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“Of course they weren’t carrying her. They’re my friends. But if she hasn’t left the house, where is she?”
“Is there an attic?”
“No, the ceilings upstairs follow the line of the roof.”
“A cellar?”
“Just a small area below the stairs we use for wine.” He’d called down there before, but this time he actually descended the stairs and checked behind each rack of shelves.
Eric accompanied him, and returned to the main floor shaking his head.
“Her scent is here, but it’s spread throughout the building. The house was built after the Civil War so it’s unlikely that there were any hidden passageways.”
Hidden.A thought hovered just out of reach. Something he’d seen? Or something someone had said? Perhaps something he’d read.
“The murder!” he yelled and raced up the stairs, Eric on his heels.
“What murder?”
“It happened fifty years ago. A husband killed his wife and disappeared.”
Cold air swirled through the room as the bathroom window flew open again, but it disturbed the stack of papers and the one he’d been looking for landed on top. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature shivered down his spine, but he ignored it as he snatched up the paper and turned to the story.
“Look, here it is. It says that her body was found in a hidden cellar beneath the house. I just assumed it was talking about the wine cellar, but look at this diagram. It must be half the size of the other one.”
“But where is it?” Eric yelled after him as he flew back down the stairs.
He was ready to rip up every piece of flooring plank by plank if necessary, but he forced himself to stop and think. The HVAC company had been under the house when they installed the new system, but they hadn’t been able to get under the kitchenbecause it had been placed on a solid foundation and they’d installed mini-splits instead.
“The kitchen!”
Eric followed him, but the room looked exactly the way it always did. The werewolf began to cross the room sniffing, searching for traces of her scent, while he started to inspect the walls. He was about to give up and start tearing up the floors when a cold draft crossed his neck. He whirled around and thought he caught a flicker of light beneath the pantry door. He tore it open but the space also looked just as it always did… except for the apple lying on the floor next to a basket of apples. He bent down next to it and saw a very faint mark outlining a square on the floor.
“Eric!” he yelled, trying to tear at the floor.
“Let me.”
Eric reached past him, claws extended. He sank his claws deep into the wood and pulled. For a moment nothing happened, but then the square of wood flew up in the air.
“Damian!” Wendy sobbed.
Her face was framed in the opening, pale, tear-stained, and alive. There was a ladder on the wall, but he braced himself against the side of the pantry and reached down far enough to grab her upraised hands. He was vaguely aware that Eric had grabbed his legs, but all he cared about was Wendy’s cold little fingers wrapped around his as he pulled her up out of the ground and into his arms.
She was safe, and for now that was all that mattered.
CHAPTER 19
Four hours earlier…
Wendy prowled restlesslyfrom one end of the living area to the other. Damian had gone off on some mysterious errand, leaving her at loose ends. If he’d been here, they would undoubtedly be back in bed by now. Or on the couch, or the chair, or the dining room table. They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other, and as much as she enjoyed it, she couldn’t help thinking that it was driven partially by desperation. Three days had ticked past and they were no closer to a solution than they had been originally.
Icouldwork in the kitchen, she told herself. The future would be much easier if they were both living and working in the same place. But she couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that she would regret it.
Even though I love him?She had absolutely no doubt about her feelings, although she had yet to voice them. It didn’t seem fair to add that into the situation. He’d begun to hint that hewas considering accompanying her on her travels, but she didn’t want him to feel compelled to join her.
Hell, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to travel as much. She loved Fairhaven Falls and it felt like home, but her blog was important to her too. It was important because of the people and food she discovered.
She made another circuit of the room then decided to seek comfort in her usual way—with cooking. She headed downstairs to the restaurant kitchen, but once she got there she couldn’t decide what to make. If only there were a recipe that would help her solve all her problems. The thought made her smile, but it also triggered a memory. Sitting in the kitchen of a small Greek restaurant in Georgia while the grandmother explained to her in broken English about a wish cake.
