And this is why she’s critical.
Sheknowsthis stuff.
It’s natural to want to hug her for putting puzzle pieces together.
I like puzzles.
This is a normal turn-on.
Focus, dumbass. “What’s after the curtained oak?”
She bites her lip and looks around the room. “I don’t know. You can’t tell what direction it’s pointing. Actually, I think it’s pointing different directions based on which map and painting you look at.”
Wait.
Wait.
“Curtained oak,” I repeat. “Ravens.”
She looks at me expectantly.
Fuck. “The cabin had a name. Raven’s Cloak. Curtains. Cloaks. That’s a…stretch. But?—”
“But pirates.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re sure that’s the cabin’s name?”
“It was in the papers my mom found in the safe-deposit box. Land history stuff. Letters from my great-grandfather too.”
She cringes. “We need to check the cabin.”
“It’s falling down, and there’s nothing in there.”
“Are you sure?Suresure?”
Fuck.
No.
I’m not.
“How old is the cabin?”
Originally built in 1799.
Right in the Thorny Rock era. Only still standing because it’s been reinforced a few times over the years.
She’s right.
There could be clues.
I start to hold out a hand to her, then drop it before she can take it. We’re not doing the touching thing. Touching is bad. “Okay. Back to the cabin. Let’s go.”
26
Sloane
