Chapter 3
THREE
I rushed back to the lobby and sat down at the desk. I was flipping through the disguised magazine when the bell above the door chimed, and you walked in. I kept my breathing steady as I glanced at you, hoping you wouldn’t notice the sweat gathered along my brow.
You were wearing an oversized sweatshirt and shorts that hid beneath the hem.
If I hadn’t watched you put them on, I would’ve thought you had nothing under it.
Your hair was wet, and your face was free of any makeup.
Your laptop was still tucked under your arm, and you made your way to the small sitting area in the corner, eyes flicking shyly to me.
All I did was watch you, pretend like my heart wasn’t in my throat, like you had no effect on me. But you did. You were the only thing I could focus on, the only thing I noticed. Even though you were silent, you took up all my attention.
Time passed, the only sound was the clicking of the keys on your keyboard. It seemed like you were lost in thought, but then your stomach growled, and your head shot up. You looked embarrassed.
It was cute.
We stared for a moment, and then I huffed out a laugh. “I have some food in the back.” I threw my thumb over my shoulder. “I can make you something.”
“Oh, no.” You waved your hand dismissively. “Don’t do that.”
But I was already on my feet, moving toward the old fridge in the back room. I didn’t know what you liked, so I picked my favorite frozen dinner, and popped it in the microwave.
I tapped my fingers against the counter, hating myself for making an excuse to get away from you. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to do it to stop myself from pouncing.
The microwave beeped, and I pulled the little plastic tray out. Grabbing a fork, I went back to you, finding you sitting eagerly, eyes wide and bright, a more genuine smile on your face.
But still not the real one.
I set it on the small table in front of you and sank onto the chair on the opposite side. You hesitated, eyes flicking from the food to me, but I gestured for you to eat, and you scooted to the edge of your seat.
You devoured it. And I watched.
Occasionally, you glanced my way, your lips twisted coyly, eyes glittering beneath the dim, golden light. I never took my gaze off you.
Finally, you were done, and you leaned back, tucking one of your feet beneath you. I steepled my fingers together, waiting for you to say something. And when you finally spoke…it wasn’t what I expected.
“Do you have a deck of cards?”
I blinked.
“Cards,” I repeated, and you nodded a few times. I laughed as I got to my feet and went to the desk, pulling open a drawer and fishing around for the old deck of cards I knew were somewhere in the back.
Once I found them, I sat across from you once more and laid the deck on the table between us. You looked giddy as you snatched it up and began shuffling them. One by one, you dealt our cards out.
“Know how to play rummy?”
My brows rose.
“I do.”
“Great.”
And for the next hour, that’s what we did. We played. You won sometimes, other times I did, but it was fun—something I couldn’t say I’d felt in this office many times before.
“Did your parents own this place before you?” you asked.
“My aunt.” I spread the cards between my fingers. “I inherited it from her when she died a few years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss,” you said softly. Genuinely.
“Thanks,” I said, watching as you looked at your cards, lips twisting to the side. “Have you always been a writer?”
“For as long as I can remember.” You put a card down. “I’ve always loved investigating and learning the truth.”
My stomach twisted painfully.
“Are you a journalist?”
“Novelist.” You glanced at me like you were contemplating telling me more. “I write mostly true crime stories.”
Fuck.
That was the only word bouncing around my skull.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“So, why are you here?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as I could.
“I’ve heard about…” You waved dismissively. “You probably don’t want to talk about this.”
“I do.” You bit your lip, and my eyes zeroed in on it immediately. “Tell me what you’ve heard.”
“Well,” you scooted closer, dropping your voice to a near-whisper, “I’ve heard that ten women have gone missing from this area over the last few years.”
“Really?” I stared at my cards, though I wasn’t really seeing them. “That’s awful. What happened to them?”
“No one knows.”
My heart relaxed slightly.
“But I think there’s a serial killer out here.”
A card slipped between my fingers and floated to the floor, landing right between my boots.
“A serial killer?” I repeated, brows raised, throat tight. “That’s…that’s ridiculous.”
“They’re a lot more common than you think,” you said.
“It’s not that I don’t think they’re common, but…” I grabbed the card from the floor. “A serial killer? Here, of all places? I don’t think so.”
You shrugged. “It’s just a theory,” you said. “Your turn.”
Silence stretched between us for a few moments, then I cleared my throat. “Why do you think it’s a serial killer?”
“They all go missing from the same area,” you explained. “No one has been found. All the women look similar—”
Like you.
“And their jewelry was missing from their belongings. At least, the few women’s belongings that had been recovered.”
I didn’t know anything had been recovered, so thank you for that news, little doe. I’ll do a better job in the future.
“None of that sounds like a serial killer to me,” I said dismissively. “If no bodies have been found, how do you know they’re even dead?”
You shrugged. “Just a feeling I have.”
“A pretty morbid feeling, I’d say.”
It was your turn again, and you put your card down. More silence fell between us.
“You haven’t noticed anything weird?” you asked. “No one strange lurking around?”
“I don’t leave the office much,” I said.
“No one has checked in—”
“The last people who checked in were an old married couple, and that was…” I stared up at the ceiling as I thought. “That was over a week ago.”
You nodded a few times. “If I show you the photos of the women, could you—”
“I just said no women have checked in recently.”
“These aren’t recent missing persons.” You reached for your laptop. “They span over the last few years.”
I took a deep breath, one so deep it hurt my lungs. “Fine.”
You weren’t going to give up, I knew that, so I let you have this win. You turned your laptop around, showing me rows of women’s photos.
I recognized every single one of them.
I leaned forward, peering at each one, putting on a show for you. Slowly, I shook my head. “No,” I said softly. “I don’t recognize anyone.”
“Are you sure?” You turned the brightness on the laptop all the way up. “None of these women checked in here?”
I took my time scanning each face, remembering the way each of them felt, the noises they made when I pressed my knife into them for the first time. The way my body came alive as their blood oozed from the wounds.
“No,” I said again. “I’m sorry.”
Your shoulders drooped in defeat, and I had to hold my triumphant smile back. “Thank you for looking,” you said, sighing. “I just hate not knowing what happened to them.”
“Maybe they ran away.”
“Maybe.” You didn’t sound convinced, though. You stacked the cards into a neat pile and slid them back into their little cardboard home. “You know, I’m really tired. I think I’m going to head back to my room.”
I knew you were lying. You weren’t tired.
But I couldn’t call you out on that lie—not yet. So I nodded as I stood and gestured for the door.
“Do you want me to walk you back?” I asked. “Apparently, there’s a serial killer on the loose.” I laughed, but you didn’t. You just shook your head, looking far too serious.
“I’ll be alright.” You tucked your laptop under your arm again and headed for the door. “If you think of anything, tell me, please. I…I’ve always wanted to interview a serial killer.”
And then you disappeared.