napkins from the dispenser as coffee dripped over the side of the table. He tossed her a quick glance as he mopped. “Call me Paul. When you say Mr. Thompson, I think of my dad.”
She pulled out a chair as he grabbed a fresh layer of napkins and sopped up the last of the liquid.
“Can I get you a coffee or tea?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” She took a seat and did her best to look relaxed.
“Sure?” He gathered up the sopping mess of napkins and dumped them in the trash before he dried his hands and then threaded long fingers through his hair. “Thanks for suggesting this coffee shop. I never would have found the place if you had not mentioned it. It might be my new favorite hangout.”
“Glad to be of service,” she said.
He sat, and again his fingers combed through his hair. “You grew up here, right?”
He was trying to make conversation, trying to break the ice and win her over to his side. She imagined in his computer was a big fat dossier on her history. “I did. What about you?”
“Tennessee,” he said.
“That was where you became interested in podcasts?”
“I was an English major and always liked storytelling. But try and pay the light bill with that. Then I got the idea for a podcast. As you might guess, there are lots of recording studios in Nashville, so all I had to do was find the right story.”
“You’ve found several stories,” she said. “I listened to the one about the missing girl in North Carolina. Very compelling.”
“I thought so.”
“Did your story help the police solve the case?”
He sat a little taller. “They’ve been inundated with fresh leads, but so far no arrests.”
She imagined that most of those leads were dead ends. Everyone wanted to be famous, and attaching themselves to a successful podcast was a way to do it.
“I reviewed your list of the Fireflies. You’ve done a great deal of homework.” She had cross-checked a sampling of the facts he’d listed by the thirteen names and discovered everything was correct.
“I’m a good investigator.” His eyes darkened and shifted, as if he sensed they had moved beyond the pleasantries and were getting down to brass tacks.
“I can see that.” She steered the conversation. “Why this case?”
“It’s gripping,” he said. “Elijah is the brilliant loner, outcast. The perfect archetype for a story. And now that Elijah is out of prison, people will be curious about his next move and the women who are attracted to him.”
“That’s all past tense,” she said. “What do you think he wants now?”
Thompson sat back, regarding her for a beat, before he said, “To get revenge against the people who put him in jail.”
Her heartbeat kicked against her ribs. “How can you be so sure?”
“He’s already used one Firefly, Lana Long, to spy on your late husband last year. And there’s an online group for the Fireflies. Lana did her share of talking to some of the others until she died,” he said.
“You know about the online group?” she asked.
“I know how to dig.”
“Why was the group taken down six months ago?” she asked.
He grinned. “I’ve been pretty generous with my information. Now it’s your turn to talk.”
“You said you were from Tennessee. You must have heard about Sarah Cameron’s murder.”
His eyes narrowed. “I did. Her death is part of the reason I’m determined to finish this podcast.”
“Why?”
“I interviewed her. I liked her.”
“Liked her? You slept with her.”
He shrugged. “We were both adults. You knew Elijah in college.”
Ann ignored him. “Do you have any idea about who could have hurt Sarah?”
“I have theories.”
“Such as?”
“I’ve said too much. Now it’s your turn. I want to interview you.”
She drew in a careful breath, wondering whether he was recording this conversation. “When you and I first met, you mentioned my son.”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quickly. “I was trying to break through the ice and get your attention.”
“You got my attention.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “If I agree to be interviewed, I want your word you will not involve my son.”
He regarded her. “I will agree to that.”
She was making a deal with the devil, but if she could protect Nate, she would do it. “Give me a couple of days. It’s the beginning of the school year. Everything’s crazy.”
“Saturday.”
She supposed he was trying to be generous, but she also sensed an underlying threat if she did not agree. “Text me the location.”
“You won’t regret this.”
She already did.
Elijah pulled into the