It was smaller than she’d expected, but with the large areas of glass in the wood, it seemed to extend into the land. It made her think of dolls’ houses and fairy tales, though she didn’t know why. Dolls’ houses were tidy and formal and laced with gingerbread. Hunter’s house was made up of odd angles and unexpected peaks. A porch ran across the front, where the roof arched to a high pitch. Plants spilled over the banister—bloodred geraniums in jade-green pots. The roof sloped down again, then ran flat over a parallelogram with floor-to-ceiling windows. On the patio that jutted out from it, a white wicker chair lay overturned next to a battered soccer ball.

The trees closed in around it. Closed it in, Lee thought. Protected, sheltered, hid. It was like a house out of a play, or … Stopping, she narrowed her eyes and studied it again. “This is Jonas Thorpe’s house in Silent Scream.”

Hunter smiled, rather pleased she’d seen it so quickly. “More or less. I wanted to put him in isolation, miles away from what would normally be considered civilized, but in reality, the only safe place left.”

“Is that how you look at it?” she wondered aloud. “As the only safe place left?”

“Often.” Then a shriek, which after a heart-stopping moment Lee identified as laughter, ripped through the silence. It was followed by an excited bout of barking and a woman’s frazzled voice. “Then there’re other times,” Hunter murmured as he led Lee toward the front door.

Even as he opened it, Sarah came bounding out. Unsure of her own feelings, Lee watched the girl throw her arms around her father’s waist. She saw Hunter stroke a hand over the dark hair at the crown of Sarah’s head.

“Oh, Dad, it’s so funny! Aunt Bonnie was making a bracelet out of glazed dough and Santanas ate it—or he chewed on it until he found out it tasted awful.”

“I’m sure Bonnie thinks it’s a riot.”

Her eyes, so like her father’s, lit with a wicked amusement that would’ve made a veteran fifth-grade teacher nervous. “She said she had to take that sort of thing from art critics, but not from half-breed wolves. She said she’d make some tea for Lenore, but there aren’t any cookies because we ate them yesterday. And she said—”

“Never mind, we’ll find out for ourselves.” He stepped back so that Lee could walk into the house ahead of him. She hesitated for a moment, wondering just what she was walking into, and his eyes lit with the same wicked amusement as Sarah’s. They were quite a pair, Lee decided, and stepped forward.