Page 37 of Scent of Fear

She leaned in to kiss his cheek. He turned his head, and for a moment, their mouths were only an inch apart. When Libby understood he wasn’t going to close the gap, she did.

Their kiss was brief but intense. As she sat back, she strove to breathe normally. “I, uh, maybe you’re right about searching the place. I mean, the fact that this guy was in the cellar, then came back to steal the box makes me think there might be something important hidden on the property.”

“Yeah.” His low, husky voice made her shiver. The burning intensity of his gaze made her long to throw herself into his arms. But she managed to stay in her seat. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Tension simmered between them. Libby had to force herself to pull her hands from his. She rose, leaning on the kitchen table as her weak knees threatened to buckle.

She gave herself a mental shake. It wasn’t as if she’d never kissed a man before. So why this weird awareness of Shane?

Turning away, she nearly tripped over Bryce who was stretched out on the floor. The poor dog scrambled to his feet, looking up at her in confusion.

“Sorry.” She lightly patted the dog’s head not even feeling foolish for talking to him as if he could understand her. “I didn’t see you there.”

“He’s fine.” The corner of Shane’s mouth quirked in a half smile. “I have to say, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him anymore.”

“He’s a good boy. I’ve learned I can trust him not to bite me.” She still found the large dog intimidating.

“Where should we start?” Shane asked.

She glanced wryly around the small cabin. “I’m sure this won’t take very long. I’ll search Grandpa’s room, maybe there’s another box of old photos in there. Maybe you should double-check the cellar.”

“That works.” Shane stood. “Come, Bryce.”

She turned and headed back to her grandfather’s bedroom. Like earlier, when she’d been looking for a handgun, she felt bad about violating his privacy. It nagged at her that Grandpa had never shown her the old photos or newspaper clippings. Even when she’d mentioned wanting to do a DNA sample to see if they could find his biological family.

She paused in the middle of the room, remembering how unenthusiastic her grandpa had been about the DNA testing. At the time, she’d chalked his reluctance up to being uninterested in change. Grandpa didn’t travel, didn’t really go much beyond his property here and the occasional visits to Cody, mostly for doctor’s appointments. He never wanted to travel outside the state, claiming everything he loved was here, so there was no reason to leave.

Now she wondered if there was a deeper reason Grandpa didn’t want to poke into the past. Especially after the way he’d stared in shock at seeing the DNA report where she’d identified his sister.

The picture she’d glimpsed had featured her grandfather with two other men. Not a woman. But it occurred to her now that maybe there was a picture of his sister in the box. Maybe even a photograph of the two of them together.

As kids? Grandpa had said he’d been adopted as a baby. The DNA testing didn’t reveal if his sister was older or younger. They hadn’t gotten that far in the process.

It hurt to know that Grandpa had kept things from her. The contents of the box, certainly, and maybe even more.

Did he know the guys who’d taken him?

She sighed and headed toward the closest bedside table. This one had a worn paperback novel and a few scraps of paper that were meaningless to her. Nothing else. She headed over to the other drawer, which was empty. She frowned, vaguely wondering where the Bible was that she’d given him.

Maybe in the living room? She’d check later.

Turning, she started in on the closet next. She eyed her grandfather’s shirts, verifying that the red plaid shirt was missing. The bit of thread stuck to the fallen log where Bryce had alerted the very first time must have been from his clothing. She blinked back the threat of tears, refusing to believe the worst.

They were going to find him very soon.

She pushed the clothes aside and found a second box tucked away in the corner. This one was on the floor, not up on the shelf overhead where a couple of cowboy hats sat.

Her pulse surged as she reached for the box. It was light, which made her frown.

She carried it to the bed and opened the flaps. The box was light because there were about two dozen photographs inside. When she picked up the top one, she smiled when she saw herself astride a bike, her red hair pulled back into two pigtails on either side of her face.

Shuffling through the rest of the photos, she realized they were all of her and her mother. None of Grandpa, which was strange.

And why had he kept these pictures of her separate from the other box? It wasn’t as if either box was too full to accommodate additional items.

Leaving that box on the bed, she continued her search. But she didn’t find anything else. Not in the closet, under the bed, or anywhere else in the house.

Whatever the bad guys wanted wasn’t hidden inside the cabin.

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