Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Well, Mr. Raven, thank you for talking with me.” She handed him her business card. “I may be in touch with you again later. It was nice speaking with you.”
He nodded, his eyes squinting as he inhaled. Curls of smoke eddied from his mouth and in that moment, it was almost as if it was just him and her in a fog. Such a strange feeling, looking into those killer blue eyes of his. He was a wildly attractive man, yet unassumingly so. Somehow, the oils and grime made him all the more desirable. He had beautiful teeth despite being an apparent smoker, and he smelled of soap, as well as a bit of sweat, but had no strong odor. His scent was subtle—the scent of a working man who still practiced good hygiene. She turned away while he followed behind her. A sludge of anxiousness filled her as she quickly spun around to face him again, her fingers grazing her gun. His gaze immediately dropped to her hip, to her 45 resting there, like a friend parked outside.
“You’re not from here. You sound like you’re from Beantown.”
Her lips curled in a happy grin. “Yes, I’m from Boston.”
“Are you only here in Portland for business?”
“No … well, yes, but I live here now.”
“Where?” He stepped a bit closer to her, and now she could smell a slight bit of cologne, too. Clean and fresh.
“In Eastside, in Munjoy Hill.”
He nodded, tapping his cigarette so ashes fell onto the asphalt, then brought it back to his lips.
“It’s nice over there. You’re pretty.”
“Thank you, Mr. Raven.”
“I don’t see a weddin’ ring.”
“Divorced.”
“Boyfriend? Dating doesn’t count. If there’s no commitment, then I’m shooting my shot.”
She tried to hold her instinctive smile at that. What an ego.
“My private life isn’t part of this discussion, Mr. Raven.”
“Neither was my last name. Ya wanna go out?”
“…What?” Her heart quickened.
“Out. Ya know, go out on a date? Dinner? A boat ride maybe. I could show ya around.”
“Uh, Mr. Raven,” she chuckled, “though I’m flattered, this is strictly—”
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t kill no fuckin’ body. So I’ve got nothin’ to do with your business here in my part of town. That’s between you and someone else. Sure as shit isn’t me.” He spoke so calmly, but his eyes said it all as they drilled right into her. Through her. Now he was so close to her, she could make out every nuance of his gorgeous face… and it was to die for. “Am I still a suspect after our little chat? Despite cameras showin’ you people that I wasn’t there, and I haven’t been to that beach in forever?”
“I can’t discuss the particulars of the case in that fashion, Mr. Raven, but the more helpful you are, the quicker we can remove all doubt.”
“So, I am still a suspect.” He chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head as if disgusted. He tossed his cigarette onto the ground and smashed it with his boot. “Dinner. Tomorrow. I’ll answer more questions for you.” He smirked, waving a carrot before her. “What do ya say?”
A part of her screamed to say no, while another part of her figured she could find out more about him this way, even if he lied the entire time. Besides, she had in fact suggested they go get a drink at the beginning of this conversation. What did it matter if he wanted, in his own twisted mind, to change this to something with romantic leanings? This would be an opportunity to discover who he truly was, as well as understand why people had placed him at the scene of one of the crimes.
Not only that, but he also matched, at least in part, the FBI profile. The killer would be a bit of a loner. Intelligent. Know the area. Physically strong, allowing him to overpower these men, some of whom were fairly strong themselves. He would be heterosexual, based on the lack of sexual assaults on the victims, and said victims being majority heterosexual, too. There was no sexual component to these murders, unlike with the majority of other male serial killers who murdered strictly men—which made this even more bizarre.
There were other things about Nikolai that fit the bill, too, but based on her interaction with him today, she was sure whatever ideas she had about him would morph with each kernel of information she retrieved, with the truth unraveling right before her eyes. Besides, there were two other suspects. She had tried to speak with this Ethan guy, but he was currently out of town, and the third, Lincoln Torres, she’d yet to visit.
So there was no hard proof that Nikolai Raven was in fact the guy who’d taken Clark Johnson’s life. Maybe he was truly innocent. Only time would tell.
“Okay. I’ll go to dinner with you tomorrow evening.”