Page 31 of Knox

“I get it.” Knox moved to the refrigerator with ease. “You sit. I’ll cook.”

I wanted to argue. To insist I’d promised to spoil him, and not the other way around. He was doing too much already. And I could handle making breakfast in my own house, but something in his tone stopped me.

He needed to feel useful. If I was in his position, I’d feel much the same way. So I settled into a chair at the table and sipped my coffee, pulling the first notebook closer.

Claire Hawthorne’s handwriting was elegant and precise. Every entry dated. All details neatly organized. I traced my fingers over the words, feeling a pang of grief for my friend. Claire had been so vibrant, so full of life and passion for this island. It didn’t seem possible that she was really gone.

The lid for the frying pan slipped from its place at the edge of the sink, and I gasped, flinching hard. Coffee sloshed over the rim of my mug.

Knox was beside me instantly, steadying the mug, his hand covering mine. “Hey. You’re safe. That was an accident. Just a falling lid.”

I nodded, embarrassed. “I know. I just⁠—”

“You don’t have to explain.” His thumb brushed across my knuckles. “That’s normal after what you went through.”

I nodded and took small sips of air to still my trembling hands, then went back to the notebooks, thankful for something to concentrate on.

“What am I looking for?” I asked.

Knox cracked eggs into a bowl. “Anything that stands out to you. Any note specific to the hikers. Mom was meticulous with her records. If she had theories, she would’ve noted them.” He whisked the eggs with practiced efficiency. “Even without, she gathered a lot of information. I’m hoping something we find in there will give us a place to start out there.” He pointed to the window with a spatula. “Start with the dates around the disappearances. Rebecca Snow went missing two years ago in June. Sarah Lake shortly after. Jessica Hammond three weeks ago.”

I flipped the pages, scanning entries. Claire had documented everything from weather conditions and trail maintenance needs to customer interactions and wildlife sightings. Her notes were love letters to the area written in daily observations.

I found the first relevant entry only a few minutes in.

“Knox.” I jerked my gaze from the book to my protector and back. “Rebecca Snow. June fourteenth, two years ago. Your mom wrote, ‘Young woman from Raleigh. First time on Carolina Bay. Interested in maritime forest trails. Provided her custom map with highlighted routes for beginner/intermediate skill level. Enthusiastic and well-prepared. Recommended she start with Highland Woods for easier terrain and well-marked trails. Purchased poncho and dry bag from vendor. Excited about a scotch bonnet shell found outside her car this morning. Directed her to location of plenty more where that came from.’”

Knox turned from the stove, spatula in hand. “She made her a custom map?”

“That’s what it says.” I pulled another notebook from the stack, flipping to the time of the next missing hiker. My heart sank when I found what I was looking for. “Sarah Lake. Photographer from Virginia Beach. Experienced hiker looking for scenic routes with good light for sunrise shots. Created personalized map marking best vantage points in maritime forest. Discussed safety protocols for solo hiking. Added walking staff and pepper spray purchases for safety.’”

“Damn.” Knox abandoned the eggs and crossed to the table, leaning over my shoulder to read the entries.

I forced myself to concentrate on the notebook instead of the enticing scent of him, soap and coffee and something deliciously masculine. “The notes at the house say maps, not that she made them specifically for each woman. Check for Jessica Hammond.”

My hands trembled slightly as I found the most recent notebook. The entry was dated three weeks and two days ago, right before Jessica disappeared.

“‘Jessica Hammond from Charlotte,’” I read aloud. “‘Visiting the island for girls’ weekend but friends cancelled. Still wants to hike. Very experienced. Has done Appalachian Trail sections. Gave her advanced trail map with notation about more remote areas. Warned about recent rain making some paths muddy. She seemed confident and capable.’”

Knox straightened, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. A muscle worked in his jaw. “All three of them. Mom gave all three of them personalized trail maps.”

The guilt in his voice made my chest ache.

“She was trying to help them,” I said softly, turning so I could face him. “She had no way of knowing someone was out there.” Hunting, I thought, but pushed the horrific word aside.

“I know.” Knox’s voice was tight.

The smell of scorching eggs spun Knox on his feet. He cursed and rushed to the stove, scraping the eggs onto two plates.

He added toast and some berries to each serving, then returned to the table. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

“This is perfect.” I accepted the plate he handed me, and we sat across from each other. “We have to tell Nash about this.”

“Agreed. But first, we need to think about how we’re going to approach our investigation.” Knox poked the eggs with his fork, his mind clearly elsewhere. “If word gets out that we’re actively looking into the disappearances, it could spook whoever’s responsible, or agitate them into retaliation.”

I set down my fork, my appetite fading. “You think if the man who grabbed me knows I’m looking for him, it could make me more of a target than I already am?”

“Maybe, which is why I’m not leaving your side.” Knox’s blue eyes locked on mine, fierce and protective. “I think it will be best if we agree on what to tell people before we head out there, asking questions. Folks are going to notice I’m suddenly living here, and I’m with you all the time. Are you comfortable with stating things as they are? I’ve been trying to determine whether or not having a personal protection detail will deter this guy, or if he’ll see it as a challenge. Since we don’t know anything about him, it’s impossible to guess.”