Chapter 31
Wren
I stand on my tiptoes, stretching to reach the top of the kitchen cabinet with my damp cloth. Dust comes away in thick clumps, making me wrinkle my nose.
Although Falkor has done a good job keeping the general areas of his home clean, it’s spring-cleaning jobs like this that he has not been able to get to, and I can understand why. An elderly male should not be climbing up on chairs and ladders.
Even shifters age, and with it, their ability to heal so quickly slows down, too.
This is a really big home for one person.
Once all of this is over, I think Grim should chat to him about moving into something smaller.
Or I could have that talk. It might even be time for him to look at an assisted living facility.
He wouldn’t have to be so lonely, since there would be plenty of folks like him.
“There,” I say to myself, wiping the last corner clean.
I’ve been at this for hours now. Started in the guest bathroom, then I moved to the kitchen, and I’m planning to tackle the living room next. Anything to keep busy. Anything to keep my mind off everything. It’s also a way to repay Falkor for his kindness.
He’s such a sweetie.
I hear the familiar sound of a drill from somewhere down the hallway, and my stomach does that stupid flip thing it’s been doing whenever I think about Grim. I force myself to focus on the cabinet, moving to the next section.
I dip my cloth in the bucket of soapy water at my feet and wring it out, watching the dirty water drip back in. The repetitive motion is soothing, somehow.
The drilling stops, replaced by the sound of hammering. Steady, rhythmic thuds that echo through the house.
I close my eyes for a second, trying not to picture Grim wielding that hammer. Trying not to remember how those same hands felt on my body last night.
I shake my head hard and attack the cabinet with renewed vigor. This is exactly why I need to stay away from him. I can’t think straight when he’s around. Can’t focus on what’s important.
Which is staying alive and clearing our names. More importantly, we need to save Sally.
I move to the next cabinet, dunking my cloth again.
The hammering continues, punctuated by the occasional grunt of effort. My traitorous mind immediately conjures up another time I’ve heard him make similar sounds.
“Nope,” I say out loud, scrubbing harder at a particularly stubborn spot of grime. “Not going there.”
I hear footsteps in the hallway and freeze, my heart suddenly racing. But they move past the kitchen, heading toward the front of the house. Not coming in here.
Good.
By the time I finish with the kitchen cabinets, my arms are aching, and the water in the bucket looks like chocolate milk. I dump it in the sink, watching it swirl down the drain, then refill it with fresh water and soap.
The living room calls to me next.
I carry my supplies in there, setting them down near the bookshelf. This one’s going to take a while. Every book will need to be removed, the shelves wiped down, the books dusted, then everything put back.
Perfect. That should keep me occupied for a while.
I pull out the first stack of books, setting them gently on the coffee table. They’re mostly romance novels with well-worn spines. Luna must have loved to read.
I’m halfway through the second shelf when I hear Grim’s voice from somewhere in the house, talking to Falkor. I can’t make out the words.
The hammering starts up again, closer this time. He must have moved to the living room doorway or the nearby hallway.
I keep my back to the sound, methodically wiping down each book before setting it aside. I will not look. I will not turn around. I will not—
“Are you doing okay, Wren?”
I jump, nearly dropping the book in my hands. Grim is standing in the doorway, hammer in hand, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. His T-shirt is pulled tight over his body. His hair is in a messy knot at the back of his head.
I want to climb him like a pole and lick every—
I’m gaping at him again. My usual MO. I need to stop doing that.
“Um…all good,” I manage, proud of how steady my voice sounds. “You?”
He grunts something that sounds like a yes. “I’m moving to the back bedroom. Going to fix that window that won’t close properly. Just in case you need me.” His eyes are unreadable.
I love and hate how he checks in on me every so often. It’s sweet. I wish he wouldn’t.
“Okay…thanks. I’ll be here a while.” I look at the overcrowded bookshelf before looking back at him.
We stare at each other for a beat too long. My mouth goes dry.
“Right.” He shifts his weight. “I’ll just… I’ll be in there if you need me.” He points with his hammer.
Then he turns and walks away, and I release a breath that sounds embarrassingly shaky.
Get it together, Wren.
I go back to my books with renewed determination. By the time Falkor finds me, I’ve finished the entire bookshelf and moved on to dusting the mantel.
“Oh, dear girl,” Falkor says, appearing in the doorway with that warm smile of his. “You’ve been working so hard.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s nearly three in the afternoon, which is good.
“It’s no problem at all,” I tell him, setting down my cloth. “You have a lovely home.”
He chuckles. “You’re very kind to say so. I know it’s gotten away from me over the last year or two.” He clasps his hands together. “I was thinking I might run to the store. Pick up a few things for dinner. Is there anything you’d like?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I smile at him. “And Falkor, I want you to know that once I have access to my accounts again, I’ll pay you back for everything. For the food, for putting us up, all of it.”
“Nonsense.” He waves a hand. “You’re my guests. Guests shouldn’t have to pay for anything. Besides, if anyone should be paying, it’s me. You and Grim have done more work in one morning than I’ve managed in a year. I’m going to get us something special. I might even splurge on a bottle of wine.”
“Please don’t go to any trouble. We’re happy to help,” I assure him. “Really.”
“Well, I appreciate it more than you know.” He pats my shoulder gently. “I’ll be back in about an hour. There’s fresh lemonade in the fridge if you get thirsty.”
“Thank you.”
I watch him shuffle down the hallway.
I turn back to the mantel, picking up the next framed photo. It’s of Luna and Falkor on their wedding day, both of them so young and full of joy. My chest tightens at the sight of it.
I’m carefully dusting the frame when I hear the front door burst open and slam shut.
“Grim!” Falkor’s voice is urgent, panicked. “Wren! Grim!”
My heart starts racing. I almost drop the picture frame. I suck in a deep breath before placing it back on the mantel. I rush over to see what’s going on.
Falkor is standing just inside the closed door, his face flushed and his eyes wide with fear.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Draig Security,” he gasps, slightly out of breath. “They’re on the street. Going door to door. I think… I think they’re searching homes.”
Ice floods my veins. “How long do we have?”
“Maybe five or ten minutes at the most. They’re three houses down.”
Grim appears behind me; his expression is hard. “We need to move. Now.”
“Wait.” Falkor holds up a hand. “I have somewhere you can hide. They will see you if you try to leave. You need to come with me. I’ll show you.”
“We need to tidy up, or they’ll suspect that other people are living here,” I tell Grim, thinking about my toothbrush out on the counter and the T-shirt I left hanging over the chair in my bedroom.
We rush around the living room first, grabbing any evidence of our presence. The duffel bag in the guest room. The dishes we used at lunch. My cloth and bucket from the living room.
“We don’t have much time,” Falkor says, his voice urgent.
Grim throws the duffel over his shoulder while I snatch up the few personal items we’d left lying around.
We stash the items in various closets, trying to make it look like they belong.
It’s the very best we can do given the time.
I don’t think we left any obvious clues.
I hope not. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
We meet Falkor at the front door. He’s standing next to the coat closet to the left of the entrance, which he opens.
“You want us to go in there?” Grim says, skepticism clear in his voice.
“Surely not,” I add, staring at the small closet. “That’s the first place they’ll look.”
“Trust me.” Falkor opens the closet quickly.
It’s full of coats and jackets, barely enough room for one person, let alone two.
“The builder made a mistake years ago. When the front door is open all the way, it blocks this closet door completely. No one will know it’s here.
I will make sure of it. You’ll be quite safe. ”
“That’s actually really clever,” I say.
“It might just work,” Grim adds.
“Now get in,” Falkor urges. “Both of you. Quickly! You need to be very quiet,” he whispers.
Grim goes first, backing into the tiny space and pressing against the wall. I follow and immediately realize the problem.
There’s no room. None at all.
I’m pressed flush against Grim’s chest, my breasts mashing against him. One of his arms comes around my waist, the other bracing against the wall to the side of us as he tries to give us both space that simply doesn’t exist.
“Sorry,” I whisper, trying to shift away and only succeeding in pressing harder against him.
“It’s fine,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my hair. “Just stay still.”
Falkor reaches in and arranges a few coats, so they’re hanging in front of us, providing extra cover. Then he closes the door.
Darkness envelops us.
It’s so tight in here that I can barely breathe. Or maybe that’s just because Grim is so close. Because I can feel every inch of his body pressed against mine. Because he smells like him…masculine and smoky and delicious.