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“Someone would post something like that on what… Craigslist?”
“No, it’s a…” He rubs his hand through his hair and sighs. “It’s a part of the internet most people don’t know how to access.”
“And…the listening devices?”
“Jimmy’s the only one who knew you were in Santa Barbara. The running theory is they listened in on your conversation. Either that or he sold your location.”
“He wouldn’t. There’s not enough money in the world. If they’re listening in on his conversations?—”
“We have someone heading to Asheville to investigate. There’s no point in guessing. Right now, we’re guessing.”
“I guess I can’t call Jimmy to warn him?”
His lips pucker and his facial muscles flex into a scowl. I don’t like that look.
“No.” He checks his watch. “We connect with the team in ten. In the meantime, let me show you around.”
He’s all business. Stern. Strict. Goodbye, flirty Knox; hello, Mr. Lawman. When faced with bullets, he turns into steel, and I turn into a bumbling, freezing mess.
“As you can see, this is the living area. Fridge is stocked. Half bath in the hall. We passed it. Bedroom in here.”
I follow him through to a small bedroom with windows out to the ocean and an ensuite bathroom. He dumps both duffels on the mattress.
“There’s only one bedroom?”
“Actually, the cottage has two. But they outfitted the other bedroom as a safe room. Follow me. It’s got a thumb print recognition scanner and I need to get you set up.”
“How did you…when did you learn all of this?”
“When Felix delivered the car.”
That’s right. He talked to Felix and Max while I stayed with Millie. Then they transferred me into the car Felix brought. Their eyes darted around as if bullets might whiz by.
“This is surreal.” It’s the only word for it.
Two years ago, Sam gave me specific instructions. Was he envisioning this deranged scenario? I’d thought he’d been out of his mind. Paranoid because of whatever dangerous secret missions they sent him on. But he couldn’t have foreseen this. Whoever is after me could’ve killed Knox. I could never live with myself if my situation caused him to die. And it’s hard to see how me sitting in a safe house helps Sloane. I should be focused on finding her.
Knox swings a framed print of a beach scene to the left, revealing a panel with a glass screen. With his touch, the black glass glows and a keypad appears. He presses four numbers, then his own thumbprint, and has me press my thumb to it. The device clicks. He opens a door to a hall closet. Blue and white striped beach towels are stacked neatly on all four shelves. The wall of shelves slides to the right, revealing a windowless room.
“It’s soundproof. Walls are bulletproof and fireproof. You’re safe here. If anyone comes.” His gaze cuts to me, his expression unreadable. “But they won’t.”
Monitors line one long built-in desk that encompasses the length of the wall on the left. Two ergonomic chairs with wheels are pushed up under the long desk. The monitors are dark. There’s one sofa on the opposite wall, and in the far corner of the room is a full-size refrigerator. There’s an interior door in the far corner, which I presume is a bathroom, or maybe it’s a closet with food, or both.
Someone needs to wake me because this is out of a movie. And I hate scary movies. A friend of mine once talked me into watching Saw, saying it was a good entry level horror flick. I didn’t sleep well for months.
“Does it hurt?” Knox’s question confuses me until his gaze pointedly falls to my sternum. The butt of my hand is massaging the area.
“No.” Although I’d be lying if I said my heartrate was at a resting pace. I exit into the hall, through the magical linen closet. I don’t know what gadgets might exist in that freaky room, and I don’t want to know. My eyes burn. My fingers tremble.
I want to go home. To my house. Take stock of the damage. Decorate my kindergarten classroom. I want to call up my sister and scream at her because she clearly made some very bad decisions. No, better yet, I want my brother to appear and tell me the last two years were all part of a dream and he never walked into a building that exploded and for him to say, “Wow, your dreams are getting intense. Guess that new ticker’s doing a great job of getting oxygen to the brain.”
Behind me, I hear the motorized movement of doors sliding. I head back into the den with a view of sandy beach, rolling waves, and a beachgoer hanging out beneath an umbrella off in the distance. All normal. Except that I’m standing behind bulletproof glass.
“Let’s take the call in the kitchen. You want anything to drink?”
My throat is tight. Scratchy. Dry. “I’ll get some water. Do you want anything?”
“Water. Thanks.” I think I feel his gaze on my back, but when I turn, he’s focused on his phone and moving to the kitchen table. He sets it down flat.
