She thought so, too. Still, what she’d overheard from the bathroom in their suite had been very clear. He didn’t want responsibility. He didn’t want permanence.
“I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Nothing worthwhile is. A relationship like this isn’t easy, and if you’re expecting it to be, you’re setting yourself up for failure. It takes a lot of work and honest talk. You three aren’t communicating.”
Maybe Kinley was right, but honestly, what else was there to say? She couldn’t make Kell want her for more than a night.
Suddenly, Sir’s whole body went on full alert and the barking began anew. Belle frowned as she moved to the window. From here, she had a great view of the courtyard that now swayed with the wind as the weather turned a bit chilly. A pretty orange and yellow tabby cat pranced across the bricks and turned her smug feline face toward the dog, looking deeply entertained by the dog’s irritation.
Belle pulled Sir up into her arms and dropped the shade over the window, hoping the cat would be out of sight and out of mind. It wasn’t working for her when it came to Kell, Tate, and Eric. Weariness set in. “Kinley, hon, I’ve got to go. I still have to get the bedroom ready for tonight and find some kibble for the little beast.”
She hoped she could find a store nearby. It would get dark soon.
“All right. I love you. Promise me you’ll think about calling them, at least to let them know you’re all right.”
Belle bit her lip. In some ways, hearing their voices would be so tempting, but what would it accomplish? What she wanted hadn’t changed. “They’re probably on their flight home to Chicago.” Then something occurred to her. If Kellan was spearheading some effort to find her, then… “They did catch their flight, right?”
“I don’t know. They checked out of the hotel and caught a cab. You know what I know.”
“But if you had to guess?”
Kinley hesitated. “I don’t think they’re folding up their tent and going home.”
The answer filled Belle with both dread and an insidious thrill. “Thanks.”
The phone clicked, and she was alone again. Belle had a feeling the night would be long.
A loud bang shot through the room. She started and let loose a little shriek. Sir scurried to huddle against her breast and buried his face.
What was that?
Dead silence followed. The roof didn’t cave in. No murderous fiend jumped into the room. Nothing.
About thirty seconds passed before Belle let out a breath. A nervous laugh shook her chest. She would have to get used to the sounds this old house made. Maybe the furnace had kicked in.
“Some guard dog you are,” she teased Sir.
When she turned back toward the desk, she noticed a piece of molding hanging from the bottom, just under the alcove where she’d tuck her knees when she sat. Belle frowned. Weird. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d been dusting or sat there earlier.
With a puzzled frown, she knelt and tried to fit the piece back in place. Belle hoped this wasn’t a sign the desk was falling apart and would need replacing. That would be a huge shame. Her grandmother’s antique was a stunning, one-of-a-kind treasure.
As Belle fiddled with the molding, her fingers found a hidden niche the wood had concealed. It was deep under the desk. She set Sir down and crawled under, the Persian carpet a soft cushion for her knees. Though the space under the desk was too dark to see, she could feel the open compartment with her fingers. As she reached into the little space cautiously, she immediately encountered two items tucked inside. With a wince and a ginger tug, she pulled them out and crawled back.
Two old, pocket-size journals, one slightly more faded than the other. Belle frowned. This was her grandmother’s office and her grandmother’s desk. She flipped open the cover of one and glimpsed the handwriting. Decidedly feminine.
“Looks like Grandma wrote her memoirs. Or hid some secrets,” she said absently to Sir as she sat on the rug.
Sir plopped himself down on her lap and immediately went back to sleep. She opened the other volume, the smaller of the two, and rifled through it a bit.
Belle frowned at the slightly yellow pages. Maybe her grandma had been on the crazy side because all she’d written in this journal was a list of long, random numbers that corresponded to even more random words, like “sunny,” “backdoor,” “raincoat,” and “canceled.” None of it made a lick of sense. What did 10056 00099873 have to do with “pink” and “fuzzy?”
Even more strangely, the latter half of the book had been written by a different hand. Same sorts of odd codes, but different penmanship for sure.
Frowning, she laid that one aside. Maybe the odd entries in this book had something to do with her grandmother’s psychic business, though Belle had no idea how. Maybe the code protected her clients’ anonymity? The second book was bigger, and Belle knew what it was the minute she skimmed the first page.
Grandma’s diary.
Belle’s heart skipped a beat.