Page 32 of The Vigilante's Lover

The rug slides easily out of the pantry and into the kitchen. I kneel on the floor, running my fingers along the edges of the hatch door. There is no obvious way to open it. The floor is smooth other than the rectangular crack.

There has to be a way. I’m willing to bet a lot of money that the mouse got into the house when Jax opened this door, and then the little guy got stuck in my kitchen, unable to get back. I suppress a shudder. I will not be afraid of a mouse.

I crawl along the floor. The hatch is fairly big, a couple feet wide and probably four feet long. I wonder if it’s like those old stereo cabinets that didn’t have a handle. You had to press the right spot to trigger a mechanism to make them pop open.

Hopefully there’s not some spy gadget required to unlock it.

I spend a solid half hour pressing on sections of the hatch, and still nothing. Now I’m starting to suspect that there’s a lever hidden somewhere, like a secret bookcase that opens when you pull on the right book.

But this pantry has been thoroughly cleaned out. I spent hours a day doing it while Aunt Bea was sick. I had little else to do. I don’t think there’s a single jar or box or shelf that wasn’t moved or touched during that time.

I plop down on the floor, frustrated. I don’t want to rip out the wood planks, but if that’s what it takes, I will do it. I have an axe in the outside shed.

The thought of an axe makes me picture Jax in the barn, shirtless, wielding one when we were interrupted in the hay.

It’s fully dark now, so maybe all this can wait until morning. I feel a little spooked about walking outside. Even though Colette said the house was being watched, I can’t help but wonder who the real enemy is.

If only Jax would come. I wonder if he is like that vampire in Twilight, the one who liked Bella. She put herself in danger on purpose, just to make him show up to save her.

But then, Edward actually loved Bella.

Jax doesn’t care one whit about me. He pawned me off on Colette the first chance he got.

Even after what happened in the hay.

And what didn’t happen.

I wander the house, turning on every single light. The solitude is suffocating. When I get to the bedroom, my throat tightens at the sight of the letters still scattered on the bed and floor. The sheets are all askew. I sit down and pick up one of the pages. My heart squeezes as I read a line.

Along the smooth plane of your naked back, I tie a lover’s knot, one side black, the other red.

I set it back down. No more letters. No more excitement. No more Jax.

I peel off the pantsuit from Armond. I have another long white nightgown like the one Jax destroyed, but I leave it in the drawer. I put on a pair of flannel pajamas instead. I don’t even know what to do now, so I pick up all the letters and tuck them back inside the box on my side table.

The wind rushes against the window, making me shiver. I have always liked being alone, but I don’t now.

I flop backwards on the bed and stare at the ceiling. At least I have the memories. I sort through each moment from that first night. Waking up. Seeing Jax at the end of the bed, my ankle on his shoulder. His knife slicing through my gown, right until we heard the alarm —

I sit up straight. The lampshade. It had some sort of device in it.

I hurry over to it. I peer inside, but all I can see are ordinary things. The off-white shade. Wires that hold it in place. The bulb and the screw top where it attaches to the pole. A heavy base and the wire to the wall.

That’s right. Jax took the alarm with him. It was small and oval.

I close my eyes and try to picture it. I was terrified then, but it still sticks in my mind.

There has to be another one somewhere.

I head into my aunt’s old bedroom, where two lamps flank her oversized bed. Sorrow wells up that she is no longer there. Even her frail body tucked under the covers was a type of company. I still had someone.

I wonder what she would think if she could see me now.

I check the lamps. The first one has nothing in it.

But in the second? Yes. There it is. Another small oval device attached to the wire, pressed against the shade so you wouldn’t notice it.

I pull it out and hold it in my hand. Will it know I’ve found it? Does it have a heat sensor or motion detector?

No alarm goes off. Nothing happens. I examine it closely. Jax said it was seriously old tech. It’s just a piece of plastic, maybe half an inch thick, shaped like an oval. There’s a little vent on the bottom. I guess that lets the sound come out for the alarm.

It must have some sort of sensor inside.

I should smash it, look at its insides. But I don’t know what that would tell me. I couldn’t do anything smart like reverse engineer the receptor so that I could see where the signal comes from, how it knows the house is compromised.

Besides, this wouldn’t bring me Jax. It would only alert more people like the silo guards or that Sutherland man.

Still, this bit of plastic, cold and hard, is my only connection to the Vigilantes. The only proof that they are real. I hold it tight and take it back to my bedroom.

I go to sleep with all the lights on, and the alarm beside me on the pillow.