It didn't respond—thank all that's holy. Although, I wouldn't have been too surprised if it had responded. A talking weapon fit right into my crazy life.
A cabinet ran the length of the space below the hanging weapons. I opened drawers to find daggers laid out in rows, ammunition in boxes, and grenades in hard plastic cases. Fucking grenades. I closed the grenade case I'd opened, then the drawers, went back to the desk, and pushed the button again. The panel closed.
I stared at the wall. Then I fell into a chair. This did not go with their story. Why would the Hounds of Hades need an arsenal like that if they only dealt with souls? They told me that they couldn’t collect souls in corporeal form, so I assumed guns wouldn't work on souls. And why would they need to harm a ghost anyway? They were only supposed to retrieve them. As far as their other duties—cleansing ghost goo or whatever—those didn't require weaponry either. Hell, with their super puppystrength, weapons were just frosting. This was overkill. Perhaps literally.
“Unless they just like to collect weapons,” I whispered. Then I rolled my eyes. “No one collects guns and ammunition to just look at them. And why would a collector have live grenades?” I scowled. “Maybe they aren't live. Maybe . . . maybe I'm coming up with excuses.” I smacked my head against the back of the chair. “Fuck! Why do they have this shit?”
Then I heard the truck pull up.
“Fuck!” I jumped up and raced to the door to turn off the light.
Luckily, the office windows overlooked the side yard, and the curtains were closed, so the guys shouldn't have noticed. Still, my heart raced as I closed the office door and ran back downstairs to the living room, the carpet runner dampening my hasty footsteps. I had left the TV on. Harrison Ford was scowling at someone again—damn, it was hard to see him so old—and I focused on the dialogue in case they questioned me.
“As if they're going to question me,” I muttered.
The front door opened.
“Hey,” Garret said as he came into the living room.
“Hey.” I paused the show. “How did it go?”
“Smoothly. No problems.”
“Good.”
“Nachos?” Gage asked as he headed toward the back of the house.
“Yup!” Garret called after him.
Gideon went to help.
“So, what we miss?” Garret asked as he sat down on the couch beside me.
Holy shit, Iwasgetting quizzed. “Oh, let's see. Uh, Paul is pissed off because—”
“That's okay,” Garret interrupted with a chuckle. “I think I want to watch it.”
“Oh, let's find where you left off.” I hit the back button. “I think we were here when you had to go.”
Thank goodness I had let the show run while I was snooping. Going back only a few frames would have raised some serious red flags.
“You sure?” Garret asked and slung an arm along the back of the couch.
“Yeah, no biggie. This is a funny show, and I can use all the laughter I can get.” In my mind, I added,And I'd like to know what happened too.
Garret stroked my hair while I had that guilty thought, and I flinched.
“Sorry.” He jerked his hand back.
“No, it's all right. You just startled me.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat, pushing down the words that almost bubbled out. I had grown so comfortable with them that I wanted to ask them about the weapons. But that would mean confessing to snooping and not trusting them. When theyhad obviously come to trust me. And I just betrayed that trust. Shit. Fuck. Shit. I felt like an asshole.
“Indie.”
I looked over at Garret.
“You're nervous.”
