’t say a word. I simply throw her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

She’s lighter than I expected. Warm too. Which is unfortunate because I really don’t need to start noticing things like that. I’m also realizing I should have thought this through more because now her panic is aimed at me, her fists hitting the small of my back.

I’m being kidnapped! Someone save me before I get thrown into a bunker!