Page 134 of Without a Clue

And a bit to my pride, I notice Nash sounds a little winded from chasing me.

I cautiously step inside. Flip on the lights.

Part of me expected some random concrete gargoyle sitting on the desk.

Or a laser beam setting off sirens, letting him know we’re here.

Or something in general to ease his ever-suspicious mind. But no, nothing.

The room is tidy, stacks of books neatly kept to one corner. A closed laptop on the desk. A neat row of fully sharpened pencils beside a notepad.

And, oh, there it is, a knife.

I throw my head back. “Yesssss.”

The relief is . . . well, let’s just say I have never been more relieved in my life.

“Ah. Here it is,” I say, stepping to it. “How thoughtful of him to keep it out for me.”

“What?” Nash says, confused. “Another one?”

I pick up the knife and flip it over. Dried red stains streak across the stainless-steel shaft and dark handle. I bring it closer to my face.

If I’m not mistaken, this one’s a little bigger than the others. And where is the cloth?

I look around Ricky’s desk. Check the floor. The drawers.

I find it neatly folded into a red-stained square beside the remote. Naturally.

“It’s one of them, yes,” I say, setting the knife back where I found it.

“And you were expecting there to be more?”

“One in every room, to be precise.”

Ah. And here comes the rage.

Relief is giving way, sure enough, to a level of anger I’m not sure I’ve quite experienced before. Relief-rage. It’s a thing, a new thing, quite possibly, at least for me, and my fingers seem to be bursting with power as I swing back the door to Ricky’s room and begin my charge down the hall.

“Want to do a job for me, Nash?” I call over my shoulder.

For once he’s struggling to keep up.

He’s scratching his head. “Sure. What?”

“Break into Neena’s room while I’m gone. Let me know when you have confirmation you found the knife in her room too. Gordon’s too, if you can. It’ll be good for you. Practice your cat burglary skills.”

“Where are you going? I’ll come—”

I halt. Swivel round with my hand raised. “With all due respect, I’m in love with you, Nash.”

He frowns. Crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Thank . . . you?”

“And I’d like you to stay in love with me.”

“I don’t think . . . you know how it works—”

“And right now, I’m about to put some hurting on somebody. And it won’t be pretty. And it may get violent. And before you find me terrifying—”