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“I don’t understand.”
“I have friends who’ve been waiting for months! Friends that were denied. You know, actual cool people.” She shakes her head. “Fucking algorithms.”
“You said that.”
“Well, Beacon is—” she recovers long enough to catch her breath. “It’s a very exclusive app. Honestly, they don’t let justanyonein.”
“I’m not just anyone.”
“Yeah, sure, Mr. FBI. I know. I’ve heard the stories.”
“FormerFBI. Professional liar is more accurate these days. P.I. work is not glamorous, if you couldn’t tell.”
She turns toward the window. “You must miss it.”
“Not really.”
When she meets my eye again, she knows she’s pressed a raw wound, and she softens, or at least as much as possible for a woman like Nadia. “You should put your height in there. Women love that.”
“I doubt the suspect cares.”
“The dead men in that stack of photos tell a different story.”
“Okay, I’ll add my height to my bio.”
“Give yourself the liberty of adding an inch or two. It’s not like anyone’s going to show up with a measuring tape.”
This time it’s me who laughs. She doesn’t know women the way she thinks she does. “You never know.”
I wait for her to speak, but when it looks like she has nothing else to add to the conversation, I rub my palms together. “What else?”
She studies me for a long moment. “You don’t date much, do you?”
“I do all right.”
“Well, if you’ve been on a dating site or app for any time at all, you’ve probably noticed that most profiles look very similar to one another.” Her brow arches. “It’s like everyone is playing some bland game of Mad Libs. You just fill in the blanks of the same exact profile. ‘Hi, I’m blah! I have these three good traits and an ideal virtue you wish you had but don’t. I enjoy [activity] with my friends or watching [popular television show or movie] at home. I’m here to [hedge and say you want to meet new people], and I’d love to [flirtatious invitation].’”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have friends and there aren’t many activities I enjoy.”
She shifts her stance. “C’mon, boss, that’s my point. You’re more than the sum of your Netflix queue! Where’s the originality? Where’s the panache? Dating profiles shouldn’t read like job resumes. Your personality, sense of humor, and storytelling ability are far more important than straight facts and demographics. It’s an art. You have to draw people in.”
“Great. But I still don’t know what that means. And stop calling me boss.”
“Whatever. Let’s take another look at the profiles of the dead guys.”
“The victims.”
“Whatever.” She gets a look on her face whenever she concentrates. All business. Pure logic. Low emotion. “First thing you have to consider is that the average reply rate is only about 30 to 50 percent for men. So what you want to ask yourself is what they all had in common. How did they get her attention—much less a date?”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. For weeks.”
“Here Donovan Roberts.” She grabs the mouse, reinvading my personal space. She clicks on his file, and then drags the folder that contains the crime scene photos across the desk, hitting my cold cup of coffee in the process. I grab the mug before it topples over. Nadia points at the screen. “Says here he likes live music and travel.”
“Everyone likes that.”
“Yes, but if you notice, he wrote that he wasn’t looking for anything serious. He’s living in the here and now. At least he was, anyway. He wasn’t talking about the future. And neither was Michael Hollis or Kevin Stewart or Stan Reynolds. Their profiles specifically state they were looking to network,” she says, using air quotes for “looking to network”. “They were interested in making professional connections, whereas what you have here suggests you’re up for walking down the aisle next month.”
“Isn’t that what women want?”
