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“Yes, but now I’m worried therearekids here, somewhere we’re not seeing.” Her eyes shine, and there’s something in her expression that says she desperately wants me to say the right thing. She wants me to be the kind of person who wouldn’t give up on kids just because of a mild creep-factor.
She’s been thinking about kids a lot lately.
I can’t let her down.
“The post said it’s a big property.” I run my hands over my hair. “It’s probably too big to search everywhere. But we can do a loop. Okay?”
Lily’s shoulders relax. “Okay. Do you think Snowball’s still asleep?”
“Yes.”
I put my hand on her lower back and steer her out into the night.
I pretend that everything’s going to be fine.
10
LILY
This is the creepiest place I have ever been, and I was recently kidnapped.
I guess I’d have more of an argument if Jameson’s cabin was creepy, but it’s not. It’s a normal, trending-to-nice cabin. Nothing about this farmhouse is normal at all.
Jameson keeps his hand on me until halfway down the driveway, when his shoe scuffs over the gravel and it makes the wrong sound. A higher sound, like…
“What was that?”
He frowns down at the driveway, looking, then bends and picks something up.
“This, I think.”
Cupped in his palm is a diamond.
It’s like if you searcheddiamondon the Internet and Google spat out the ideal gemstone. Perfect facets glint in the moonlight. Jameson holds his phone over it, and itshines,even though it’s jet-black.
“Seems like a weird place for a diamond,” he says.
“Do you think it’s fake?”
“I’m not a gemologist.”
“Why not? You couldn’t fit it in between criminal mastermind-ing and getting your JD?” It doesn’t sound as lighthearted as I want, but then again, this place is scary as hell.
A smile flashes onto his face.
“You’re right. I should have. Maybe I’ll get a certification.” He rolls the diamond in his palm. “It feels real.”
Jameson puts it in his pocket, and we go out past the barn to the tree line. Everything is slightly pale and glowing from the light of the moon, which does nothing to decrease the creep factor.
“I keep trying to explain it,” I tell him, climbing over a rise in the grass.
Jameson raises his eyebrows at me. He’s still acting calm, but there’s a tightness around his mouth that says he’s just as freaked out as I am. “Explain what?”
“The milk. The dust. Or—the non-dust. I want an explanation. Like, a real one. It feels abandoned, but not. And it’s like…somebody mowed the lawn, but…”
“But it doesn’t smell like cut grass.”
“No.”
