Page 34 of Knox

My gun appeared in my hand so fast I didn’t remember grabbing it from the floor. Bears were known to roam around. If one of those giant furballs started rocking my truck?—

Caroline was standing there holding up two middle fingers. “Wake up, jackass.”

“Why couldn’t you be a bear?” My muscles uncoiled, and I set the gun down, cracking the window so I could hear her better. “I could’ve shot you.”

“And I could’ve stabbed you with this.” Caroline held up the knife that I kept in one of the trailer drawers. “You would have been buried in the mud hours ago.”

I grunted but was unable to hide my smirk at the actual humor in her voice. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had rifled through every inch and corner of the trailer. “Don’t flatter yourself, spitfire. Back up.”

She stepped back when I opened the door. Pins and needles went through my whole body. My head felt stuffed with cotton—a mild hangover and whatever internal damage that perv gave me. “Shit. How’re you standing straight?”

“Because I have a goal,” she said matter-of-factly, stroking her thumb along the knife’s bone handle. “And nothing will stop me from achieving it. This is gorgeous. What kind of metal is this?”

I got out of the car, shaking off the rest of the mostly sleepless night. “It’s—Well, you look better.”

Caroline did raid the trailer. She wore the spare clothes and used womanly sorcery to tie, twist, or tuck them into a fashionable outfit, making the shirt, pants, and jacket fit perfectly rather than just looking like a woman swallowed by men’s baggy clothing. Her hair was tied in its brutal ponytail by a rubber band. Her forehead bruise and split lip looked less brutal. I couldn’t see her wrists from the long sleeves, but I hoped she’d managed to tend to those more, too.

Bottom line: she looked good. Real good in my old clothes.

Caroline tipped her head to the side curiously. “Of course I look better than I did in captivity. You, on the other hand look like roadkill.”

I chuckled under my breath and shut the truck door to start pulling out the manual awning to keep us dry. “It’s Damascus steel. The blade. My father’s.”

Caroline raised a manicured brow. “Your deadbeat dad had a Damascus steel knife?”

“Harlon Knox stole a Damascus steel knife,” I said. The awning creaked as much as my aching bones did. Forest bits slid off, and rain started to plink on the old tarp. Caroline joined me underneath to look out at the miles of damp greenery around us. “Not sure from whom or when, but I remember seeing it on the kitchen counter. Soon as I reached for the pretty thing, he saw me, snatched it out of my hand, and cut us both.”

I held out my left hand to show her the scar on my palm. She sucked in a quiet but sharp breath.

“It’s definitely not a showpiece. When he died, I found it stashed under his pillow. Now it’s a gun backup. Do you want to use it?”

Caroline looked up at me in surprise. “Use it?” Then a wicked light gleamed in her eyes. They were the same blue as a gas flame—pretty but deadly. “If you want a Wolverine to stab you, Royal Flush, you don’t need to ask.”

I laughed again. She was different today. Lighter, snarkier without being defensive. Like she wanted joking banter, not death-threat banter. I liked this new version of her. It was probably fragile and had some kind of limit, so even though I wanted to, I didn’t push my luck asking if she was still horny for a piece of Knox ass.

“Usually I like to eat a balanced breakfast before a stabbing,” I said.

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “What’s your idea of a balanced breakfast? Beer with burnt pancakes?”

“You have absolutely no faith in me, woman,” I said with mock hurt, going into the trailer and bringing out a box of stale, off-brand cereal. “These crunchy babies and an apple.” I paused, then added, “Maybe an energy drink or two. Now, you want to use the knife or what?”

I opened the cereal and pulled the plastic bag out as an invitation for her to cut it open.

Once Caroline realized that, she rolled those pretty eyes, but there wasn’t real annoyance in it. “You’re such a guy.” She sighed, stepping forward to saw an opening in the bag. The smell of cornflakes joined the fresh rain scent. “Can I ask what happened to your dad?”

“If you join me for my balanced meal.” I produced bowls, spoons, water bottles, and different folding chairs that didn’t make her anxious. “Minus milk and energy drinks.”

Caroline hesitated, watching me move around. She still wasn’t keen on letting others help her, even if this was just common decency. Before I sat, I held out my hand for the knife. Suddenly, the world narrowed to just us and my scarred palm. She met my eyes. I saw her breath catch and realized I had stopped breathing. This was a moment. Something was happening between us. I didn’t know what exactly, but it ended with her placing the knife in my hand.

Trust.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

The softness still made her startle. She nodded hastily and sat down, snatching the bowl from my other hand. She covered her conflicting feelings with a retort. “This is a far cry from the truffle-oil eggs Benedict on brioche with hand-carved Iberico ham I used to have every morning.”

I froze halfway through pouring her cereal. “Seriously?”

Caroline snorted. “Of course not, you dunce.”

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