“I won’t touch anything,” he added.
Unlike Jax, who’d undoubtedly toss the bedding in his search for assassins.
Bryce shrugged. “Don’t really see why not,” he said, but he stuck very close to Tom as he opened each door along the hallway in turn.
Tom found it unexpectedly difficult to keep his mind concentrated on weak points when he had Bryce’s presence behind him. He seemed to fill space around Tom, to steal air—but not in a bad way. In a way his wolf actuallyliked.
Four bedrooms, a study, a bathroom and a linen closet later, Tom was out of rooms to inspect.
Bryce leaned one shoulder against the wall. “That everything you needed?”
“Almost,” Tom said. “Do you have a crawl space? And where does the hatch in the closet lead?”
“The attic,” Bryce said. “Crawl space access is outside, behind the back steps. You want to see both?”
“If it’s no trouble.”
They both knew those words for the polite formality they were, so Tom tried to soften his investigation of Bryce’s home by explaining it further.
“It’s unlikely anyone would hide in either place—with this many shifters around, their scent would give them away. But if they wanted to stash something, perhaps something explosive, those are both obvious possibilities, so I’d like to see what we’re dealing with.”
“All right,” Bryce said. “You want the attic first or under the house?”
“Might as well do the attic, seeing as we’re here.”
Bryce pulled open the closet and unfolded a creaky pull-down ladder. Dust sifted down as it extended, catching at Tom’s throat as he waited for Bryce to climb up before following.
The attic was full of insulation and cardboard boxes with enough dust covering them to show they hadn’t been touched or moved in years. Tom crouched beside an old gable vent with a slat missing, and peered through the gap.
“There’s a goat on your shed,” he said, after blinking to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. “Is that supposed to happen?”
Bryce huffed a laugh. “Unfortunately.”
Tom took a few photos of the attic, then followed Bryce down the ladder and out through the kitchen.
Someone from the pack was frying something on the stove, but Bryce didn’t pause for introductions, so Tom offered a brief nod and kept moving. Judging from his age and the fact he was cooking, he deduced the pack member was probably Jason Nichols. He had no big gaps in his background check. Which meant either there was nothing to worry about with him, or the converse—that he’d taken the time and trouble to lay a false trail.
He joined Bryce, who flipped open the wooden hatch to the crawl space and held it for him. “Watch your head.”
Tom ducked inside. Cool air met his face along with the scent of damp earth. He clicked the flashlight on his torch and scanned, checking that all entry points were fully sealed and looking for signs of tampering or anything that didn’t belong. Sure, he could have put a camera in, but cameras couldn’t pick up scent, and Tom always did his job thoroughly. He knew the potential cost if he didn’t.
“Find anything exciting?” Bryce asked when he emerged five minutes later, brushing dirt from his knees.
“Just an abandoned raccoon’s nest and a suspicious potato chip bag.” He straightened and looked at Bryce, rubbing hishand through his hair to dislodge anything that might have tried to take up residence. He didn’t like spiders, and there’d been enough webbing down there to fuel his worst fears. “It’s better than most I’ve seen.”
“You spend a lot of time inspecting crawl spaces?”
“More than I’d like,” Tom said. In fact, very little these days, but some things never left him. At least he didn’t have to check sewers here. He still couldn’t work out if he’d been given all the shitty jobs—literally, sometimes—when working for Jax because Jax disliked him or because he was the rookie.
Hair safely cleared of any hitchhikers, Tom shoved his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t been dressed for attics and dirt, which had been an oversight on his part, and he hoped the hotel had a good laundry service.
The dying afternoon light slanted golden across the yard, and he looked around, breathing in fresh, clean country air. Along with that came the faint but ripe scent of animals and manure, making the place a little less idyllic than it appeared. More real, somehow. If this were Washington, the dung would be concealed, making everything look perfect, when really there was an ugly, hidden underbelly.
“Thanks for letting me look around,” he said. “If you’ve got time, I’d like to run a few things by you.”
Bryce gave a one-shouldered shrug. “So long as you don’t mind talking while I put the horses away for the night, sure.”
Tom nodded, and fell into step with Bryce as he headed for the big barn. “Jesse usually takes care of this, but he’s out with Matt,” Bryce said as he opened the door. “Mind you, I’m leaving the chickens to him when he gets back. God only knows what he’s done to upset them, but the entire flock seems to have gone feral.”
