Page 45 of Capturing You

“Great. Maybe you’ll let me use your computer again later?”

“More pictures to look at?”

“To work. I need?—”

“No. I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

Of course not. He probably had something super-secret on his laptop he was afraid she’d discover.

Right. Because historians were justthatinteresting.

He sipped his coffee, then set it on the countertop. “I’ll get you a laptop.”

“I can’t afford?—”

“I have an extra one. I’ll have it delivered.”

“From your house? Where is that?”

As if he hadn’t heard the question, he started for the door, saying over his shoulder, “Let me know when breakfast is ready.”

The more he tried to hide, the more she wanted to uncover his secrets.

* * *

Brooklynn’s companionwas as forthright at breakfast as he’d been during their other conversations, which was to say, not at all.

Ford was a puzzle Brooklynn worried she’d never solve. Rather than let that frustrate her, she gave up asking him questions. After their meal, she washed the dishes, then cooked some rotini and set it in the refrigerator to cool. She’d fix a pasta salad for lunch.

With no more excuses to put off the inevitable, Brooklynn called her family. The conversation went exactly as she’d expected—with Mom worrying, Cici demanding answers Brooklynn didn’t have, and Delaney diffusing the tension.

Fortunately, she managed to convince all three of them that she was safe—without telling them where she was—and that she would be safer if they stayed in Europe.

That task finished, she had nothing to do.

She wandered around the first floor, opening closed doors and peeking into closets. This place made the seven-bedroom house where she’d grown up seem quaint. She found no more hidden passageways.

With that thought, she went around pushing on wooden paneling and shifting books on bookshelves in hopes she’d find magic levers and moving walls.

No deal.

This sleuthing thing was harder than it looked, especially when she wasn’t looking for anything in particular. Just…secrets.

At the end of a long corridor in the opposite direction from the office where Ford worked, she came to a door with a keypad beside it.

It was the alarm, and the littledisengagedlight was lit. So…it should be fine.

She opened the door and discovered a gigantic garage.

Considering the high ceilings and overhead loft, this must have once been a barn.

Fascinating.

She stepped inside, and her gaze snagged on a steep wooden staircase that led to the loft that had probably once held hay. She climbed and found a beat-up cradle with some broken spindles, a chest of drawers, and an area rug wrapped in plastic. There were boxes of toys and games that looked like they had come straight out of the fifties. She found balls and bats and gloves. A badminton set, a croquet set.

Remnants of generations of happy families.

The thought made her eyes sting with tears. Years of Ballentines had lived here. Fathers and mothers and sons and daughters. And then a horrific crime, and the place had been empty since.