Chapter 6 · Where I Can Touch You

Enzo’s flashlight cut under the panel and caught my knees.

I froze. Dust caked my tongue, thick and sour. Behind me, the crawlspace stretched ten feet back, tight as a pine box, and I’d already ripped my left palm open on a rusted nail.

Down the hall, a door slammed.

Then another.

The panel slid back. Fast. Not Enzo’s hand, either.

Dominic.

Bare knuckles, scabbed and split like he’d spent the afternoon hitting something solid. His dress shirt hung open at the throat, no jacket, hair completely trashed like he’d been dragged out of bed by the alarm. A heavy semi-automatic dangled loose in his left hand, pointed straight at the floorboards.

"Evening, Ms. Kessler."

"I got lost."

"Inside my wall."

"Your architect sucks at floor plans."

A muscle twitched by his mouth. Not a smile. He flicked a look past my shoulder into the dark, then dragged his eyes right back to my face.