stuck his head in. “Is she comin’ off a bad relationship?”
Brantley stared. “Kinda random, don’t you think?”
The detective closed the door, glanced over, smiled. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. And as much as I’d like to play matchmaker between you two, it’s not my place. I will say, the last person she was datin’ was the governor’s son.”
“Ah.” Baz nodded. “Which means she’s off-limits.”
“The governor’s son’s a douche,” Brantley told him. “It’s been an on-again-off-again thing with them for years. I’m pretty sure Dante’s not lookin’ to settle down with one woman.”
“Gotcha.”
“Why? You thinkin’ about askin’ her out?”
Baz’s grin widened. “Just gettin’ the lay of the land.”
Brantley moved toward the adjoining dining room, changing the subject. “I thought APD detectives worked with partners.”
“We do. Usually.”
“You’re the exception?”
“Let’s just say I have to tread lightly right now.”
Curious, Brantley turned back toward him.
Another grin from Baz. “They call me hotheaded. My last partner transferred out so he didn’t have to work with me.”
“Hotheaded?” Brantley wouldn’t have described the man that way. Then again, he hadn’t spent a lot of time in the detective’s company.
“Upstairs is clear,” Reese called out, his boots echoing on the stair treads.
The three of them moved through the rooms on the main floor, opening closets, going through bathroom drawers and cabinets. He knew it was a waste of time. There was nothing here to find. If William Dugan was attempting to cover his tracks, he was doing a damn fine job of it.
“Hey, y’all…” Reese shouted. “You might wanna come look at this.”
Brantley stepped out into the hall, following the sound of Reese’s voice. He found him in what appeared to be the master bedroom.
“Find somethin’?”
Reese had his hand on the closet door, opening it wider as he nodded.
Brantley glanced inside, noticed a wood panel at the back of the closet. “Storage?”
“It’s possible,” Baz said. “If I’m right, the staircase is on the other side of that wall.”
Which meant there could be empty space behind the panel. Whoever built the house likely decided to utilize it for storage.
Pulling the multi-tool he kept on his belt, Brantley stepped into the closet. He used it to pry the panel open, moving the heavy piece of wood out of the way.
“Well, that doesn’t look like storage to me,” Reese said. “This place have a basement?”
If it did, it would be extremely rare. Most houses in this part of the state didn’t have basements.
Baz stepped forward, clicking on a flashlight and leading the way by ducking into the stairwell.
Brantley and Reese followed behind him. There wasn’t much space to maneuver. Brantley had to angle his upper body just to make it down.
“Holy. Fuck.”
Brantley stepped out behind Baz, right into a room that looked anything but normal.
“This looks like…”
“A cell,” Brantley supplied. And based on the irons connected to the floor and the wall, William Dugan had been keeping a guest down here.
Reese exhaled heavily, moving around the room. “Did he keep … people down here?”
“At least one,” Baz stated, squatting down and shining his flashlight on the floor. “I’ve got blond hair over here. Looks to be human.”
He was instantly on his feet, making a call, probably to bring the crime scene unit in.
Brantley remained where he was, staring around the space.
If William Dugan had kept people down here, where were they now?
***
Reese was propped up in Brantley’s bed, skimming through his emails on his iPad.
Brantley had said he needed to finish up a couple of things, but asked that Reese stay the night again. He’d been here every night since Saturday, when he came to check on Brantley. The only time he’d gone home was to get a change of clothes. At some point he knew he would need to go back to his apartment, sleep alone. He didn’t necessarily want to, but he also didn’t want to move too fast in this.
Okay, that wasn’t exactly true.
For one, Reese didn’t think they were moving too fast. In fact, the speed at which they were moving was just right. They were getting comfortable and that was all he could hope for. He’d never been the sort to really think about time as a measurement for a relationship. Their slow pace was more geared toward him getting comfortable on an intimate level. Needless to say, he was past that point now.
“What’s on your mind?”
The deep rumble of Brantley’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, had a smile forming on his face.
He shifted on the bed. “Not a whole helluva lot. You?”
Brantley strolled around to his side,