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"Not sure."
There are stone gnomes on either side of the front door like small, colorful sentries. When I don't find a doorbell, I knock. When there's no answer, I knock harder. When there's still no answer, I pound on the door.
Clover doesn't make a sound, but I feel her defeat as she sinks down my back.
She wiggles free of my one-arm hold and lands on her good leg. "We're going to have to break in."
I stare at her. She's not wrong, but I don't like it. Not only is it a crime, but there's no telling what might happen if the owners come home and find us here.
"In all likelihood," she says like she can hear my thoughts. "The owners only stay here a few times a year and we'll have the place to ourselves for a night."
"And if they don't?"
She looks around, like the answer might be out in the darkness somewhere. "We'll leave a note on the door, explaining what happened, so they don't find us and freak out."
When I still don't say anything, she pats my arm. "It's okay, Asher. If the police are called, I'll take the heat."
"You'll take the heat?" She is so adorably not a criminal.
"I've never had any convictions before. I won't do any time and you'll be blameless."
I snort. "Yeah, 'cause the cops and the judge are going to believe the ex-car thief had nothing to do with a breaking and entering."
She widens her eyes and bats her lashes. "We had no choice, officer. I was injured and it was getting colder by the second. It was break in or die."
She jiggles the door handle and it opens. She looks at me, her eyes impossibly wider. "It's not breaking and entering if the door's open, right?"
"Sorry, Empress. It's definitely still breaking and entering."
Inside, the house is modern and sleek. The living room is right inside the front door, the kitchen next to it, the granite counter tops and high-end appliances visible. The place might be small, probably no more than eight hundred square feet on the first floor, but someone put real money into it.
"I don't know what to do first," Clover says. "Look for warm clothes or raid the kitchen and hope there's soup or something in the cupboards?"
"First, we find paper and a pen and post that note on the front door. I'm not getting shot tonight."
"Okay…" She limps toward the kitchen, but I scoop her up and set her on the couch.
"Hey," she says. "What are you doing?"
"You need to rest that knee. I'll find what we need."
I stuff a couple of throw pillows under her bad knee and put the blanket on the back of the couch over her. I bend close as I tuck it around her. She's still shivering, looking up at me with a warmth in her eyes that could almost be mistaken for trust.
I press a kiss to her forehead and force myself to back away before I suggest helping her out of her damp clothes.
The kitchen is neat, but there's a glass in the sink and mail on the kitchen table. "Looks like someone's living here now," I say, my throat tight with nerves.
I don't like this. I've been so careful, never taking any risks that might draw the attention of law enforcement, and this feels like running naked in front of the police station and daring them to lock me up.
I glance over at Clover. She's watching me, eyes wide, still shivering slightly. I sigh. Spending the night in the woods isn't an option.
I search the kitchen for a junk drawer, but every drawer is filled with functional kitchen tools. There's not even a notepad on the refrigerator.
The mail all looks too important to write on. I sift through it quickly, but there's not a shred of obvious junk mail. "Jaxon Hayes," I read the name on the mail slowly. Why does that sound so familiar?
"What?" Clover asks. "Are you a fan?"
I stare at her. "A fan of what?"
