Page 217 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

Everything between us felt softer now. Quieter and somehow that frightened me more than the warehouse ever had.

The ache in my ribs reminded me to breathe as I cracked the bathroom door open. Steam rolled into the hallway while the radio grew louder, accompanied by another sound.

Shhh...

Shhh…

Shhh...

Metal against stone. Slow. Measured. Patient.

The bed sat exactly as I'd left it, neatly made, the clothes folded in careful squares near the footboard. Elias stood beside the bedroom window with his back to me.

One forearm rested against the wooden frame while the other moved steadily across a whetstone, drawing his service knife across the surface with slow, deliberate strokes. Again. Again. Again.

The blade didn't need sharpening. I knew that before I even reached him. This wasn't maintenance. This was a ritual.

His broad shoulders were rigid beneath a dark charcoal Henley; the sleeves pushed carelessly to his forearms. His hair was still damp from his own shower, dark strands falling untidily across his forehead. Every few strokes his jaw tightened before relaxing again, his breathing remaining perfectly controlled even though something told me the detective inside him was anything but calm. This...

This felt more vulnerable. He wasn't sharpening a knife. He was trying to stop his hands from remembering everything they'd touched tonight. For the first time since meeting him, I stopped trying to solve him. I wasn't cataloguing evidence. I wasn't looking for another piece of the puzzle.

I simply watched.

The scrape of steel against stone became almost hypnotic, each stroke carrying something too heavy for words. He wasn't grieving. Collins was still out there somewhere hiding in the mountains, and Elias would never mourn a man like him.

No.

This sounded like guilt. Like relief. Like rage he hadn't yet found somewhere safe to put. I felt it settle somewhere deep inside my own ribs.

God...

My heart hurt for him. Not because he looked broken. Because he refused to let himself be. The blade stopped moving.

Silence settled between us.

Without turning around, he said quietly.

"You can stop hiding behind the door now."

Heat rushed straight into my face.

"I wasn't hiding."

"No?" His voice carried the smallest hint of amusement.

"Then you were doing an impressive job pretending to be invisible."

I stepped farther into the room, my bare feet squeaking softly against the pine floorboards.

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't."

He finally turned. Those glacier-blue eyes landed on me for only a second before dropping politely to the floor. The detective. Always giving me somewhere safe to stand.

"I heard the radio," I admitted.

"Thought you'd fallen asleep."