Page 59 of Knox

Her eyes flew open, wild and unseeing. She scrambled backward against the headboard, her hands coming up defensively, as if I was the threat.

“Hey, hey. It’s me. It’s Knox.” I kept my voice low, soothing. “You’re safe. You’re in your room. I’m right here.”

Recognition dawned. Then her face crumpled. “I could smell him. In the dream. Leather and sweat and something else. Something wrong.” Her hands shook. “It felt so real. Like he was here. In this room.”

My chest tightened. “He’s not here. The new cameras would’ve alerted us.”

“I know. Logically, I know that.” She pressed her hands to her face. “But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching. Always watching.”

“That’s what he wants. To make you afraid even when he’s not around.” I stayed where I was at the edge of the bed. “Don’t give him that power.”

“I don’t know how to stop.”

“You start by not being alone with the fear.” I met her eyes. “Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

What she needed was not to be alone. What she probably wanted was for me to hold her until the fear subsided. What I should do was go back to my room and maintain professional distance.

“Stay,” she whispered.

Every instinct I had screamed that this was a line we shouldn’t cross. But the look in her eyes, so vulnerable and trusting, made the decision for me.

I settled more comfortably on the bed, my back against the headboard, Sloane close enough that our shoulders touched. The contact was innocent, but I felt it like electricity through my entire body.

Silence stretched for a moment, only the distant sounds of the marsh’s nightlife drifting through the closed window. Sloane’s breathing gradually slowed, her body relaxing against mine.

“Tell me something,” she said quietly. “Something good. Something that has nothing to do with investigations or danger or any of this.”

I thought for a moment. “When I was eight, my mom took me night fishing for the first time. We went out on the sound in this beat-up little boat she’d bought from a neighbor. The stars were so bright you could see your shadow, and the water was full of bioluminescence.”

“What’s that?”

“Tiny organisms that glow when they’re disturbed. Every time we moved the oars, the water lit up like blue fire.” I could still see it, crystal clear after all these years. “Mom told me that some kinds of magic only happen in the dark. That just because you can’t see something in the daylight doesn’t mean it’s not real or beautiful.”

Sloane turned her head to look at me, and we were suddenly very close. Close enough that I could count the freckles across her nose, see the flecks of brown in her green eyes. Close enough that all I’d have to do was lean forward and⁠—

“Knox,” she whispered, and her gaze dropped to my mouth.

I needed to move. To put distance between us and remind myself of all the reasons Sloane was off limits to me. Sloane was under my protection. And this wasn’t real, no matter how much I wished otherwise.

But God, I wanted to kiss her. And I wanted it with an intensity that didn’t care about my very valid reasons to get up and walk away.

My hands rose on autopilot and cupped her face gently, the pads of my thumbs brushed over her cheeks. Her skin was soft and warm against my palms. I groaned. “You’re killing me, Mercer.”

“Don’t leave,” she said. “At least stay until I fall asleep?”

Unable to deny her anything, I relaxed against her headboard, hands back on my lap, and counted her breaths until she slept.

Chapter 19

Knox

Sloane stood by my Jeep the next morning, two travel mugs of coffee in hand and a bag of road snacks tucked under one arm. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, and she wore dark jeans with a soft blue sweater that made her eyes look like sea glass in the morning light.

Thanks to her initiative and top-tier people skills, we had an appointment on the mainland, to meet the mother of one of the missing hikers.

“Good morning,” she said, handing me one of the mugs. “I figured you’d want caffeine for the drive.”

I accepted the coffee, my fingers brushing hers in the exchange. Neither of us had mentioned last night. Her nightmare, the almost-kiss, the way we’d shared her bed for a short time. The air between us was electric with things unsaid, but Sloane’s smile was warm and genuine, as if she’d decided to let it go.