We separate, but it hurts a little. Because … this could be it. For us … and for Parrish.
Still, it’s a trade we’re all more than willing to make. I’m sure I’m not the only one who would sever every relationship I had just to make sure he was safe.
It’s something I’ve very nearly done already, right?
Come on, Gamer Girl. If you’re half as clever as you wish you were, this could be it.
We could also very well be on the verge of getting arrested for breaking and entering, but it’s worth a try.
Sometimes, assumptions have to be made in order to solve difficult puzzles.
We approach the grand entrance of the house with slow, wary steps, listening to the quiet for any sound of approaching footsteps or barking dogs. Security guards and Dobermans are very real possibilities in an area like this. I’m betting Tess wishes she’d hired the goons that have been guarding our house sooner rather than later.
Not that it would’ve saved Parrish.
I have a feeling Justin would’ve found a way, regardless. How he did it, I’m still not sure. Maybe I’ll never know, but I couldn’t care less about that than I do right now.
We ascend the front steps together, pausing to glance up at a very obvious security camera.
Hmm.
“Now what?” Chasm asks as he yanks on the handle of the front door. But Maxx is already two steps ahead of us, wrapping his wrist in his jacket and giving me a cocky little smile.
“Allow me,” he says, and then he punches the glass of one of the first-floor windows, shattering it. “Thank fuck this is an older house; Chasm’s place has bulletproof glass on all the windows.”
I give him a look and he shrugs.
“My dad’s a paranoid nut,” he admits as Maxx knocks away at the glass so that there’s a space large enough for us to climb in. As soon as we do, Chasm freezes, his eyes drawn to a flashing panel on the wall. “Motherfucker, silent alarm,” he murmurs, striding over to it and pressing his thumb against the screen.
“Should we make a quick search for the cellar and then get the fuck out of here?” Maxx suggests, but Chasm’s already shaking his head, leaning down to peer at the screen.
“Nope. This is a Fort Humboldt system; I’ve got this.” I watch in awe as he pries the top half of the panel from the wall, pulling a lighter from the pocket of his jacket. No doubt he has a few cigarettes stashed in there, too. He flicks the wheel and uses the flame to melt one of, like, a hundred wires, exhaling when the screen goes dark. “Hopefully, I caught it before the alarm signal went out.” He slips the lighter back into his pocket. “If not, we’ve got maybe … three minutes before someone shows up to check on the house. That, and I can’t control the cameras.” He points in the general direction of the exterior camera we passed beneath. “If someone’s watching the feed, we might be in trouble.”
I look around at the darkened interior of the place. It has a musty smell, like maybe it’s been a while since someone lived here. Some of the paintings are missing from the walls—evident by the slight discoloration left behind—and many of the shelves and tables seem a bit bare.
“Looks like the family’s starting to sell off the more valuable items,” Maxx guesses. “Assuming we’re in the right house, and the guy really is dead. That, or we’re about to get hauled off to juvie.” He pauses and then cringes like he’s just thought of something. “Fuck. I mean, you’ll both be hauled off to juvie. Guess I’d go to the county jail?”
“Let’s make this quick then,” Chasm says as he moves over to the wall and flicks on a light. It works, and the living room lights up with the glow of two sconces on our right. Maxx cringes slightly, giving the lights a nervous look.
“Is that a smart idea? What if somebody sees the lights on?”
“We’re either fucked from the alarm or not. Nobody can see past that gate and all those trees. Let’s just not turn too many on, okay?” Chasm takes off and we follow behind him, eschewing the staircase to focus on the bottom floor. If Parrish is here, and he’s in a wine cellar, then it’s down we need, not up.
But two quick rounds on the bottom floor followed by a much slower third sweep yields nothing.
Nothing.
I grit my teeth in frustration, certain that I’ve figured this out. I read that book three times. If I hadn’t, I would never have recognized that quote. On top of that, we had to match Armando Vasquez’s name to the list of wine aficionados in Medina.
Maybe there’s one more clue here? Something that I’m missing …
