Page 67 of Drowning in Darkness

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m opening a door.”

“They are not mutually exclusive.”

I meet her gaze. “So I’ve been told.”

She laughs as she walks outside, and I close the door behind us, wondering why, of all the sounds this lodge has heard over the years, that one is becoming my favorite.

She sucks in a breath and tucks her chin into the neck of my hoodie, her hands disappearing inside the sleeves as she steps onto the covered decking. For half a second, she shifts closer to me, the instinctive move so small I doubt she notices it. I do, and because I notice everything about this woman, I step down first to block the wind cutting across the open ground.

Tiny flakes drift through the air, more hesitant than committed, catching in the damp ends of her hair and clinging to the black fabric swallowing her body.

“This is beautiful,” she murmurs.

“It’s cold.”

“Must you strip romance from everything?”

“I’m stating a fact.”

“Facts can still wear a pretty dress.”

I glance at her, finding her smiling at me as if she finds me most entertaining.

“This way,” I mutter.

The lodge sits in a shallow dip carved between the trees and the first rise of a mountain, positioned so the worst of the weather breaks against the ridge before it reaches the house. From the rear, the decking stretches wide, following the length of the building before dropping onto a gravel path that curves towards the woodshed, the vehicle bay, and the greenhouse I built because eating canned food through an entire winter is a miserable way to live.

Stephanie turns in a slow circle. “I take it back. This is not a garden.”

“No.”

“This is a villain estate.” She gestures at the trees, the wide stretch of land, the dark timber lodge behind us, and the mountains wearing low clouds beyond. “Come on. You cannot tell me no one has ever arrived here expecting to be dramatically murdered or seduced.”

“Most people don’t arrive here.”

“Definitely something the villain would say.”

“You’re welcome to go back inside.”

“And miss kidnapped orientation day? Absolutely not. Lead on, emotionally constipated mountain man.”

I move before she can see the reaction she almost dragged out of me. The first camera is tucked beneath the overhang of the decking, small enough that most would miss it unless they knew where to look. I point to it as we pass.

“Camera one. It covers the rear entrance, kitchen windows, and the path to the vehicle bay.”

She looks up, eyes narrowing. “That’s tiny.”

“That’s the point.”

“Is it recording us right now?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze flicks toward me with interest rather than panic, and for a moment, I think this might reassure her exactly as intended. “Should I wave?”

“No.”