Page 24 of His to Burn

He stopped beside me, staring skeptically at the tattered-looking fabric that, at first glance, didn’t even look like a door.

For reasons I couldn’t fathom, this wing of the building had fabric accent walls made out of the same carpet that covered the floor.

The height of seventies decor, I guessed, but I always thought it looked sad and bizarre.

When I looked at it now, I felt relief.

I moved a swatch of the carpet aside and turned the inset notch that served as a doorknob. I rushed in, Jackson hot on my heels.

“Wait,” he said, the firm command in his voice brooking no defiance.

I stayed still as he stalked the small suite that contained a conference room, a bank of security cameras, a storage closet, and a bathroom. The guards and facilities crew had taken over the space because it was so out of the way because they’d said there was less chance that some wayward soul would accidentally stumble in.

I hoped that belief was true.

Jack looked around.

First, he took in the pressboard conference table that was stained with cherrywood varnish that made it look even cheaper than it was. Then the bulky wood chairs painted with the same varnish with threadbare burgundy cushions. He walked deeper, past the brown metal filing cabinets that the guys used to store snacks and drinks and the two-cup coffeepot, to the small bathroom that was old but surprisingly clean.

He walked back and stood next to the conference table again.

“This isn’t the garage,” Jackson finally said.

His words were calculated, but I heard the irritation, almost anger bubbling beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” I said. “Slight change of plans.”

He furrowed his brow. “We had plan A and plan B. What is this?”

I smiled. “Umm, plan C?”

He didn’t look amused, and given the circumstances, I couldn’t blame him.

“Those…people,” I started, turning my mind back to the most pressing thing facing us, the one thing I’d rather not think about, “were blocking the way. If we’d kept going, we would have gotten trapped at a dead end or caught by them.

“Plus,” I continued, walking past Jackson and the conference table to one of the closed doors, “there are monitors here. Maybe we can see what’s going on.”

Jackson didn’t exactly look impressed when I glanced at him, but he was intrigued. I opened the door to reveal twelve black-and-white monitors stacked in four rows of three.

“Black and white?” Jackson said as he came to stand behind me.

His closeness was comforting, but instead of acknowledging that, I shrugged. “County government. What can I say?”

He didn’t respond, his gaze focused on the screens.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to look.

No, that was a lie.

Idefinitelydidn’t want to look.

I did anyway.

And was glad these were cheap, grainy monitors.

I couldn’t have taken the scene before me in HD.

“Have you ever seen anything like this,” I whispered, ripping my gaze away from the screen and to Jackson.