Page 126 of Wicked Promises

“No.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“You still haven’t told me anything about what we’re looking for.”

I nod. “Right. Sorry. We need to find anything Lydia might’ve kept—an old yearbook, preferably, or pictures from high school.”

“Lydia, Caleb’s mom?”

“Right.”

She shakes her head. “Isn’t most of her stuff still at their old house? Why?—”

“Caleb suggested to start here,” I interrupt. We’re still speaking as quietly as possible, and I clear my throat.

She hums. “Okay, fine. May as well start in the bedrooms, right? Upstairs?”

I nod, then hesitate. “Or his uncle’s study…”

“After,” she says.

We go to the stairs, jogging up them with light footsteps. I don’t know why we’re moving like we’re thieves in the night—no one is here.

At the top of the stairs, there are two immediate doors: one to the left and one to the right. Farther down, there are more doors.

“Start at the back and work forward?” Riley points to the end of the hall.

We creep along and pass four closed doors before we get to the last one. I push it open, almost expecting Caleb’s uncle to be sitting there, waiting for us.

Itisthe primary bedroom, although it’s empty.

Riley goes to the nightstands while I hurry across to the bookshelves built into the wall. They frame a huge flat-screen television and an armoire below it.

I run my finger across the book titles, but nothing with Emery-Rose’s gold-and-black colors or its sigil jumps out at me.

“Nada,” Riley calls. “Just some lube, and I could’ve happily gone my entire life without knowing that was there.”

I stick out my tongue. “Gross.”

I take the next room down on the left, and Riley opens the door on the right.

“Bathroom.” She appears in the doorway. “What’s in here?”

It must be a guest room. Everything is in shades of white and gray. The drawers in the dresser are empty, the bed made neater than a pin.

“Moving on.” I ignore the discouraging feeling twisting my stomach. It isn’t just foreboding—that we’re intruding on a dangerous family’s home—but also… like something bad is going to happen.

This is aliteralgut feeling.

I grab Riley’s hand, pulling her to a stop. “Maybe you should be lookout.”

There’s a narrow walkway next to the stairs that goes to a window. From there, she’ll be able to see to the driveway and the front door. She sighs, then goes to the window. We parked across the street, which will hopefully not tip anyone off that anything is amiss.

I crack the second to last door and pause.

I was expecting something more masculine, a room Caleb would’ve stayed in as a kid. Instead, it’s feminine. The walls are a blush color, and the comforter on the bed is pink and orange flowers.

Slowly, I leave the doorway and walk farther in.