tried to work through the puzzle. “He didn’t hurt you. He just went after Donnie.” Another vic who seemingly fit this particular killer’s pattern. Cedric had been right on that point. It was good that he’d come to get her at the bank so they didn’t waste too much time. “Why didn’t you tell the cops that you saw him?”
Cinnamon had clamped her lips together.
Chloe motioned to Joel. This was his time to step up and get the woman talking.
Joel cocked his head and nodded as if he’d figured out Cinnamon. “You don’t trust the cops.”
“Why should I? What have they ever done for me?” She licked her lips. “You want the truth? That man in the alley…the man who killed Donnie? He did more for me than a cop ever would.” She stomped forward and wrenched open the door to her room. “I didn’t see his face. He had on a ski mask. I can’t tell you a damn thing about him. Now get out. Your time is up.”
A private dance sure didn’t last long these days. Chloe headed for the door. She wanted to go into the alley and look around herself. But first… “Are you chewing gum?”
“No.” Cinnamon squinted at her.
“You smell very…sweet.”
A rough laugh came from Cinnamon. “That’s my body butter. Bubblegum flavored. Makes me smell sweet. The customers love it.”
“I’m sure they do.” There were so many other things she wanted to ask Cinnamon.
But Cinnamon wasn’t laughing any longer. Her gaze was locked hard on Chloe. “I didn’t get your name,” she suddenly said. Cinnamon’s eyes were a deep, bold green.
“Chloe. Chloe Hastings.”
Cinnamon’s lower lip trembled. “God…he meant you…” She wheezed out a breath. “Come and get me.”
“I beg your pardon?” Chloe was sure she must have misunderstood.
“He said…Killer wanted me to tell someone named H-Hastings…Come and get me.” Her breath panted out. “Guess he’s your friend or something, huh?”
Or something, yes.
Chapter Four
“Do killers normally taunt you and ask you to hunt them down?” Joel rocked back onto his heels as he stood in the middle of a dirty, stinking alley. “Asking for a friend.”
Chloe was shining her phone—or rather, her phone’s light—at the back of the brick building. He could hear the distant beat of music from inside the club. “It’s not the first time,” she replied, sounding totally cool and collected.
He jerked to attention. “Bullshit.” It had better be bullshit.
“I am quite well-known in certain circles.” The light flew over the ground. “The crime scene team did a thorough job out here. I wish Cedric had contacted me before the PD sent in a clean-up crew, though.”
“Oh, right, because it’s always fun to find blood and guts on the ground. Best time ever.”
She swung toward him. Her light hit him in the face. “You seem awfully grumpy.”
Grumpy? “You have no idea.” He blew out a breath and then four more. “I want to know what’s happening. Every detail. Don’t leave anything out.”
“Why? You came along willingly enough when I told you that we were hunting a killer. I mean, you didn’t even ask for specifics. Just grabbed your shoes and your motorcycle—which I really liked, by the way—and sort of bounded into action.”
Adrenaline still churned in his veins. “I want to know exactly what’s going on—and, dammit, will you get the light out of my face?”
The light dropped. “Fine.” She shuffled closer. Probably hard to do in the dark and in those heels. “We’re hunting a killer.”
He would not growl at her. But he wanted to. “Does the killer have a name?”
She laughed. “That’s funny. Obviously, if we knew his name, we’d have him behind bars.”
He growled.
She stopped laughing. “I have his profile, so that’s almost as good as a name. We’re looking for a Caucasian, mid-twenties to early thirties. Fit. After all, he has to be strong if he’s going to attack his victims and beat them into submission.”
Holy hell.
“He attacks at night. Stalks his prey before making a move. The profile on him indicates that is because the perp wants to make sure his targets are guilty before he goes in for the kill.”
His mouth had gone dry. “Did you make the profile?”
More laughter. It was…musical. Weird as all hell given their situation and location. “Of course, not. I’m no behavioral analyst. Do I look like I work for the FBI? I told you already, I’m freelance—”
“Freelance with the PD. Some mystery freelance person who has killers inviting her to hunt them down.”
“According to the FBI’s profile, this perp punishes those