has to be a phone on this boat, and there’s only one place I think it might be, for sure.
Bending the one paperclip, I head out of the bedroom, I kneel down in front of the office door, where I shove it inside the lock, using the tip of the clip to get a feel for the mechanics. Nothing I haven’t already tried a bazillion times already, but I’ve got new motives now. Desperation riding me this time.
At the sound of a click, I freeze.
It isn’t from the office door, but the exterior door. I pop to my feet and tuck the paperclip away, just as Thierry pushes into the room. Brows pulled tight with suspicion, he steps into the kitchen, that black bag strapped across his body. “Comment ça va?”
“You’re home early.”
“What were you doing by my office?”
“Oh.” I snatch a quick glimpse of the hallway behind me, slightly terrified by the realization that he could probably see me through the window from outside. “Saw a spider. Skittering across the floor. Killed it with my bare hands.” Holding them up for his inspection, I catch the slight tremble in my fingers and clear my throat. “Feel like popcorn?”
Popcorn. What the hell?
Expression still wary, he shakes his head. “Non. I’m not here long. Just to shower and change before I--” Catching himself, he screws his face into that irritated frown I’ve grown accustomed to over the last few days. “Excuse me,” he says on passing.
“Wait.” At my request, he halts midstride and glances over his shoulder. “I was just …” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I was just wondering about my truck?”
“Haven’t heard anything yet.”
No. Something is definitely up with this. “After a week?” The words barely eek past my tight throat.
The corner of his eye flickers, and he turns to face me, giving me the full breadth of his intimidating body. “Why are you asking, chère?”
The answer is simple, yet it might as well be a complex calculation he’s looking for me to solve in my head. “I …. I have to … go into town for some things.”
“What things?”
“Feminine. Things.” The gulp of my next swallow is painfully noisy, sounding off my obvious discomfort.
“I’ll have them purchased for you.”
“Won’t that be weird, though? The big bad Rougarou making a run for some tampons? Seems fishy.” I flinch at the gross association I just made, letting out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t mean … fishy. I mean—”
“I said I would have them purchased. Write down what you need.”
“Sure. Okay.” Not wanting to draw any more suspicion from him, I nod. “I can do that. And if you just … keep me updated on my truck.”
Without bothering to say anything more, he twists back around and shoves a key into the lock of his office door. After he’s disappeared for a couple seconds, I peek around the hallway, to see if I can scope anything. All I can make out through the crack of the door is the quick movements of his hands, as he sets his bag down on the desk. Seconds later, the crack in the door widens, and I hustle back toward the kitchen. Reaching for the popcorn, I try to make as much noise as I can, clanging the container against a nearby jar to give the impression I’m just in here making another mess.
“Sure you don’t want any popcorn?” I call out to him.
Only a grumbled noise answers, and at the sound of a slightly creaky hinge, I peek around the hallway again, watch him exit the office. Leaving the door wide open on his way to the bedroom.
Once he’s out of sight, I abandon the popcorn kernels set out on the counter and tiptoe toward the office. The distinct pattering of the shower gives me the green light to hustle, and I slip through the open door.
Small and clean, the office offers no more clues into the man than the rest of the house. No pictures. No bills scattered over the sleek, black, L-shaped desk and matching leather chair. I open drawers that hold nothing more than supplies--pens, notepads, stapler.
A tug on the bottommost drawer, the biggest one, reveals that it’s locked, and though I could go in search of the key, I’m trying to be efficient with this rare opportunity.
A calendar stretches across the surface of the desktop with nothing scribbled on its dates.
Nothing else. No landline.
The bag he carried in still sits propped open, and I peek inside to