J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [413]
The idea of taking her time and easing into her house struck her as dangerous and selfish. She unlocked the door with her mind, then walked in.
The place still smelled the same…a combination of the lemon floor wax she used on the wide pine boards and the rosemary candles she liked to burn.
When she heard the door shut and the security alarm get turned off, she glanced back. Butch and Phury were tight on her heels, but Zsadist was nowhere to be seen.
She knew he hadn’t left them. But she wished he were inside with her.
She took a deep breath and looked around her living room. Without any lights on, she only saw familiar shadows and shapes, more the pattern of the furniture and the walls than anything else.
“Everything seems…God, exactly the same.”
Although there was a blank spot over her writing desk. A mirror was gone, a mirror that she and her mother had picked out together in Manhattan about a decade ago. Rehvenge had always liked it. Had he taken the thing? She wasn’t sure whether to be touched or offended.
When she reached out to turn a lamp on, Butch stopped her. “No lights. Sorry.”
She nodded. Walking deeper into the farmhouse, seeing more of her things, she felt as though she were among friends of long acquaintance whom she hadn’t seen in years. It was delightful and sad. A relief most of all. She’d been so sure she would get upset….
She stopped when she got to the dining room. Beyond the wide archway at the far end was the kitchen. Dread coiled in her gut.
Steeling herself, she walked into the other space and halted. As she saw everything so neat and unbroken, she remembered the violence that had taken place.
“Someone’s cleaned it up,” she whispered.
“Zsadist.” Butch stepped by her, gun up at chest level, eyes scanning around.
“He…did all this?” She motioned her hand in a sweep.
“The night after you were taken. He spent hours here. Downstairs is neat as a pin, too.”
She tried to imagine Zsadist with a mop and bucket, getting rid of the bloodstains and the glass shards.
Why? she wondered.
Butch shrugged. “He said it was personal.”
Had she spoken out loud? “Did he explain…why that was?”
As the human shook his head, she was aware of Phury pointedly taking interest in the outdoors.
“You want to go to your bedroom?” Butch asked.
When she nodded, Phury said, “I’m staying up here.”
Down in the basement she found everything in order, arranged…clean. She opened her closet, went through her dresser drawers, wandered around her bathroom. Small things captivated her. A bottle of perfume. A magazine dated from before the abduction. A candle she could remember lighting next to the claw-foot tub.
Lingering, touching, sliding back into place in some profound way, she wanted to spend hours…days. But she could feel Butch’s increasing strain.
“I think I’ve seen enough for tonight,” she said, wishing she could stay longer.
Butch went first as they headed back to the first floor. When he came into the kitchen, he looked at Phury. “She’s ready to head out.”
Phury flipped open his phone. There was a pause. “Z, time to go. Start the car for the cop.”
As Butch shut the cellar door, Bella went over to her fish tank and peered in. She wondered if she would ever live at the farmhouse again. And had a feeling she wouldn’t.
“Do you want to take anything with you?” Butch asked.
“No, I think—”
A gunshot rang outside, the hollow popping noise muffled.
Butch grabbed her and hauled her back against his body. “Stay quiet,” he said in her ear.
“Out front,” Phury hissed as he fell into a crouch. He pointed his gun down the hall at the door they’d come in through.
Another gunshot. And another. Getting closer. Coming around the house.
“We’re out the tunnel,” Butch whispered as he muscled her around and pushed her toward the basement door.
Phury tracked the sounds with his gun muzzle. “I got your back.”
Just as Butch’s hand fell on the cellar door’s knob, time