Page 100 of On Edge

“It’s for the ducks.”

His eyes narrow, and then he gestures to the waitstaff and asks them if they have any duck feed. The girls disappear into the back to look for some.

I’m staring at him when he catches my eye and shrugs. “Bread is bad for the birds.”

“Oh. Of course.” I knew that.

A few minutes later, the waitstaff place a bag of duck and swan food next to us on the table.

“We can stop by the pond on our way out,” he drawls and then goes back to his work.

On my lap, I feel my phone vibrate.

Taking it out, I see I have a few messages.

Laine:

Swanley kid vanished after his release, but Cash managed to get a copy of his prison records. I’ll send them now.

Also, Nola and I saw your wedding in the paper. WHAT IS HAPPENING?! Check in ASAP!

Mum:

Am I sitting next to your father at the church because I’d rather sit with Auntie Moreen?

How was the dress fitting? I’m still in London, so I couldn’t pop down, but I’m sure you look nice.

One glance up at Troy across the table, and I can see he’s still absorbed in his phone. Heart pounding, I click on Edward Swanley’s prison files that Laine sent.So this is the boy who burned his parents in their beds in the fire at Grayfleet?

My eyes skip through the clinical text, though certain words jump out at me…altercations, injuries, isolation, until I reach the note at the bottom, written in red marker:

Swanley’s reputation among inmates has become problematic. Staff refer to him as the Demon of Port Penn. He’s become increasingly violent in response to perceived threats. A psychological evaluation isSTRONGLYrecommended.

And then the final assessment:

Swanley is highly intelligent, calculating, and dangerous when provoked. Recommendation:Close supervision upon release.

I force myself to keep reading.

A detailed log of his injuries is next, catalogued in date order, starting with the extensive pre-existing burn scarring across the upper torso, neck, and shoulders from the fire.

Then come the prison wounds, and there are a lot, but I note the worst ones: a deep laceration to the left shoulder requiring sutures, and a shiv wound to his right side, below his rib cage, that the doctor notes,narrowly missed vital organs.

Troywasin prison, too, Kathy said as much when I was listening to her and Mundel. But I don’t know which prison.Is he the Demon of Port Penn?

I look up at Troy, still typing, ever the workaholic businessman, the same man who just ordered me blueberry pancakes, and try to see him as Edward Swanley, the psychopathic inmate, and fail.

But I do feel sick to my stomach.

If I could just see the scars, I’d know for sure, but that would mean him taking his shirt off, and I just swore not to let him touch me again.

Mouth dry, I send replies to everyone, and then quickly delete the messages from my phone. Then I stare at my food. I’m no longer hungry.

“I thought this was your favorite?”

I look up, and Troy is studying me. “I er, don’t feel...too well.”

Leaving the table before he can stop me, I hurry to the bathroom. Once inside, I slam the door shut and scrape the lock until it closes. Then I crouch down and cling to a toilet bowl fora good few minutes, emptying my stomach of bile, trying not to pass out.