Page 48 of Sinner’s Game

We’re moving again, and I’m relieved when we finally arrive at the concrete pad on which the shed is seated. My body aches, and I’m thinking that my regimen of jogging and yoga really isn’t cutting it.

The shed is locked, of course, but I have a key. I hand it to Ronan, and he slips it into the lock. Then he curses when nothing happens. “Are you sure that’s the right key?”

“It’s the key they gave me when I moved in. To be honest, I never tested it. I don’t come out here.” The county takes care of clearing the brush, so I’ve had no need to explore the cliff. I just sit on the balcony and soak in the view. That’s enough for me.

“Can you just get a rock and break it?” I suggest.

“Picking it would be easier. I’ve got a set of picks in my jacket.”

“Of course you do. I have a drone in my back pocket.”

He smirks but doesn’t respond. Instead, he gets to work with the little pieces of metal, pushing and twisting them until finally, the lock pops open.

“Nice,” I say.

“I can teach you. It’s a useful hobby. Surprisingly relaxing, too.”

Before I can tell him I’ll take him up on it, he’s pulled open the door. “I still don’t get why we’re looking in here. Don’t we want to sneak in through the patio door?”

“There might still be operational cameras, and since we don’t know who’s watching, I don’t want to be seen. We’ll go in if we have to, but I have a theory.”

Since he doesn’t volunteer more, I don’t ask. I just follow him into the cramped space. He uses his phone as a flashlight, illuminating folding chairs and beach umbrellas, rakes and shovels, and two huge ice chests.

It’s cramped, but the ceiling is high enough that we can stand inside. Also, it’s surprisingly clean. Especially the path that runs between the piles of items, ending at one of the ice chests.

“Something’s off,” Ronan says. “It feels staged.”

I look around, trying to see with his experienced eyes, then gasping when I see it, too. “The stuff is dusty,” I say, running my fingers over the top of a folding chair. “But this section isn’t.” I point to where we’re standing—the path running down the center.

“Exactly.” He moves the few feet to the chest, then pulls it out. “Well, hello there,” he whispers.

I hurry to him and stand on my toes to peer over his shoulder, but I see nothing except the wooden back of the shed wall. “What?”

He traces an area where the empty ice chest was. “See it? The discoloration?”

“Maybe?”

“Hold the light.” I do, and he runs his fingers over the wood. “Gotcha,” he mutters right as I hear a click.

An entire section of the siding opens like a door, revealing a crawl space. “What the hell?” I ask. “How did you even know to look for this?”

“The floor of the owner’s closet. It was different than the rest of the house. My guess is that all of the footage from the house feeds to a drive located beneath the floor in that closet. And since Mr. Big couldn’t just pop in and ask you if he could grab it, he made sure there was exterior access for pulling the drive.”

“You got all of that from ugly floor tiles?”

“I just thought about what I would do if I was trying to secretly access security tapes.”

“Oh, God.” I think about what’s happened in that house. There’s no sound recorded as far as we know, so Saint’s Angels should still be safe, but we already know there are images of Ellie and Devlin. Of me, too, I’m sure. With my last boyfriend. In the shower. Walking nude from my bathroom into my closet.

I shudder. “You don’t think they’re leaking stuff, do you? I mean, Reggie said there was that tape about Ellie and Devlin…”

“We’ll do a search—see what we find—but I doubt it. That’s risky. Someone stumbles across it, then the house is searched and those cameras come down. I don’t think the point is to sell the tapes.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I’m not sure. But I think it may be training. How better to become you than to watch you?”

“Oh.” The thought makes me a little ill. Correction—a lot ill.