Page 42 of Knotting With A Stranger

“You’ve got quite an imagination,” he says, amusement laced with something sharper.

I shrug, trying to seem casual despite the warmth still flooding my cheeks. “Occupational hazard of watching too many true-crime shows.”

He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Got a new favorite? Let me guess... something with a charismatic detective who always gets her man?”

The question feels loaded somehow, as if there’s a subtext I’m missing. “Actually, I prefer the cold cases,” I find myself admitting. “The ones that go unsolved for years until some tiny detail breaks everything open.”

His eyes glint.

I take a too-large bite of my toast.

Silence stretches between us, vibrating with tension. Sweat gathers at the small of my back, dampening my shirt. The simple act of eating breakfast has never felt so fraught with meaning, so dangerous.

“Wanna see the fridge with the excess game?” he asks suddenly.

I stare at him, curiosity warring with self-preservation. His expression is neutral.

Say no. Do NOT go to a basement with a criminal, Lily. Have you learned nothing from every true-crime show ever? This is literally how women end up as cautionary tales.

“Sure,” I hear myself say, nodding like a puppet.

Stellar idea. They’ll find your body in spring when the snow melts. Especially as I’ve seen no sign of Archer or Hunter yet.

Even as my rational mind screams warnings, something deeper, more primal, pushes me forward. A need to know, to understand the man behind those storm-gray eyes. To see ifthe James from our messages still exists somewhere inside this dangerous stranger.

He grins and says, “This way.” He doesn’t wait to see if I follow, just turns and walks toward a door I hadn’t noticed yesterday. His confidence borders on arrogance—he knows I’ll follow.

Grabbing one of my jam-slathered toast slices while he carries his coffee, I trail after him like he’s the Pied Piper and I’m a particularly susceptible rat.

The staircase creaks under our weight, the sound ominous in the silence. James descends, not bothering to turn on the lights until we’re halfway down. When the bulb flickers to life, I blink in the sudden brightness.

The basement is surprisingly well-finished—pine paneling on the walls, decent lighting, and a large open area with what looks like gym equipment in one corner. A punching bag hangs from a ceiling beam, slightly worn in the middle. The image of Hunter or Archer hitting it, muscles tensed, sweat glistening, flashes unbidden through my mind.

I take another bite of my toast.

My attention swings to the two massive chest freezers against the far wall. Pristine white, industrial-sized.

The kind Dexter might have used to store body parts.

“Those are... big,” I manage. My imagination runs wild with gruesome possibilities. What if the meat inside isn’t deer or boar? What if?—

“Thinking about bodies again?” James interrupts my morbid thoughts. He stands closer than I expected, observing me with that same unreadable expression. “I can practically see the wheels turning.”

I force a laugh that sounds hollow even to my ears. “Hazard of the true-crime obsession. You start seeing serial killers everywhere.”

“Even in me?” His tone drops, becoming something darker.

I meet his gaze and see something there that makes my breath lodge in my lungs—a knowledge, an understanding that goes beyond our brief acquaintance. It’s the look of someone who knows exactly what you’re capable of.

“Perfect for hiding the bodies, right?” he continues when I don’t answer, moving toward the nearer freezer. The casual way he says it, combined with the gleam in his eye, sends a shiver down my spine.

I giggle, the sound slightly hysterical. “Only a killer would know.”

He freezes, hand on the freezer lid, and turns to look at me. Mirth flashes in his eyes. The muscle in his jaw works as he stares at me, and for one terrifying, exhilarating moment, I wonder if I’ve pushed too far.

Nice going, Lily. Antagonize the criminal. Smart move.

But then his expression softens into something almost like amusement. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

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