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I giggled, pointing to the chair. “He’s not up there, he’s sitting on the chair—and yes, all Hannah knew were lies, so we have no way of identifying him.”
Zach rolled his eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” He looked at the chair without bothering to repeat the question. “What are you thinking, bud?”
“I think we should rule out Tess’s theory. Even though I suspect we’re on the right track here, we have to be sure—for all our sakes—that every other possibility is ruled out.”
He cannot be suggesting…
I searched his gaze, the determined set of his eyes showed my assumptions weren’t wrong. “Please tell me I’m not going where I think I’m going?”
Kipp grinned. “That’s right, sugar lips! We’re going back to the scene of the crime.”
In no time, we were back on the road, despite my continuous protests of how insane the idea was, which they both flatly ignored.
After a short drive while the early evening settled in, we approached a middle-class bungalow on a tree-lined street—completely dull, without any warmth and plainer than a home built by Mennonites. “This is a safe house?”
“What did you expect?” Zach scooted out of the truck and glanced over the hood at me. “Luxury?”
I followed Zach up the steps, looking around at all the creepy-crawlies that made the front porch their home. “Yeah, exactly. At least something that would be worth living in. This shithole isn’t suitable for a stray dog, let alone people. If someone brought me here, I’d be pissed.”
“They’re put here for protection.” Kipp looked at me sternly. “Not for a vacation.”
“They’re—” Zach said.
I raised my hand to interrupt him, not wanting to hear a repeat, since as of late I’d suffered a world of that. “Already heard it.”
Zach grinned before he opened the screen door. He bent down, coming closer to the security panel next to the door handle. After he entered in the four-digit code, the door beeped and opened. He stepped through and flicked the lights on.
I followed him in. “Okay, so you weren’t kidding about the house being secure.”
“The house has more invisible security than you could even wrap your pretty head around,” Kipp said.
I snorted. “Yeah, I gather.” The air seemed charged with electricity and a low hum sounded through the stale space. My assumption of a trespasser had been wrong. I suspected if you dared to open the fridge, spotlights would shine down on you and the walls would do that morphing thing into a steel cage to enclose you.
After my Mission Impossible fantasy, I spun around to meet Zach’s gaze. He stood with the door open and stared at me. “Are you okay?”
“Can I close the door?” he replied.
Huh? “And you’re asking my permission be-e-cause?”
He rolled his eyes. “Has Kipp come into the room?”
I laughed. He worried about something irrelevant. “You do realize he can walk right through the door. He doesn’t need you to open it for him.”
Zach’s jaw clenched. “I’m not making Kipp walk through a door.”
“Stop goading him, he’s not like you and still thinks of me as well…me,” Kipp said.
I sighed away my laughter. “He’s in.”
Zach grumbled something incoherent and closed the door with a loud slam.
With that funny business over, I scanned the room, and clearly, the house had been decorated in the seventies. The couches resembled the color of vomit and fake wood coffee tables decorated the tasteless house. Dust covered everything and the smell of something dead lingered in the air. “Lordy, how long has it been since someone used this place?”
“A while,” Zach answered.
“Like in the last decade?” I swiped a path of dust off the coffee table with my finger. “Boy, the guy who brought Hannah here was a real charmer.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Kipp said.
