Page 156 of Hard Knot

"My hero," I tease. "Saving me from arts and crafts gone wrong."

But under the playful banter, I can't quite shake the memory of those crude letters spelling out my potential fate.

Someone out there wants me gone badly enough to risk sending this message.

“Think it’s Victoria?” I end up asking as he gets to work.

“Sorry but Victoria is too stupid and far too impatient to pull this dumb art project off,” he admits, but pauses his scan to look back at me. “But I made sure to scan her fingerprints first,” he says with an added wink that makes me laugh.

“Good to think alike,” I hum in delight. “Just to be sure, do your thing. I’ll sit over here.”

“You sure?” he seems concerned with me sitting on the floor, but I’m already moving to the collection of books on his miniature bookshelf in the corner with various books, manga, games, and a few consoles.

“I have plenty of entertainment here. Don’t mind me,” I assure him. “But better be twenty minutes ‘cause your Omega is thirsty.”

And he knows I don’t mean for water.

He’s blushing when she looks back at him before he rushes to the computer.

“Fifteen minutes.”

I smirk and get comfortable.

Fifteen minutes it is.

Blurred Boundaries Of Pleasure

~FELIX~

Fifteen minutes.

That’s all it took for me to come up with a whole lot of nothing.

I sit back in the chair, frowning at the screens filled with analyses, scans, and cross-references. There’s no clear evidence linking the letter to anyone specific.

The prints are either smudged or partials, and the type of paper and glue used are so generic they might as well have come from a dollar store.

Elizabeth’s voice breaks through my thoughts, soft but curious.

“Did you find any candidates?”

I glance toward her, catching the way she lifts her head from the floor where she’s been reading. She’s sprawled in a comfortable position near the corner of the room, surrounded by a small pile of books.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

“Nothing concrete. Missing evidence, inconclusive data. It’s a dead end for now. If I had to guess, it’s likely just hate mail designed to scare you.”

Elizabeth exhales, closing her book with a snap.

“That’s such a waste of time,” she mutters, but there’s no anger in her tone. She stands fluidly, stretching in a way that draws my attention immediately. Her hands run through her hair, the movement casual and unassuming, but I can’t look away.

“Still,” she continues, brushing invisible dust from her white cotton shorts, “I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Her words barely register.

I’m too busy watching the way her body moves, the way the light catches the curve of her shoulders.

She notices, of course. She always notices the little things.

---