Page 18 of Something Cryptid This Way Comes
“Bram! Trevor!” The yell from one of our team members cracks over us like a whip, hard and fast.
Bram startles, then shakes his head as if to clear it. He glances at our joined hands, and a curious mix of apology and yearning flashes across his features before he releases me.
“We found something,” the voice calls again.
He turns toward them, his fingers flexing against his thigh.
The phantom touch of his hand lingers and I close mine into a fist to capture it for as long as possible.
Though our connection lasted mere moments, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s tilted our friendship on its axis. There was before, and now, we’re firmly in the after. I need to find out what that means and how—or what—has changed.
CHAPTER 6
BRAM
What was I thinking, grabbing Trevor’s hand like I have a right to hold it?
My hands tighten around my camera and I suck in a deep breath.
Frustration with myself mixes with the lingering sensation of his fingers intertwined with mine.
I need to pull myself together. This is an investigation. I’m a professional. We have a mystery to solve.
This isnotthe time for romance. And not with my best friend.
Yet, I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to kiss Trevor and how his hand fit in mine, how good it felt… I glance to where he’s standing, only a few feet away, next to the log that jumpstarted the whole thing. It would be so easy to drag him behind a tree and pull him close enough to feel the hard planes of his body pressed against me. To sample his lips and find out if he tastes of the coffee he’s seldom without and the chocolates he keeps out for guests.
The two team members who called out that they’d foundsomething are crouched by a pile of leaves. They wave me over, interrupting my fantasy.
Investigation. Professional. I’m a professional doing an investigation. And being the professional, I wave over Trevor.
“Trev, let’s see what they found.” I wait for him to join me before I walk away. We saw evidence of caves and areas that would make good dens, so I don’t want anyone left alone. Especially him.
The pair point to thin red strands of hair caught on a tree root.
I hand them an evidence bag from my pack. “Bag it and tag it. My first guess is that it’s deer. But we’ll have it checked.”
A ginger-haired man who looks like he could be another member of the Kelly family raises his hand. “I found what might be stone tools. Can I show you?”
Curiosity and excitement spark along my spine. There are stories of cryptids using stone tools similar to how some primates use rocks to crack or smash open nuts, shellfish, and other food. “Lead the way.”
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s over here.”
Not far from the mouth of a cave, he stops and points to the base of a boulder jutting out of the mountainside. A few rocks the size of a softball lie on the ground amid a handful of pistachio and peanut shells. “I didn’t see them when I went in the cave to explore, but I noticed them right away when I came out.”
Someone behind me gasps. “Wow!”
Crouching beside him, I shine my flashlight over the spot. “No shell or nut remnants are on the rocks, none that I can make out anyway. Without seeing it ourselves, we won’t know if someone or something dropped those shells here, or if they used the rocks. My gut says a hiker left these here.”
His shoulders slump. “Oh.”
“It’s a good find. You’re really observant.” I clasp him on the shoulder. “What’s your name again?”
“Griffin Kelly. You can call me Grif.”
“Well, good job, Grif. I’d have you on my team again anytime.”
The person who’d gasped pushes past me, knocking me on my ass, and kneels by the shells with her phone’s camera app open. “Itcouldbe a cryptid. The only animals who use rocks in this way are primates. And there aren’t any monkeys in Vermont.”
