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He wrinkled his nose. ”You don’t strike me as stupid, sweetheart.”
I felt my cheeks flush at the endearment, unsure if it was a genuine compliment or a calculated move on his part. I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. ”Thanks,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Victor leaned closer to me, his breath hot against my ear. ”But there's something else,” he said, his voice low and husky. ”I can tell.”
”What?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat.
”Something that's driving you. Something that's fueling your determination. What is it?” he said, his low voice sending a shiver down my spine.
”There’s nothing,” I replied, trying my best to keep my heartbeat under control, even though it was hammering in my chest.
”Don’t lie to me,” he snarled. Fuck, he sounded so hot, and so feral, and so angry. Like he was waiting for me to fuck up so he could hurt me. It sent a shiver down my spine…and down the rest of my body.
I didn’t have time to explore what the fuck that was about, so I turned my head to look at him instead.
I didn’t have anything to lose by being honest, I was already there, I was already not going anywhere, and he looked like he was so curious about me. Far more than any date I’d ever had, probably.
But still.
”I’m not going to tell you anything,” I said. ”Unless you tell me something too.”
”Like what?”
”Whatever I want,” I replied, turning to look into his eyes. His pupils dilated as he set his gaze on me. ”A little quid pro quo. I’ll be honest with you if you’re honest with me.”
He considered my offer for a second, then his smile widened. I saw the golden hue in his light eyes, the dark ring around his irises, the way his eyelashes curled up toward his brows. His features were sharp; in a less striking face, they might’ve even looked ugly, but he made it work. ”Okay, Clarice,” he said. ”A little quid pro quo sounds good.”
”I think in this case, you’re Clarice.”
He laughed softly. ”Fine,” he said. ”But you start. I asked first.”
I took a deep breath. ”My mom was a journalist,” I said. ”She was investigating this old serial killer, this trucker who went around Miami and the rest of the state, and then he would drive up and down the bible belt killing coeds. To be clear, she wasn’t going to put anyone in jail. He was already in prison, he’d been sentenced to death. But my mom was convinced that he had killed more victims than the public knew about and she made it her life’s mission to find out about them. She tried to pitch this to a bunch of newspapers but no one wanted the story, so she started this blog.”
He waited for me as I took another sip of my now lukewarm coffee.
”It did really well,” I continued. ”She didn’t go viral, exactly, but she got interview requests, that kind of thing. She became a public figure even though she didn’t want to be.”
”Would I have heard of this blog?”
I shook my head. ”Unless you were big into true crime like five years ago, I seriously doubt it. My mom wasn’t worried, and honestly, neither was my dad. He worked sales for a water treatment company and he liked helping her out. I think it was the most excitement he’d had for a while, at least since my brother and I had moved out of the house.”
”Something happened.”
I breathed out, trying to contain a sob. Getting to this part of the story always made me feel like screaming. ”And then, a few months into this, they died. It was a car accident, on the interstate. The mechanic said their brakes were faulty. No one else was hurt.”
”I’m sorry.”
I rubbed my cheek as I felt a fat tear stream down my face. ”Thanks,” I said. ”But the thing is, it doesn’t make any sense.”
Victor leaned in closer, his expression softening. ”What do you mean?” he asked gently.
”I mean that the brakes on my parent’s car were fine,” I said, my voice trembling. ”I know this because my dad was meticulous about car maintenance. He checked everything, always. And honestly, they both hated driving on the freeway. The fact that they were there in the first place makes no sense. My dad wouldn’t have let my mom drive a car with faulty brakes.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed. ”So, what are you saying?”
”I don’t know,” I said, feeling frustrated tears welling up in my eyes. ”But I’ve always felt like something wasn’t right. Like someone wanted them dead.”
Victor's face grew serious. ”Do you think it was intentional?” he asked.
