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It might just be easier to rent the place. “You know anyone who wants a short-term rental?” I ask Lenny. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. He’d make sure anyone he recommended was respectful of my property.
He purses his lips and looks toward the ceiling. “Maybe. The sister of a friend just left her shitty husband. She and her kid are crashing with my friend right now, but there’s not a lot of room. She’s only there because we’re all worried the dickwad’s gonna come after her.” He rubs the back of his neck. “But if she was here, with me right across the street… maybe.”
“Her husband was abusive?” My hackles rise. Nobody should ever be in a position where they’re afraid to live alone. “If she wants it, she can have it, rent free.” He frowns, and I add quickly, “I don’t want it empty, and who knows what kind of tenants I’d end up with otherwise? I’d rather have someone I can trust to look after the place.” Never mind that I’ve never met her and wouldn’t recognize her walking down the street. Lenny knows her, and that’s good enough for me.
He still doesn’t look completely happy, but he nods. “I’ll call, see what she thinks. Meanwhile, you oughtta keep this door shut, man. You don’t have a screen or anything. Anyone can just walk in.”
“I’ll close it now,” I promise. “I just wanted to air the house out a bit, get rid of the empty smell, you know?”
He pats me on the shoulder. “You’re good people, Cam. I’ll come over later when your boyfriend is here, say hello. Make sure he knows he’s gotta treat you right.”
I almost grin at the thought of Lenny facing down Micah, who might be my teddy bear but is still damn intimidating to others. “For sure,” I agree. “You’ll love him.”
Lenny mutters his goodbyes over his shoulder as he walks out, and I dutifully close and lock the door behind him. Dropping the keys into their bowl on the hall table, I make for my workroom. Sure, there’s still a pile of clothes on the bed to be dealt with, but I kinda just remembered that I didn’t bring my suitcase with me. So until Micah gets here and can go get it for me, I’m just organizing things.
I start by going through my workbench, grabbing all the extra bits and tools I don’t use very often but that can come in handy for specialist work. I arrange them neatly in groups by weight and shape, which will make a difference when packing them. Trust me on this—you don’t want to put all your heaviest stuff in the same bag. You especially don’t want to then drop said bag on your foot. Ask me how I know.
Once I’m sure there’s nothing else on the workbench that needs to be packed, I head for the closet. I converted one side into shelf storage a while back, because I didn’t need to hang clothes or anything in there. The other side is where I keep the stick vacuum and broom and stuff. Those can probably stay for my tenant, since the house in Hortplatz already has them. I’m gonna need my workbench, though. I wonder how much I’ll need to bribe Micah’s cousins to teleport it. That bitch is heavy.
I swing the closet open and stumble back a step before my brain even processes what I’m seeing.
A man.
With a knife.
Lunging at me.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Micah
To sayI tore that builder a new one would be understating it. When I got there and saw what he’d done—which turned out not to be due to incompetence, but rather his notion that he knew better than me—I channeled Grandmother and ripped him to shreds… figuratively.
Then, fueled with self-righteous victory, I went to Garrett’s favorite sandwich shop in Zurich and ordered lunch for me and Cam. I even got some pastries for dessert, since I earned the sugar and fat by facing down the evil know-it-all builder and giving up time with Cam. I could have been helping him pack up his house like a supportive boyfriend, and instead I had to work. Though, if I’m completely honest, packing up his house doesn’t sound like the most fun way for us to spend the afternoon, and I’m not all that sorry I missed part of it. Maybe he’s gotten enough done that we can take a break and test if his mattress is better than mine. It’s the responsible thing to do, right? Spinal posture while sleeping is very important.
I’m mentally rehearsing the argument I’ll use to convince him of that as I teleport into his front hallway, laden down with paper bags from the sandwich shop. I know immediately that Cam’s not there.
Shaking my head, wondering if the teleport somehow messed up my senses—which is impossible—I call, “Cam?”
He’s been here; I’d know that even if I hadn’t brought him here myself. I can smell him, both the layers of residual scent that built up over the years of him living here and the new, fresh scent from today. I might not be a hellhound, but this kind of scenting is well within my limits. He was here in the hall—someone else was too, though they stayed right near the front door, I think. Their scent isn’t in the hallway, exactly. Could someone have knocked? One of Cam’s neighbors, maybe? He might have gone to one of their houses to collect his mail or something.
Before I go knocking on people’s doors in search of him, I’ll check the rest of the house. Maybe he left a note. Or he could be out the back? I’m pretty sure he has a small yard.
I go into each room, looking for signs of his presence. The air is much fresher than when I dropped him off, and I find a trail of open windows to support that. He’s been in every room, including the kitchen, where I leave our food on the counter. The back door is open, and I stick my head out. His yard is more a courtyard, concreted over like the front and completely barren. That doesn’t surprise me—Cam would forget to take care of a garden, then get upset when it died.
But where is he?
I’m getting a vague hint of another person, but they didn’t stay in the kitchen long enough for me to process their scent. I wish Garrett was here. Could this be the same person who was at the front door? Maybe I was wrong about them not coming inside.
There’s a small second bedroom off the kitchen, and I head in that direction.
And freeze.
Some of Cam’s tools are scattered on the floor.
There’s no way he’d leave them like that. No way. His tools are his babies. I’ve watched him check and clean them enough times to know he wouldneverleave them lying on the floor like this.
I fumble in my pocket for my phone even as I inhale deeply, trying to capture any hint as to what happened. There was someone else here, and they must have been here for a while, because their scent has puddled. That’s good—that’s going to help. And… what is that? It smells metallic, but… new? Could it be one of Cam’s tools?
