Bitten by Cupid (23 page)

She shuddered.

The articles where Dale had interviewed the families were heart-wrenching. She knew how devastated her friend’s family had been, how torn up they all were. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stared at the photo lineup of the victims, all women in their early-to-mid twenties like her, smiling, living their lives without a care.

“Well, I’m not letting you get me, you sick son of a bitch. But how am I going to stop you from continuing to wreck people’s lives?”

She hadn’t been able to take note of all the men in the coffee shop when she’d heard the thoughts. Damn timing. She had three days to figure out who Kiss and Kill Cupid was.

The face that sprang to mind was Owen’s, speaking of creepy. Didn’t serial killers have flat eyes? Little emotion? Owen was a viable suspect. Her only suspect. What made it tricky was that he was Adrian’s best friend.

Or maybe that would help. Who knew Owen better than Adrian? First, she was going to find out everything she could about serial killers. Then she was going to come up with some sample articles to take to the magazine’s offices the next day. She would try to hear Owen’s thoughts without all the noise. Then she would pick Adrian’s brain on Owen’s past, his behavior.

She read article after grueling article until her eyes were gritty and her head hurt. All she could think about was how her family would feel if Dale Soza was interviewing them.

She stripped out of her clothes and put on some flannel pajamas. Tomorrow, she would get some answers that might lead her closer to the truth. And she’d get to see Adrian again.

Adrian watched Kristy disappear into the depths of the subway entrance. Everything about her was gorgeous and intriguing and sweet. Heck, she even dressed like a confection.

He turned and started walking back to the coffee shop. People, all wrapped in coats and scarves, flowed around him. He hardly saw them. All he could see was Kristy’s face, a smile breaking out when he’d praised her writing. Vivid pink lipstick, glossy over delicious lips. Dimples at her cheeks.

Liking her, especially being so attracted to her, was going to make this even harder. How was he going to convince her to write for his magazine, talk with her, maybe even flirt a little, knowing she was going to be Kiss and Kill Cupid’s next intended victim?

Chapter Three

The next day, Kristy bounced along to a Ting Tings’ song as she walked toward the building that contained
Get Out!
’s offices. Bundled in a dark pink wool coat with buttons as big as the palm of her hand, she couldn’t get warm. Her thoughts were chilling her from the inside. She paused her player after every song and tuned into the thoughts around her, a total change from what she usually did.

She stopped again outside the glass doors at the entrance and tuned in. The wind blew her hair into her face as she scanned the sidewalk. She could almost convince herself she’d imagined the whole thing. Almost. Truth was, she couldn’t afford to do that. She might end up dead.

I could be one of those pictures in the paper.

She opened the door and went inside, cringing a minute later at her reflection in the brass walls of the elevator. She combed her hair with her fingers as the door opened. Anticipation tingled through her. The potential job. Finding out if Adrian or Owen was a killer.

A brushed-steel snowboarder catching air adorned the door. She pushed it open and was surprised to find classical music wafting through the air. The walls of the small lobby were covered in dramatic prints of both men and women doing daring things, like skydiving and mountain climbing. The young woman at the curved reception desk was on the phone, so Kristy stepped over to the skydiving picture. The man in the jumpsuit was obviously being photographed by another skydiver. His hair was flying everywhere from beneath his helmet, but his smile was as bright as the sun.

“That’s Adrian Kruger,” a woman’s voice said.

Kristy spun around to find the receptionist smiling at her. “Oh. Cool.”

“That’s him over there, too.” She pointed to one of a man catching a major wave.

Kristy could actually sense the excitement he must have been feeling at that moment. His muscular body, poised on a surfboard, showed perfect form. She turned to the receptionist. “I’m here to see Owen and Adrian. I’m Kristy Morgan.”

She’d spent the morning going through some of her previous articles and reworking the best ones to present. But her mind wasn’t on the job. Finding Kiss and Kill Cupid came first.

She planned to meet with both men, hopefully in a nice, quiet conference room. Owen came around the corner and started at the sight of her.

She gave him a wave. “Hi, Owen. I brought those articles you asked for. I thought I’d deliver them personally.”

He glanced up and beyond her. “I’ll let Adrian handle it. I’ve got a conference call…” He gestured behind him and turned to leave. Odd. Was he avoiding her?

“Well, hey there, Kristy.”

She turned at the deep, smooth voice she knew was Adrian’s and gave him the I’m-not-a-soft-girl-but-a-businesswoman handshake. “Good to see you.” She waved a bright green folder. “I brought the sample articles.”

That little pause as he took her in before he said anything…she felt it in her gut. He smiled, warmth lighting his eyes. “Excellent. I’m glad you dropped them off in person. I was just heading out to lunch. Join me.”

Bad idea,
one part of her brain said.

Wouldn’t that give me another chance to see if I can read his thoughts?
another part of her brain chimed in. “Sure, I’d love to.” She glanced down the hall where Owen had disappeared. “Should we wait for Owen?”

“Only if you’re dead set on him joining us.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s fine.”

“Be back in an hour, Kyle.” He handed the receptionist the folder. “Put this in my office, please.”

He held the door for Kristy, and when she passed him, she inhaled his scent. As soon as he closed the door, she turned. “Are you wearing Intuition?”

He had intriguing eyes, made more so by thick eyebrows that perfectly balanced his narrowed eyes. He raised one of those brows. “Oh, you mean my cologne? Yes, Intuition.”

“I recognized it because I wear the women’s version. Wow, isn’t that…wild?”

They wore the same brand of cologne. How synced was that?

All of her thoughts ceased when he leaned close and breathed her in. “You’re right. I thought you smelled great yesterday, but I didn’t realize it was the same. Yeah, wild.”

He pressed the CALL button. “Do you like Italian? There’s a great café down the block.”

“Uh, sure.”

She waited in silence.
Silence.
No thoughts. Could it be that he just wasn’t having any? No, impossible. She could only still her thoughts for a few seconds at a time.

And if she couldn’t read his thoughts—which was amazingly exciting in itself—then he wasn’t the one she’d heard at the coffee shop. She couldn’t help the cat-ate-the-canary grin on her face and so as not to have to explain it, she kept her head down.
You’re feeling way beyond relief. Remember
,
potential boss. And his best friend
,
your other potential boss
,
might be a killer with his eye on you.

The elevator came, and they stepped inside.

He really made her smile when he said, “I know I’m going to love the articles. Your writing is amazing.”

She had to keep from rolling her eyes in ecstasy. Even more than hearing she was pretty, hearing that about her writing made her swoon. “Thanks.”

“I’ve already got an assignment in mind for you.”

“Don’t the rest of the folks at the magazine have to read the articles and give the okay?”

He gave her a boyish smile that transformed his oh-so-masculine face. “Sure. But Owen and I are the bosses. We get to say who plays.”

Focus on Owen. “So I have to win him over. I could swear he was trying to avoid me at the office just now.”

“Don’t let that worry you. Beautiful women throw him off. He’ll get over it.”

She could hardly murmur a thank-you at the compliment. Most serial killers had trouble maintaining relationships with women: check.

“He seems pretty serious.”

“Always has been. He used to chide me about climbing mountains and jumping out of perfectly good airplanes. I used to chide him about spending all his free time in his room reading.”

Serial killers were often antisocial: check.

The elevator doors slid open at the lobby level, and he gestured for her to walk ahead of him. They stepped into a rhythm, walking side by side.

They ended up at a cozy café with the ubiquitous wine bottles in baskets on the tables. The maitre d’ led them to a table near the window. Adrian took her coat and gave her outfit both a questioning and appraising look.

“I know, I’m in denial.” Her sleeveless yellow dress flared midthigh. White knit tights hugged her legs, and her chunky shoes matched her dress. “February is when I start hating winter, so I put myself in a spring state of mind.”

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m hot-blooded. My body temperature runs a degree warmer than most people’s.” She shrugged. “My doctor said it’s not anything weird.”

“Bet you’re nice to cuddle up with on a cold night.”

She was about to sit in a most dainty way. Those words made her drop the last few inches onto her chair and nearly tip it over. “Well, I wouldn’t…know. I’ve never cuddled with myself.”

She was so not good at this flirting stuff. All those years of avoiding it had left her way out of practice. Like, she wasn’t even sure if he
was
flirting.

She broke off a piece of crusty bread and dipped it into the herbed oil the waiter had poured into a dish. “One of the articles I read about you said you and Owen are like brothers.”

He nodded. “He had a rough childhood. His dad took off, and his mom…well, let’s just say she wasn’t the most nurturing soul. Owen spent a lot of time at our house. We had a warm, loving home, with my stepdad and half brother and half sister. All the neighbor kids hung out there, Owen more than any of them. My mom treated him like another son. I’m seven and nine years older than my half siblings, so I’ve never been close to them. Owen was like a brother to me, then and now.”

Broken home: check. Uncaring mother: check. Oh, no. Owen’s background and temperament were sounding more and more like a textbook serial killer. Could she ask, without sounding morbid, if animals had died in heinous ways or disappeared? If Owen had wet his bed or started any fires?

Mm, probably not.

She shifted her foot and felt his shoe next to hers. Their eyes met over the contact. “I’m not playing footsies with you,” she said, then stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth before she said anything else dumb.

His mouth tilted up in a half smile, one eyebrow arched. “It’s okay if you do.”

Whoa.
He’d laid that right out there. Of course, a gorgeous guy like him probably had no trouble flirting and lots of experience. Why did he have to be so perfect and so complicated at once?

She didn’t remove her foot. Neither did she move it. She glanced away, composing herself. “Your mom sounds like a great person.”

He nodded, a soft smile on his face. “She taught me what it was to be tough, to stand strong and take what life gives you. She gave me the love for classical music. I think she had dreams of me becoming a musician. I took cello lessons and played in an orchestra in high school. That was the most mundane thing I ever did. I liked it, but I didn’t love it. She was cool about my quitting music, though she didn’t like my adventures. Mostly I didn’t tell her what I did or the risks. It was better that way.”

A man who loved his mother. Could she just die right there? Except dying euphemisms were not particularly good right now.

“It’s hard to imagine you playing cello in an orchestra.” She leaned back in her chair, her fingers on her chin. “No, wait. I
can
see you. It’s an interesting dichotomy, rugged, outdoorsy guy among the classical instruments.” She grinned. “I like it.”

She liked him. Oh, more than liked. It was as though the energy from where their shoes touched radiated up her leg and into the rest of her body. He was the only person whose thoughts she couldn’t hear. That would be wildly appealing even if he wasn’t the kind of guy who climbed mountains and dove off cliffs and embraced life. And, most importantly, he wasn’t Kiss and Kill Cupid. Her foot shifted ever so slightly against his.
But he might
,
very likely
,
probably
,
will be your boss.

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “So, what’s this assignment you’ve already thought of?”

His eyebrow lifted the tiniest bit at her move beneath the table. “I’ve read a few of your articles, and a couple focused on areas with energy vortexes, ley lines, things I don’t profess to understand but find…fascinating.” His mouth quirked as he watched her worry her lower lip. “I’ve been to a town I think has that kind of weird energy: Wimberly, Texas. A bit off the beaten path and involves a little hiking. You’ll like it, as long as you’re not claustrophobic. You go down into a cave. Not far. It feels as though you’re in a cathedral. There’s a pool of water, and all around are stalactites and stalagmites. Go early in the day; you’ll want to spend a couple of hours there.”

She had propped her chin on her hands, elbows on the table. “Mm, sounds almost spiritual. You’ve been there, I take it.”

“It’s on a friend’s property. I’ve been meaning to go back for years.” He looked wistful. “When I was in high school, I wanted to travel and experience life. After I graduated, I took odd jobs as I traveled, just enough to pay my expenses. That’s how I ended up doing that modeling gig, climbing a wall in an indoor entertainment place. Then I had this dream of starting the magazine. The ironic thing is I publish an adventure magazine but don’t have time to have adventures anymore.”

She frowned. “That’s very sad. And wrong. Sounds like you have to make time.”