“Okay, so get your phone out.”
Lydia hesitated. Looked down the lineup of long windows.
“This is why you asked me to come,” Daniel murmured. “You want to break in and I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t hesitate with locks. Even when they aren’t my own.”
She lifted her chin. “I asked you because of the invitations. They weigh a lot.”
“Then why aren’t we at the post office.” He tilted toward her. “And you don’t trust the law enforcement around here, do you.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
He nodded. “I knew you were smart. And either you call the sheriff now, or I’m taking care of the breaking part of our entering.”
“That’s trespassing.”
“No. Really? Draw me a diagram.” He stepped back. “You decide on the count of three or I make the choice for us.”
“The doors are locked—”
“One.”
“Seriously, Peter could be in there—”
“Then why hasn’t he answered. Two.”
“And he’s the type that will call the sheriff—”
“Or you can. Three.”
When she just stared at him … and then gave him a nod, he took off his jacket. Wrapped up his fist with the sleeve.
“Wait, what are you—”
With one decisive punch, he broke the lower right pane in the door’s window, the glass square popping free of its puttied confines, the crash on the other side loud as a curse in church as it shattered on the varnished pine floor.
Reaching in, Daniel did something to some kind of dead bolt or knob, and then he opened things up.
As he held the door wide, he said in a calm voice, “Do you want to go in first or shall I.”
Lydia blinked. And then rubbed her eyes.
You know, just on the outside chance this was a really weird dream and there was a possibility she would wake up.
When she dropped her hands to find that, yup, he’d actually opened Peter Wynne’s door, she tried to imagine calling Eastwind and his buddies in those state police outfits. Once they walked into the house? She was never going to get any answers.
Hell, once the law stepped onto the property, they were going to make her leave—after they asked her a whole bunch of questions she didn’t want to answer.
“Ladies first,” she said gruffly.
Daniel was surprised that Lydia took the lead. He’d expected her to let him be the tip of the proverbial spear. But there were benefits to her going ahead.
He was able to take his gun out and keep it by his thigh without explaining anything to her—
“Something was burned in here,” Lydia said from the hearth.
Daniel tucked his gun and went over to her. As he passed by the sofas, he noted that they were almost entirely deconstructed, not just throw pillows cast around and out of place, but the cushions themselves.
The place was a stage set gone amok.
Lydia knelt down, opened the fireplace’s glass doors, and started pulling little fragments of charred white paper out of the blue and yellow flames.
With a burst forward, he snagged her wrist. “You want to get burned?”