When Hunter finally started scuffing his foot on the walkway, Grady grunted, but didn’t deign to respond. “Don’t know her,” he finally said.
“Sorry we bothered you. We’ll be on our way,” I said.
“Wait.” As he scratched his salt-and-pepper stubbled chin, he dissected our rumpled, less-than-daisy-fresh clothing, and the way Hunter was bouncing up and down, trying to keep warm in the gathering night air. Grady hesitated, chewing his cheek. Obviously debating something. From inside, I heard a noise.
Motion detected.
Human threat detected.
He turned at the same time I shifted to the side, trying to get a better view. Then, a head popped through the doorway.
“Grandpa, who is it?”
For a moment, Grady’s scowl disappeared. “Nothing I can’t handle, Ashleigh. I thought you were getting dinner started.” With emphatic hand gestures, he tried to usher her back into the house, but she ducked away to smile at us.
She must have been a year or so older than me, with beautiful glowing skin and shiny dark hair bunched on top of her head. Her left ear sported two tiny silver hoops, her right, a ruby stud—one that matched the one in her nose exactly. Her slim figure was wispy-thin, encased in shredded skinny jeans, a simple blue Star Trek tee, and black boots that laced up the front. Super put together and tidy, in an edgy, so-not-Clearwater sort of way. Except for the splashes of color on her fingers. Red and olive green and a hint of turquoise, dried and creasing in spots where it pulled away from her skin.
“Don’t mind him,” she said, ignoring his disgruntled snort. “He’s always this grumpy. Did I hear that you two aren’t from around here?”
I nodded without providing any additional details, but Hunter had no reason to be suspicious so he was a fountain of information. “No, we’re from Minnesota … but we drove over from Virginia Beach.”
My jaw tightened. The dangers of not being totally honest with him were coming back to bite me, and I only had myself to blame.
Ashleigh’s lips parted into a round oh. “Wow, that’s a long way. I’m sure Grandpa would love for you to come in and eat with us—wouldn’t you, Gramps?” she said. When he just stared at us, she nudged his bare ankle with her toe. She had an easy, graceful way about her. The carefree, confident air of someone comfortable in her own skin.
What must that be like?
Grady studied us with that inscrutable stare, then grunted. “I suppose they could stay for dinner. That is, if they’re hungry.”
“Dinner sounds great. Don’t you think, Mila?”
Uneasiness had me rocking onto my heels. No, I didn’t think. This man watched me a little too closely for comfort, and if he wasn’t the right Grady—or worse, was the Grady who Mom had referenced but had somehow had a change of heart—then getting out of here ASAP was the safest course of action. But I had no choice. I had to try to pry more information out of him, get him to open up. Because the reality was, this grumpy, hippo-slippered man with a water gun might be the one person who could give me whatever information Mom had thought I needed. This was my chance to fulfill one of her dying wishes and learn something about my past, and I couldn’t just bail on that now.
“Sure, sounds great,” I said, putting some conviction in my voice.
“Well, then—come on in, I guess,” Grady said, turning and stomping inside. “But don’t expect me to clean up for you.”
Ashleigh mouthed a silent “sorry” behind his back and a tiny c’est la vie lift of her shapely shoulders, then motioned us to follow. Before she closed the door, though, I noticed that Grady took a swift glance behind him. Scanning the grounds outside as if searching for something … or someone. Then the door clicked shut, and I couldn’t decide how I felt. Relieved, to have one more layer of protection between us and the outside world? Or worried that we were now locked inside with a man who seemed far too astute for comfort?
A man who had the potential to lead us right into the enemy’s hands.
From the outside, the house looked a lot like its neighbors—colonial style, white pillars. Elegant. However, I was pretty sure the inside was nothing like the other houses on the block.
The bright aqua paint slathered on the walls grabbed my attention the instant I entered the foyer. Adding even more color to that in the living room was a ton of drawings and paintings, each painstakingly framed and hung near eye level.
“Wow,” Hunter murmured, as my gaze traveled the wall. Some of the art, on the farthest wall, appeared quite skilled—a three-legged Doberman pinscher, catching a Frisbee, and a little girl digging in the sand. A trio of colorful cartoonish-looking characters, with wild hair and clothes and … swords?
“Cool manga characters,” Hunter said, nodding at the piece, while I continued my inspection to what appeared to be earlier works from the same artist. Still the bold lines, but these weren’t quite up to par: lopsided stars, haphazard hearts, rainbows in only two colors—pink and purple. Ashleigh’s painted knuckles suddenly made a lot of sense.
And then, in the middle of the room, what looked to be part of an old convertible sports car—red and shiny. The roof and windows were missing, and what was left had apparently been converted into a table.
The man caught my interest and said, “Found her rotting in a junkyard. Bastards—who treats a classic like that?” When neither Hunter nor I responded, he grumbled, “What, never seen a car as a coffee table before?” then walked into the next room.
Hunter coughed to hide his laugh while Ashleigh whispered, “Weird, right? But cool. That pretty much describes Gramps to a tee, actually.”
“I heard that,” Grady grumbled from the next room and Ashleigh just shook her head, walking up behind him to drape her arms around his shoulders. For a kook, he was pretty observant—undoubtedly courtesy of his CIA training.
“You love it, and you know it,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his rough cheek. She tilted her head toward us and winked.
“This way,” Grady barked, and Hunter and I scurried through the arched doorway that led into an open kitchen, full of stainless appliances, a glass and wrought iron table, and a long, burgundy-speckled granite counter. My gaze zeroed in on the butcher block, which magnified in the side of my visual field. Information flashed.
Potential weapons: Chicago Cutlery, butcher knife, 6 in. blade.
Um, good to know, I guess.
The floor was wooden, with black-and-white stripes. A nod to the kitschiness of the rest of the house.
Networks detected.
The red words flashed. Blink. Blink. Blink.
GradyHome Network: Accessible.
GrSecureNet: Access blocked.
I frowned. So this was much weirder and more intriguing than the decor. Grady had two networks, one of which was so guarded, even I couldn’t obtain access? Unusual enough that my fingers curled and released, to help deflect some of my growing unease.
Grady motioned to the table, toward two of the red-cushioned chairs. “Sit down. I don’t like it when people hover.”
Hunter pulled out a chair for me, then sat in the one beside it. I followed suit more slowly. I didn’t like having commands barked at me. It reminded me way too much of Holland.
“What did you say your names were?” Grady asked.
I went still, my palms pressing down into my thighs. We hadn’t actually, and I’d prefer to keep