Page 47 of On Edge

Indeed, the dog is now sitting.

I give a nervous smile and sink deeper into my chair.

What is wrong with me?The man I’m supposed to hate just made me blush with a single commanding word.

I should be disgusted by the way my body responds to him, not fighting the urge to obey every sharp-edged instruction that falls from his lips. I force myself to focus on something else; anything...the blazing fire, the rain pattering against the windows, even the way the light catches the gold threads in the tapestry rug on the wall.

Anything but the way Severin’s fingers move with such gentle precision through his dog’s fur.

Stop.

This is exactly how men like him work. They make you forget who they really are with stolen moments of unexpected kindness. One minute, he’s threatening to throw me out a window, trapping me in chairs, and throwing me over his shoulder. The next, he’s wrapping me in blankets, building me fires.

I’m getting Stockholm syndrome.

That’s what this is.

Seeing him being soppy with a dog is messing with my heart. I’m a sucker for a wounded animal.

I really am.

Ben then proceeds to slobber all over Severin’s suit jacket sleeve. His frown deepens, making the scene comical at least from my point of view. I have to bite back a giggle. But it sticks in my throat. Then I have to drink some tea so the scalding liquid burns it all away.

The minutes seem to drag on for hours until, at last, breakfast is over.

Severin leaves without a word, but not before giving me a strange look. His dog trots after him.

And then I’m alone.

Fortunately, I find a first aid kit in the kitchen while Kathy is elsewhere in the house. There’s also a notebook by the phone in the kitchen.

My notebook now.

I grab it, dig out what I need from the first aid kit, and then I hurry to my room to lock myself in the bathroom. The cuts aren’t deep, but I’m wincing with every dab of salve. What on earth was that in his pocket?

A letter opener? A knife?

When I’ve secured a Band-Aid around each finger, I allow myself to breathe. But one glance in the mirror and I nearly freak out when I see there’s blood smudged on my cheek.

Oh God, is that why he was staring at me?

When I’m all patched up and I’ve cleaned up the blood, I remember Severin’s phone.

I remove it from my dress and try a few passcodes, such as 123456, but the screen remains stubbornly locked. I didn’texpect it to magically open. Annoyingly, it has a few bars of signal inside the house. If only I could use them.

I’m going to need Nola’s techie skills to get into this one.

12

SAGE

Ispend the rest of the afternoon in my room, obsessing over Severin’s phone and trying not to think about him at all. After everything that’s happened, for once, without anyone asking me to, I’m happy to stay in my room.

Especially now that I’m allowed to have a fire lit. The chill that usually seeps from the stone walls has retreated, replaced by a cocoon of heat that makes my skin feel drowsy and heavy, as I watch the rain claw at the windows like desperate, drizzly fingers.

I’m curled up on the bed, writing down everything I know and still need to find out in the notebook I stole. The important points I underlineseveral times. I also read the news clipping over and over, hoping it might provide details about the Swanley family tragedy that I didn’t see before. Usually, I’d research the story on the internet, but I can’t.

At least now I know that was where I saw it before.Raggis the name of the reporter whom Mundel mentioned. AndTobias Raggwrote the article in the newspaper clipping I took from Severin’s office. Could it be the same Ragg?