When Knox walked his motorcycle up beside them and cut the engine, silence descended like a shroud. Not a cricket chirped. Not a night bird cheeped. Not a breath of wind rustled the needles on the trees’ limbs.
Hew cocked his head like a predator scenting prey, and Sabrina felt her stomach hollow out as visions of Pennywise and Cujo danced in her head.
“Sabrina.” The way he said her name, so clear and concise in the secret silence of the forest, made her jump. “You want to go ahead and hop off?”
It wasn’t a question—even though it’d been posed as one. It was a command. And it was offered up in such an easy, off-handed way that she knew he was used to giving orders and equally used to having them obeyed.
What’s his story?she wondered absently.What was his life like before going to work for Black Knights Inc.?
Everything about him screamed authority and self-assurance. Notarrogance.Just a soul-deep certainty that he could take all comers.
There was comfort in that, she supposed. Comfort in going on the lam with a man who’d been tested repeatedly and who’d come out the winner.
Maybethatwas why she hadn’t scrambled off his lap in the pantry. Maybe some part of her subconscious had registered the safety he provided. The security he offered.
Her mind mutinied at the thought of getting off the bike. But she dug down deep and managed to swing her leg over the back of the machine.
It was wild to think she’d spent hours doing little more than sitting in one place, and yet it felt like she’d run a marathon. Muscles she wasn’t even aware she had ached, and her bones felt simultaneously heavy and hollow. When she pulled off her helmet, the whole world tilted.
“Whoa there.” Hew grabbed her hand to steady her. She could feel the warmth of his skin even through the leather of his gloves. “Easy now. Give yourself a little time to adjust. You’re like a sailor with sea legs. Sitting on the back of a motorcycle for hours on end puts a lot more strain on a body than you’d think.”
“Thank you,” she said absently as Knox cut off his headlight, halving the illumination around the little clearing and bathing the cabin in deeper shadows. “This place is…spooky,” she whispered. Her breath formed little clouds that glowed like pixie dust in the lone beam of Hew’s lone headlight.
“It’s ’cause it’s deserted and dark,” he reassured her. “Once I get the generator going, you’ll feel better. This is a safe place.”
She wasn’t so sure about that, but she didn’t say as much as she watched him dismount in a practiced move that was all easy motion and bunching muscles.
He skirted around her, heading toward the backyard, and the beam of his headlight cast his shadow against the cabin.
He was a big man.
His shadow was even bigger.
Something about the way it moved over the gray siding and green moss roof sent that creepy, crawly sensation skittering along the back of her neck.
She shuddered when Knox wrapped a hand around her elbow. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. “He’s right, you know. Britt wouldn’t have brought us here unless it was safe.”
His tone was…somber-sounding. Almost beaten. A quick glance at his face had her turning to stare at him more fully.
Knox Rollins had seemed so confident, so sure of himself throughout the entire ordeal that it’d been easy for her to be sure of him, too. Now he looked as awful as she felt. Broken and unspeakably weary.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she whispered. “I know you’re worried about him.”
“Thanks.” He nodded. “I just wish I’d been able to?—”
The low rumble of an engine interrupted him midsentence. And, just like that, the shadows disappeared.
The porch light beside the front door lit up, highlighting the window boxes attached to the windows. Someone had planted mums in them, and the red, yellow, and orange blossoms looked cheery and inviting. The graying siding no longer appeared aged and decrepit. It looked weathered and rustic. And the moss on the roof no longer seemed wild and unkempt. Now, it looked more like the roof of a little hobbit house, bucolic and cozy.
Inside, a lamp burned on a table. In the golden glow, she could see a comfy couch, a grouping of black-and-white photographs, and an overstuffed chair whose well-loved cushions promised peace and comfort.
She was no longer living inside a Stephen King novel. This place was something out of a children’s book, cheerful and colorful and welcoming.
Hew came around from the back of the house and made a sweeping gesture toward the front door. “Your home away from home.”
She was already on her way to the door—and the armchair inside that looked big enough to curl up on—but Knox’s next words stopped her in her tracks.
“You think Britt’s okay?” She could hear the anxiety in his voice, theguilt.
