“Oh, right. Well, I could invite her up here—she’d probably bring pizza if I asked—and if she knew the guy who thinks she looks like Helen Mirren was in residence, I have a feeling she’d be here in aflash.”
He’d turned to look at the wallpapered area just below the empty section of the balustrade. The triangular shape of the wall angled down to its lowest height of six inches, studded at the end by the now-missingpost.
“It’s all one piece of wallpaper,” Leslie said, standing very close and shining her flashlight over the area, following its path with her hand as if to feel for a seam beneath. With her nearly brushing his shoulder with hers, he could smell some essence emanating from her…something very pleasant that had his hormones springing toattention.
“Lord, I can’t wait to get rid of these huge cabbage roses,” she added, clearly referring to the fussy hand-sized white and blue flowers splashed over a dark pink background. “I know it’s historically accurate, butyuck.”
“This area is too small to be anything like a cubby. But maybe here…” he said, and rapped his knuckles against the wall at an area that was two feettall.
They both paused, because his knocking had sounded hollow. Neither spoke as he rapped in random spots along the wall, both toward the bottom of the stairs and toward thetop.
“It only sounds hollow here,” he said, pausing at the section that was barely hip-high onhim.
“Too small and short for a closet. And it’s a little higher up the stairs than the rusty discoloration. But…” She stepped back, and he saw that her eyes were sparkling. “I want to see what’s behindthere.”
Her enthusiasm was infectious—or maybe it was just her. “Well, let’s take a look. You said you wanted to get rid of thewallpaper…”
“Yes. It’s got to go anyway. Might as well start it tonight.” She produced a utility knife. Crouching in front of the wall, she made a wide slice down the center of the area, then began to pick at the open edge of thewallpaper.
She didn’t really need his help, it became clear, so Declan stood there and watched theFortunemagazine cover girl as she tore off a big swath of paper and tossed it behind her to rest, curling, on the tarp. Her glossy black hair shifted, slid, and glinted in the light, and the back of her snug t-shirt rode up a little in the back as she crouched there, exposing an elliptical section of skin the color ofchampagne.
Declan found his attention fixated on that teasing glimpse of skin, wondering if it was as soft and sweet as it appeared. If it had notes of melon and peach, or cinnamon and ginger when one pressed one’s lips and tongue to it. He swallowed and tried to regroup, reining in the sudden fanciful path of his thoughts. But then he noticed how the yoga pants hugged her ass—a heart-shaped one that was nicely outlined due to the squatting position in which shecrouched.
“Whoa.” She almost fell backward onto said ass, barely catching herself with a well-placed palm behind her. “Look atthis!”
Jolted from his thoughts, Declan crouched smoothly, his shoulder bumping hers as he looked where she was pointing, down at the base of the wall. He felt a spike of interest that didn’t have anything to do with Leslie Nakano this time. “Whoa isright.”
He reached out to trace a finger over the exposed section of wall, where there was a seam in the wood that had been camouflaged by the wallpaper and a thick layer of plasterbeneath.
It was a rectangular shape, near the floor, not big enough for anything but maybe a pair of boots—completely innocent looking until you gave a closer look at the hardwood floor beneath yourfeet.
“There’s something strange here,” he muttered, shouldering his way closer. “The seam of the wood’s off—like it’s been replaced—and see the way this piece of wall doesn’t quite fit against the floor like the rest ofit…”
“I’ll get some tools.” Leslie scrambled to her feet, leaving more space for him to poke andpry.
Declan rapped on the floor near the rectangular shape. Hollow. He rapped to the left and then to the right, near the base of the stairs. A duller noise, less hollow sounding. It could be anything. He’d seen hundreds of old houses, patched together, slapped into a semblance of shape, then their cosmetic changes hidden beneath superficial facades of wallpaper and paint…but this feltdifferent.
This seemed like something more than just a patched piece ofdrywall.
Leslie was back, her grape-painted toenails appearing next to his cross-legged thigh. She had small feet, very pale, and they were pretty, as feet went. Nice arch. Her toes were straight andslender—
“Do you wantthis?”
She was dangling a small crowbar in front of him, and he took it without looking up. “It’s going to make a mess,” he warned, but didn’t hesitate—she clearly knew what the results wouldbe.
Leslie stood behind him, close enough that he could almost feel her shins brushing against the base of his back as he set the crowbar into place andpried.
The rectangular piece of drywall pulled loose at the floor, and he felt a rush of air escaping at the opening. Declan put the tool aside and pulled up on the bottom of the patch, prizing it away to reveal a darkspace.
“Oh my God,” Leslie said from above him, her knees bumping the side of his arm. Her voice was high and excited. “It’s a hiddenstairway!”
Six
Leslie could hardly containher delight, and she was on her knees, practically pushing Declan out of the way before he could even look through theopening.
“I can’t believe it,” she exclaimed. “You buy an old house, and you always dream about finding hidden stairways and tunnels and lost rooms, but when it actuallyhappens…”
“You do?” he asked, amusement in hisvoice.
