Page 38 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

I’m on the ground floor in no time, and I don’t wait around to see how close he is. I dive for the main entrance, flying through the door and out onto the street where I’m finally able to take a gasping breath.

But it’s not over yet.

Any second, he’s going to burst from that door, hot on my heels. I sprint across the open street to a dark alley and dive straight into the shadows.

My back slams against the brick wall, chest heaving as my mind races over everything I just saw.

Hunter Cole is a killer. A cold, hard killer. And I’ve got a feeling he wants me next.

I try to calm myself as I watch the building like a hawk, and sure enough, Hunter strides right out, hitting the pavement more relaxed than ever. I don’t take my eyes off him. I physically can’t, and as he heads back down the street the way he came, he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

He frowns slightly before his fingers rush over the screen, and not a moment later, my phone buzzes in my back pocket sending ice down my spine.

Pulling my phone out, I glance at the text, and my stomach sinks.

Hunter: I thought we’d talked about you leaving me on read.

Fuck.

I’m in trouble, and not just the kind of trouble I’d find myself in with Maddox. This is real trouble. The kind of trouble that could end my life.

But the question is, why the fuck am I so turned on by that?

11

LYRA

Okay, so apparently Sundays aren’t as great as I thought they were. At least, not this Sunday in particular.

It took me forever to get through my inventory, only to get caught up working on next week’s roster, and honestly, I’m almost certain I’m going to have to redo it. After seeing Hunter shoot a guy in his doorway, my brain hasn’t been able to keep focused. Naturally, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.

Turns out, I was spot-on when I accused him of being a psychopath or a serial killer the first time we met, but to his credit, he didn’t deny it. I just thought he was trying to be a flirt, that he was picking up on the banter I was throwing his way. How was I supposed to know he was serious?

Fuck. I knew there was something dangerous about him. From the moment I saw him, I could sense it, but this is definitely not what I had in mind. I thought maybe he was a bit of a player, the kind of guy who’s all about the chase, and the moment he had me in bed, he’d take off. But a killer?

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

After I finished in the office, I went to help the girls in the bar, but after screwing up three separate orders, I called it a night. I was just wasting money remaking all the drinks. Now it’s barely even 8 p.m., and for the first time since opening Black Velvet, I’m on my way home.

I wander through the streets, dragging my feet as I replay it in my head on repeat. The way he so casually walked up to the door, the way he stepped away from the peephole and took out his gun. The way he stood in front of that man, raised his hand, and pulled the trigger with no hesitation. He didn’t even flinch. There was no emotion. No freaking out. Just a simple squeeze of the trigger as though murdering people in cold blood is nothing but work to him.

It wasn’t reckless and messy like the murders you see described on TV, the ones where a man loses his shit and goes on a rampage, hacking people to pieces because he’s a small-minded, overly-emotional loser who doesn’t know how to self-regulate. This was calculated and quick.

The more I go over it, the clearer it becomes, this was a hit. Meaning, Hunter Cole is an assassin. Or a hitman.

The idea of him being a hitman . . . well shit. It’s kinda hot. Unless I’m a target, then that’s going to be an issue for me. I’m a pretty fast runner, but I’m not sure evading a psycho killer was on my Bingo card for this year. It seems like a lot of energy, and honestly, with Black Velvet doing so well, I really don’t have the time or energy to put the effort into anything else.

Except Maddox Blake. I’ve got all the time and energy for that, especially if he’s intent on satisfying me so thoroughly each and every time he puts it down.

Goddamn. Just the thought of what Maddox does to me is almost enough to make me forget about what I saw today, but unfortunately, no amount of exceptional dick could make a woman forget about that for long.

I wonder what Smooch would think of Hunter? I’ve always stood by the idea that dogs are a great judge of character. They just seem to know this shit. I wonder if Maddox would be down with me borrowing his dog for a few hours, because if any dog is going to know if Hunter is a psychopath that needs to be avoided, it’ll be Smooch.

Damn. I love that dog. I’ve always wanted one, but living in a small apartment, a billion floors up, while having literally no time on my hands, I’m not sure I’d be able to offer a dog a very happy life. They need grass to run and all the love in the world. It’ll happen for me one day.

I’ve always pictured myself with a huge dog. Bigger than Smooch. Maybe a Great Dane. Midnight black. He’d be the greatest love of my life and my fiercest protector. But that’s as far as I’ve gotten on my future dog planning. I always get stuck when I start thinking about potential names. Nothing seems to be good enough. I’ve thrown around names like Diesel and Butch, but so far, nothing has landed. Maybe it’s one of those things where you have to see the dog before you can name him.

Fuck. How has my night snowballed into this? Strolling through the streets of Onyx Heights wondering the difference between assassins and hitmen, and mentally arguing with myself over a name for a dog I don’t even have?