7.Jane

Danny stands up, announcing that he's going to take a quick shower, I find myself smiling at him, unable to hide the growing attraction I feel anymore. He's so different from the guys at work—nice, kind, and genuine. There's something about his easy-going nature and the way he's made me feel welcome that makes me feel like I could put my life in his hands and he'd take care of it.

"Make yourself at home," he says with a grin before disappearing into the bathroom.

I lean back on the couch, listening to the sound of the water running and feeling oddly content here in the swamp. Who would have thought? I'm a city girl through and through, but there's something about this place, about Danny, that makes me feel right at… home.

I decide to take a look around while Danny's showering. I start with his bookshelf, running my fingers over the spines of various titles. He has a good mix—mystery novels, nature guides, and even some classics. I pull out a well-worn copy of "The Donkey Prince" and smile. Good taste.

Next, I move to his clothes, neatly folded and stored. Practical, simple, and well-kept. No surprises there. But then something catches my eye—a small, locked cabinet. I hesitate for a moment, then gently pull it open. Inside, I find a surprisingly extensive knife collection. Each knife is carefully placed, polished, and well-maintained. It's an impressive collection, but it sends a shiver down my spine.

I close the cabinet, feeling a mix of curiosity and caution. As I turn away, my gaze lands on a stack of papers on a nearby shelf. I sift through them, finding nothing unusual until a newspaper clipping slips out. My heart skips a beat as I pick it up and read the headline: "Local Man Suspected in Murder Investigation."

My breath catches in my throat. The article is not that old, not yet yellowed with age, and there's a photo of Danny beneath the bold print. The article details an incident that happened years ago, in which Danny was a suspect in a murder case that happened in the swamp.

I feel a rush of conflicting emotions—shock, fear, confusion. Danny-sweet, sweet Danny was once accused of murder? And he saved the newspaper clip. What does he do with it? Looks at it every once in a while as some kind of a sadist?

The sound of the shower stops, jolting me back to the present. I hastily put the clipping back where I found it and sit back down on the couch, trying to compose myself. My mind is racing, and I can't shake the image of that newspaper article.

Danny steps out of the bathroom, his hair damp and a towel draped over his shoulders. He smiles when he sees me, and for a moment, I see only the Danny I've come to know today—the one who's made me laugh, who's been nothing but kind and considerate.

"Feel better?" I ask, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

"Much," he replies, drying his messy hair. "Thanks for waiting."

"No problem," I say, forcing a smile. "I was just thinking how lonely it must be sometime living out here all on your own. With not a single neighbor around."

He chuckles. "You could say that. But I rarely get bored. The swamp's full of surprises."

I nod, my mind racing. I want to ask him about the clipping, to understand what really happened, but I don't know how to bring it up. Instead, I stand and move to the window, looking out at the darkening swamp.

"You seem a little tense," Danny says and I shift. His eyes darken, just like the deep, deadly swamp. "Something wrong?"

****

I take a deep breath, deciding it"s best to come clean about everything I found. "Danny, I found your knife collection."

He pauses, looking like he couldn't care less. "Yeah? It"s a bit of a hobby. I like collecting them. Each one has a story."

I nod, trying to keep my tone light. "It's pretty impressive. You've got quite a variety."

His smile broadens, and for a moment, it feels like we're back in that easy-going rhythm of ours. But then I take another deep breath and continue, my voice a bit shakier. "And I found the newspaper clipping. The one about the murder investigation."

The change in Danny is immediate. His friendly demeanor evaporates, replaced by something darker, more menacing. His eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer, his presence suddenly imposing.

"Why were you snooping around, Jane?" he asks, his voice low and controlled, sending a chill down my spine.

"I... I wasn't snooping," I stammer, backing away instinctively. "I just... I found it by accident."

His gaze sharpens, and he starts to prowl toward me, each step deliberate. "That was a long time ago. And I was declared innocent."

I gulp, feeling my heart race. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. The chemistry between us is still there, but it's no longer warm and inviting. It's charged with tension, a suspenseful energy that makes my pulse quicken.

"I believe you," I say, trying to steady my voice. "It's just... it shocked me a bit, that's all."

Danny stops a few feet away from me, his eyes locked on mine. "You're scared of me now, aren't you?"

I shake my head, but I'm not sure if I'm convincing either of us. "I'm not scared, Danny. Just... confused. Why did you keep that clip?"

"Why not?" He tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "I collect knives. Doesn't it make sense that I'd collect morbid memorabilia too?"

I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want to understand."

His eyes soften for a brief moment, and I see a flicker of the Danny I've come to know today. "It's not easy to explain. The past is better forgotten."

I nod, feeling a bit more grounded. "I get that. Everyone has a past."

He takes another step closer, closing the distance between us. "But not everyone's past comes with a murder accusation."

The air between us is electric, the chemistry undeniable but now laced with a dangerous edge. My instincts tell me to run, but something deeper keeps me rooted to the spot, locked in this charged moment with him.

"I'm not running away, if that's what you think," I say, my voice firmer than before. "I told you I'm not scared of you."

Danny's gaze softens slightly, and he reaches out, his hand brushing against mine. "I haven't given you a real reason to be."

I look into his eyes, searching for the truth. There's darkness there, a history that's clearly left its mark, but there's also a vulnerability that makes my heart ache.

"No," I say finally. "You haven't. And I hope you won't."

He shrugs, and I swallow. "Time will tell," he replies. "That is…if you really do decide to stick around," His eyes flash a little bit in the dim light, "with a presumed cold-blooded killer."