Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“You do that.” Jay grunts as he slides into the passenger seat. “I’m going home to get ready for my date. One of us has to have a life.”
I roll my eyes and merge into traffic, my mind on the killer. What motivates him? Why does he do what he does? Does he know these victims personally or do they have something else in common I haven’t uncovered yet?
CHAPTER FIVE
Damien
Sweet, naive Francesca. She has no idea what’s coming. I watch her saunter away, that sway of her hips that screams both seasoned cop and seductive temptress.
Efficient strides, yet undeniably feminine. My eyes track her to the counter, drinking in the way she flashes that guileless smile at the young barista. My cock throbs painfully against my zipper as I savor these stolen moments when she doesn’t know she’s being watched. If only she knew.
“Excuse me.” Her partner deliberately jostles me, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes before he joins Francesca.
I study their casual interaction, easy banter and camaraderie. The bond of partners, a united front. For now. But every union can be broken, with the right pressure applied to the fault lines. I’ll drive the wedge between them, make Francesca question his loyalty, his motives. Until she trusts no one but me. But that’s for later. Now, I watch. Catalog every minute detail of my beautiful obsession.
Her smile slips, a crease forming between her brows. She’s thinking of me, her phantom killer, the one who haunts her waking thoughts and invades her dreams. If she only knew I’m just a breath away, close enough to inhale her scent and feel the frustration rolling off her.
I slip out onto the sidewalk, dropping into one of the coffee shop’s steel chairs. I pull out my phone, mimicking the mindless drones around me. But my eyes aren’t on the screen. They’re locked on Francesca.
The coffee shop door swings open and she walks out, her partner a step behind. “This is just what I needed,” she sighs, the weariness in her voice making her careless. Oblivious to the potential threats around her. To the predator mere inches away, drinking in her presence like a fine wine. So, trusting. So vulnerable.
I palm my straining erection through my slacks and head back inside, my mask firmly in place as I appraise the trio of baristas. The one with the nose ring is too jaded, too cynical. The blonde is too eager, desperation rolling off her in waves. But the perky one with the wild curls is perfect. Bubbly and naive, blind to the darkness of the world. Putty in my skilled hands.
“Hi there,” she chirps, her smile wide and genuine. “Back for another fix already?”
I flash my most disarming grin, the one that puts people instantly at ease. “I’m afraid I accidentally bumped into the lovely detective and spilled my coffee.”
“Of course,” she beams, already reaching for a cup. “Columbiano, black, right?”
“Impressive memory…” I check her nametag, “Wendy. Thank you.”
A pretty blush stains her cheeks, and she ducks her head, pleased with herself. “It’s my pleasure, really.” Her smile reaches her eyes.
“Beauty and brains,” I say. “I bet the boys are just lining up to take you out.”
She fidgets, suddenly self-conscious. “I wish. They’re not exactly beating down my door.”
Shy. Unaware of her own allure. I can certainly use that. “And how old are you, Wendy? Twenty? Twenty-one?”
“Twenty-one. Why do you ask?”
“Men your age can be such fools. They chase after the shiny, flashy types.” I nod toward the blonde barista, all push-up bra and fake smiles. “When what they really want—what we all want, in the end—is a woman like Detective DeMarco. Stunning, brilliant, tough as nails.”
Wendy’s eyes widen. “I know, right? She’s such a total badass, but still looks amazing, even after a long shift. Who knew lady cops could be so hot?”
“You know her well, then?”
She leans in, eager to share her secrets with a sympathetic ear. “Oh, not well, but she’s in here a lot. Like clockwork, every morning at nine on the dot. Sometimes, she comes in with the older guy—her partner, I think. They always get matching Americanos, black. It’s kind of their thing.”
I don’t even have to push. Wendy spills Francesca’s secrets willingly, desperate to impress. “Sounds like you’ve got quite the memory. Ever thought about becoming a detective yourself?”
“Me?” she laughs, flattered by the suggestion. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’m cut out for that. I just pay attention, I guess.” She preens under the praise, standing a little taller. “You know, you’re a real nice guy, mister. I don’t meet a lot of guys like you.”
“I do my best.” I flash another megawatt smile. “And while I’m at it, I think I’ll grab one of those ham and Swiss baguettes. Detecting is hungry work, or so I’ve heard.”