Page 25 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

Ted walked down the hallway, a big, bright-red metal toolbox in one hand, with which he gracefully navigated around the rickety vintage hat stand.

He seemed to know exactly where he was going, heading straight for the basement door.

I trailed after him nervously, words spilling out faster than I could stop them.

“It’s, um, an old system. Really old. Pipes, boiler, all of it.

I know it probably needs a full overhaul, but that’s not really in my budget right now. ..”

He waved a hand, cutting me off as he paused in the kitchen, in front of the basement door.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been itching to fix this place up for years.

” His smile was warm, but his next words froze me solid.

“Besides, you’ve got a whole pile of cash lying in one of your upstairs bedrooms, don’t you?

” He turned and silently went down the stairs that normally groaned with every step.

I didn’t follow him but froze in the doorway, breathing the moldy, musty air wafting up at me from the underbelly of the house.

My mouth went dry as bone. How did he know that?

“I...what? How...?” I stuttered, my belly clenching tightly.

I hadn’t told anyone, so Jackson had to have, but when?

He’d been with me the entire night, and he didn’t strike me as a big gossip, either.

Ted glanced back at me, calm as you please.

“Everyone knows everything in a place like this. More important, the sheriff trusts me. And so does the pack.” His smile widened, not unkind, but sharp enough to make my stomach knot.

“You’re welcome here, Gwen. Very welcome.

” The pack? Did griffins make packs? Wasn’t that, like, a wolf thing?

Oh… maybe it was. Wild wolves have gold eyes too, don’t they?

Maybe this guy was a werewolf. Despite the nerves, a grin began to pull at my mouth, werewolves?

I was contemplating that as reality, and that was just so… awesome.

Still, despite all this new knowledge and how cool it was to contemplate that magic was real, the glow I’d been carrying around since dawn slipped a little the moment I left Ted in the basement with his metal toolbox.

He hadn’t brought any pipes—no visible supplies beyond that toolbox—which made me think this wasn’t so much about fixing the heater as poking around to see what state it was in.

Appraisal, I told myself. Nothing more sinister than that.

Still, the fact that he knew about the money made my stomach twist.

I set about distracting myself the only way I knew how: work.

Stripping more old wallpaper and hacking at the rotten plasterboard upstairs, dust coating my fingers, sweat running down my back despite the drafty cold.

I deliberately chose the front-facing bedroom—the one without the cursed pile of cash—because I couldn’t stand the thought of being near it right now.

Every scrape of my putty knife against the wall came with another question.

Why did Ted know? Why would Jackson leave stolen money lying in my walls instead of locking it up?

Shouldn’t the feds be involved? That had to be what you did with piles of suspicious bills, right?

What if they’d been part of a bank robbery, or something worse?

The more I thought about it, the less like floating on cloudnine I felt, and the more I wondered if I was in way, way over my head.

At one point, I caught myself staring at the wall and thinking about Kelly, how easy it would be to just call her, pour all of this insanity into her ear, beg for some kind of normal perspective.

I couldn’t, wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

The ache of that cut deeper than I expected.

She’d been the only person in the world I’d always thought was on my side, ready for a party, ready to sport my next rebellious idea to drive my mother crazy.

How had I not seen that she and I had drifted apart, that she was capable of that kind of betrayal?

No, there was no forgiving that kind of thing.

I needed to put her in my past the same way I’d put Evan in my past: forget they existed, cut them out of my life.

I almost wished I could do the same with my pushy mom, but I wasn’t quite ready to do that yet.

I still held hope that she’d come around to my side.

So I put my head down and lost myself in the work, the physical labor I’d always loved.

By late afternoon, I was hauling bags of stripped wallpaper and broken plaster down the stairs, muttering curses under my breath, when Drew’s head popped around the corner.

I thought he’d been outside, but apparently I had not locked the front door in the surprise this morning, and he had sharp ears. “Need a hand?” he asked cheerfully.

I nearly dropped the bag in surprise. “No, I…” Too late.

He was already bounding up the stairs, plucking the bags out of my hands like they weighed nothing.

His dark hair hung shaggily in his face, very unlike Jackson’s military-straight haircut.

He would have been intimidating, given his wide shoulders and the gun belt around his hips, but his eyes held that eager-to-please, golden-retriever look.

“Really, I can…” I protested to those eager eyes, but it was in vain.

“Uh-huh,” he said, grinning like he knew exactly what I was about to argue and was already ignoring it.

He was gone before I could press the issue, hauling the mess outside at a speed I couldn’t hope to match.

Long legs eating up the steps on the stairs, then racing down the hallway.

He, too, danced gracefully around the hat stand and the coat rack.

I stood there, hands on my hips, huffing.

This was so typical. Jackson must’ve said something to him, instructed him to make sure I didn’t keel over under the weight of garbage bags and work.

Still, I couldn’t even be mad about it. The work I loved—tearing things down, making them new—I got to keep.

If Drew wanted to play pack mule, fine. This was the kind of interference that was antithetical to what my mom did, the kind that came from a place of caring.

It wasn’t self-serving; it made me feel loved, part of something bigger.

By the time I’d brushed plaster dust off my sleeves and peeked out, the trash had vanished as if by magic.

It wasn’t piled by my front door, wasn’t in the street, and wasn’t in the backyard.

When Drew said he’d take care of it, he meant it.

It saved me the effort of dumping it myself and finding out where I even had to go to do that.

Ted was still banging around in the basement, and I was about to give up on hearing any news until tomorrow, when the back door opened.

Jackson stepped in, crisp uniform, hair damp and clean, like he’d just stepped out of a shower before coming here.

My whole body melted at the sight of him. I finally felt safe again.

“I haven’t caught him yet, but I know where he’s hiding,” he said, eyes bright.

“Drew is watching him now, so we can make sure he doesn’t have any accomplices.

” I had assumed my guard had gone back outside to stand by the door, but apparently he’d left completely, and I hadn’t noticed.

I don’t know why, but I figured he’d stick his head in and say goodbye—definitely after he’d helped with the demolition trash.

“Oh, that’s good,” I said, relieved anyway.

The burglar might not be in a cell, but I had no doubt he wouldn’t slip from the deputy’s or Jackson’s clutches now.

Under guard, he couldn’t sneak up on me or my home.

I was across the room and in his arms before I even realized it.

His lips found mine, and the kiss was all heat and promise, enough to make me forget every worry for one dizzying moment.

And then—of course—someone cleared their throat.

We sprang apart just as Ted emerged from the basement, dust-streaked and grimy, but wearing an unreadable half-smile on his handsome, rugged face.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” he said smoothly, setting his toolbox down with a thud.

“I’ll be back tomorrow with new parts. That heating system should be good as new once those are in.

” He tipped his head at me, like I was already a client in his books, then walked out without waiting for thanks.

I stared after him, wide-eyed, before lifting my head to gaze at Jackson.

He didn’t need to hear me say it to know what question was on my lips, his expression careful as he said, “No, that wasn’t my idea.

Ted’s a good guy, he likes to help. Take it.

The sooner that heating system is up and running, the sooner you can open this business.

” I snapped my mouth shut and nodded, then remembered that Ted had casually referenced the big pile of stolen money sitting in one of the bedrooms. We needed to do something about that.

“Jackson, did you tell anyone about what we found? We need to do something about that. Call the FBI? What if it’s from a bank robbery?

” Oops, today’s nerves were spilling out of me in a rush of nervous babbling, but it made Jackson smile.

His gold eyes twinkled, and his arms went tighter around my waist, hauling me close.

“We don’t need the feds coming to town,” he declared when I stopped talking.

“You should keep the money.” Keep the money?

I blinked at him, certain I’d heard that wrong.

Wasn’t he the lawman here? Shouldn’t he be the first to say it had to be returned to its rightful owner?

He laughed at the sight of the incredulous look I gave him.

“It is most certainly from a bank robbery. All those neat stacks of sequential bills are a dead giveaway. That money was insured. Whatever bank it was stolen from doesn’t need it, but you could use it.

” He had the gall to gesture around us at the sagging kitchen cupboards and the broken tiles on the floor.

Of course, he had a point. The day I’d gotten here, I’d known this was a money pit, and I didn’t have nearly enough savings in my bank account to fix it up the way it needed to be fixed. But take stolen money? Wasn’t that dangerous? Would the bills be flagged or something if I tried to spend them?

“Come on, we’ll pile it somewhere a bit less conspicuous, have dinner, and then you’ll come sleep at my cabin tonight.

” I wanted to protest that plan, but I only needed to remember the nightmares from the past nights.

Yeah, sleeping elsewhere for now seemed like a good idea, and I wasn’t going to object to spending more time with my sheriff.

Even if I was probably a bit too tired to tangle with him between the sheets.