Page 151 of Unsuitable

I won’t let anything risk me getting Jesse back.

And that’s why I find myself in Kas’s office right now.

He’s with Cooper in the paddocks. Something is wrong with one of the horses. A vet’s been called out.

And I’m snooping.

Not my finest moment but needs must.

I have my cleaning stuff with me, and I am technically cleaning his office. I’m just having a nosy look around while I do so.

Specifically, around the bookshelf.

I’m dusting it while looking for anything out of the ordinary.

I know I must look like something out of a bad detective movie, but this is my first rodeo.

So far, I’m not getting much. There are just rows and rows of books and dust.

Not exactly exciting.

Honestly, I didn’t even know Kas read. I’ve never seen him pick up a book.

Reaching up to my tiptoes, I run the duster along the higher shelves, my eyes trailing over them, looking for anything. Any indication that there’s a door behind here.

But nothing. Just a wooden panel behind the books.

I wonder if there’s a book that you pull out, and the bookcase magically opens.

Okay, I’ve been watching too many movies. But I’m not really sure what I’m looking for here.

Oh, I do remember seeing in one movie where they literally just pushed against the bookcase to open it, and behind it was a door leading to a secret room.

But would Kas really have a secret room? It seems a little farfetched, even for me.

He could have just sealed off the door for whatever reason and built a bookcase in front of it.

And if he had just told me that, then I wouldn’t be in here, snooping, right now.

He lied for a reason. And I want to know why.

Thinking I hear a noise, I glance behind me at the half-open door. Pausing, I hold my breath.

I left the door open, so it wouldn’t look suspicious if Kas came back, and I was in here with the door closed.

I wait a few seconds, but there’s nothing. Nothing but silence.

Looking back to the shelves, I sigh in frustration. There has to be something behind here. Something he’s hiding.

I put the duster down on his desk. Turning back to the bookcase, I run my hand over the shelves. Stopping at the end one, I firmly press my hand against it, seeing if there’s any movement.

But it doesn’t budge.

I move to the next stack and do the same. And I get the same result.

Frustration furrows my brow.

Am I being crazy here?