“My orders don’t cover battling buildings to keep you safe,” Chuck says behind us. “You go in there, you’re on your own.”
“It probably won’t collapse tonight,” Davis says. “Probably.”
“At least they’ll have us to dig them out,” another voice says.
Rafael, I assume, who I also assume is either one of Sarah and Beck’s security guys, or possibly one of their nannies.
I’ve read a little about celebrity nannies.
They’re badasses and can do so much more than just teach a kid their ABCs.
Davis shines a flashlight inside the cabin.
No furniture.
Uneven wood plank floors. And not like today’s smooth wood plank floors. More like rough-hewn logs turned into floors.
No visible raccoons, but lots of cobwebs. They’re over the lone window in this back room. In the corners. Silver strands crisscrossing the room and lit up by the flashlight.
I gulp.
I can handle a spider or two. But I hate walking into spiderwebs.
Who doesn’t?
Even the National Park Service’s social media posts tell people to let their friends go first on early-morning walks so said friend takes the spiderweb out with their face.
Davis looks at me.
“You going in, or are you waiting for me to go first?” I ask him.
He sighs again. “Don’t get hurt.”
“I know first aid.”
He doesn’t smile.
Just looks at me for a long minute, then shakes his head and gingerly steps through the door.
The floorboards creak under his weight.
I wait until he’s several feet inside the room, then follow.
It’s not so much a spiderweb thing as it is not wanting both of us balancing on the same floorboards.
“What’s under the floor?” I ask Davis.
“Basement.”
Dammit.
I was afraid of that.
“You’ve searched the basement already?” I ask him.
“Yes.”
“With a metal detector?”
