Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
The hallway was silent except for the faint hiss of wind brushing the windows.
Jason’s flashlight beam swept along the wall, glinting off framed photographs—black-and-white images of the inn decades ago, its sign faded and the trees younger.
Olive slowed near the end of the corridor, a frown knitting between her brows.
A detail begged for her attention—but what?
She closed her eyes and tried to sort her thoughts.
Then it hit her.
Her eyes flung open. “I know what we missed.”
Jason turned. “What? We searched every space possible.”
She pointed toward the far wall. “From the outside, this wing of the inn stretches farther. Eight, maybe ten feet. But this hallway ends right here. That space has to go somewhere.”
Jason angled his flashlight along the paneling. “You think there’s another room behind this?”
“I do.” Olive stepped closer, letting her hand skim the wall.
Her fingers brushed a faint seam—so subtle it vanished in the wood grain.
Then she paused. “Feel that?”
A thin draft kissed her wrist, cold and metallic.
With it came the faint scent of coffee again.
Jason stepped up beside her and pressed on the seam. The panel flexed slightly under his palm.
“There’s definitely air coming through,” he murmured.
Olive’s gaze swept upward. A narrow bookcase stood flush against the wall, filled with old hardbacks whose spines were dulled with dust.
She leaned closer, tracing the edge where the molding met the baseboard. Her fingertip snagged on something—a metal ridge half the size of a dime.
She pressed it.
Click.
The shelf shuddered, then slowly swung outward on hidden hinges, releasing a breath of air that smelled faintly of metal and stale coffee.
Jason raised the flashlight.
The beam speared the darkness, revealing a hidden room. Bare walls. A cot. A folding chair.
And a man.
The man stood in the far corner, his hands raised, eyes wide in the glare. His hair was disheveled and his face pale beneath a short beard.
“I can explain,” he said quickly, voice hoarse but steady. “Please—just let me explain.”
The instant the man stepped toward them, Jason’s flashlight hit the floor and his gun was out. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the stranger, spun him around, and slammed him against the hallway wall.
“Easy!” the man gasped.
Jason’s forearm pressed across his back, pinning him in place. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
The stranger didn’t fight back. His breath came in short, uneven bursts.
Up close Olive could see why—his face was pale, hollow beneath the stubble, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. He looked less like a threat and more like someone who’d been surviving rather than living.
Still, Jason wasn’t taking chances. He kicked the man’s feet apart and did a quick, efficient search—pockets, jacket, waistband.
“No weapon,” Jason said, though his tone stayed wary.
Olive’s flashlight beam caught on the man’s hands—cracked, raw, trembling from cold. “You’ve been making the sounds we’ve heard.”
The man nodded, the movement small. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I swear. I was trying to be as quiet as possible.”
Jason turned him back around so they could look him in the eye. “Then why hide?”
He hesitated, licking his chapped lips. “It’s a long story.”
Jason eased back half a step but didn’t lower his guard. “You’re not making a great case for yourself.”
“I can explain,” the man said again, voice rough but steady now. “Just—let me go downstairs with everyone. Please. I’ll tell you everything.”
For a moment, Olive didn’t move. Her instincts screamed trap. But something about the man’s eyes—clear, haunted—told her he was telling the truth, or at least part of it.
“Fine,” she said at last. “But if you try anything, Jason will make you regret it.”
Jason’s jaw ticked. “Count on it.”
“I won’t,” the man said. “I promise.”
Before they left the space, Olive glanced around. A small coffee pot sat on the floor along with bottles of water and a cooler, where she could only assume food was being kept.
That explained the smell of coffee.
There was another door in the room.
She did a quick calculation. This room was located over Mara and Warren’s suite.
She opened the door. A staircase led downward.
Jason guided the man down the main staircase, his steps slow and unsteady.
Olive turned from the hidden staircase and followed them. She’d check that out later.
Apparently, this inn had a lot of secrets.
Their colleagues stared at them as they came into view.
The man’s hands remained raised. Firelight spilled over him as they reached the bottom, throwing his features into relief—sunken cheeks, mussed hair, eyes rimmed red from sleepless nights.
He looked like a man who had run out of places to hide.
Olive studied him closely. The gauntness. The tremor in his voice.
Something inside her clicked. “You’ve been here the whole time, haven’t you? In that hidden room.”
His throat bobbed. “Yes.”
“Why?” Jason asked, his tone low, dangerous.
The man glanced at Rex, questions in his gaze.
Rex? He recognized Rex, didn’t he? But how could that be?
Olive studied Rex a moment.
He wasn’t surprised, she realized. Not even a little.
Jason’s voice was firm as he gripped the man’s arm. “You want to tell us your name? And what you’re doing hiding in the walls of this lodge?”
“My name’s Michael.” He looked at Rex again. “Rex can explain the rest.”