It was fucking Hansel and Gretel’s house. That was the only comparison he could pull out of his ass. In the glow from the Hummer’s headlights, the cottage was as quaint as a postcard, all whitewashed with a high peaked roof and curlicue woodwork under its eaves that was as intricate as lace.
“You,” Craeg blurted. “You grew up in that?”
“Yeah.” Axe popped his door open. “What’s the fucking problem.”
“Screw it, we’re coming in with you,” Butch announced as he killed the engine. “Mostly because I want to see all the Hummel figurines.”
Craeg was going to stay in the SUV, but then figured, That’s right, fuck it. What else did he have to do with his time?
Axe led them around to a side door that he unlocked with a copper key. As he went inside, the beeping of an alarm sounded, but that didn’t last as he shut things off at a keypad mounted on the wall.
When the guy hit the lights, all Craeg could do was blink like a cow.
“Holy Mary, mother of…” Butch muttered.
“He thought she was coming back, ’kay?” Axe bitched as he tossed his keys on a spectacular slab of butcher block. “He did this for my mother.”
Craeg had never seen so many red and pink roses in his life: The walls of the quaint kitchen were covered floor to ceiling with a paper dominated by the flowers and the green vine they were apparently growing on. And what do you know, the drapery over in the alcove and around the window over the kitchen sink was the exact same pattern.
“You stay here,” Axe muttered. “I’ll be down with my goddamn bag.”
The guy’s heavy footfalls sounded through the house, the thunder going up to the second floor and then drifting down from the rafters above.
“Look at this woodwork,” Butch said, as he ran his hand over the carved molding around one of the doorjambs. “Incredible.”
Craeg went to the carved table and sat down in a delicate chair that made him wish he hadn’t eaten so much for First Meal. Looking at all the workmanship on the crown moldings and doors, on the cabinets, on even the sills of the windows, FFS, he discovered that it all formed an organic pattern that echoed the vines of the wallpaper, twisting and turning elegantly and beautifully around fixtures and entries/exits. Varnished with a clear coat, the maple or pine or whatever it was glowed as only fine wood that had been finely worked could.
“The rest of the rooms have to be like this,” Butch said as he leaned out of the kitchen. “Yup. This is a masterpiece—”
Axe reappeared with a black duffel and a backpack. “On to the next—”
“Did you father do all this woodwork?” Butch asked.
“Yeah.”
“He was a fuck of a lot more than a nothing.”
“Can we go now?”
“Wait,” Craeg cut in. “Your father was a woodworker? Mine was a floor layer.”
“Oh, yeah?”
There was a pause as the pair of them locked eyes. “Did he die at Endelview?” Craeg bit out, naming the estate that had been raided that horrible night.
Axe’s dark expression went straight to pitch-black, in a way that made his tattoos seem sinister. “Yeah.”
“Mine, too.” Craeg searched the male’s face, wondering how much he knew about what had gone down there. Shit … it was horrible to realize that he’d handled the body of the guy’s father. Someone else had done the notifications to surviving family members, though. He’d been finished at that point. “Bad night.”
“Yeah.” Axe cleared his throat and looked away. “So can we go?”
“No,” Craeg cut in. “You two stay here while I go to my place. I’ll be right back with my gear.”
“You’re not taking much, then,” Axe drawled.
Craeg got to his feet and headed for that door again. “Don’t have much.”
The Brother called out just as he put a foot on the back stoop. “If you don’t return here in twenty minutes, you’re out of the program.”
“I know,” he muttered. “I know.”
As the bus trundled to a stop, Paradise picked up her satchel and got ready to shuffle out of her row.
“So are you coming to my house?” Peyton asked as he got to his feet. “We still have two hours at least, and Anslam’s coming to hang.”
Ducking her head so he didn’t see the flush on her face, she pretended to look for her phone even though she knew where it was, in the pocket of her parka. “I want to be home for my father.”
“Annnnnd that would be dawn,” he pointed out as he put his tinted glasses on. “Two hours from now.”
Okay, fine, but no matter what time it was, she wasn’t about to own up to the fact that all she wanted to do was watch the hands of the clock on her bedside table make their way around until the big one was on the twelve and the little guy was on the seven.
“Sorry, I have stuff to do. Call me?” Shit, she actually didn’t want him to, not today. “I mean—”
“It’s cool.” Peyton turned to Anslam. “You ready for some bong hits?”
The other male shot a snarky smile over. “Always and forever.”
As the pair of them went down the aisle, she shook her head and moved out of her seat. Guess some things were back to normal—and it was funny, with all the stress of the training, she couldn’t really blame Peyton for wanting an escape that felt good. Maybe that’s what she was doing with Craeg?