Cupid (5 page)

“You don’t have any witnesses.”

“This is true.”

“I could get you witnesses.”

Slattery glanced over his shoulder again. “I. . .I don’t want any connection to—”

“Of course not. I would never tell anybody my sources.”

Slattery and Diana talked some more. They did so in whispers and nervous checks of the glass window where Captain Rothschild paced and watched them. They shared a few details between each other, and then promised to figure out an appropriate time that afternoon to exchange the files.

Thirty minutes later, Diana was excused, and a female officer had her signing paperwork and answering a few more tedious questions about Neil.

She answered like a robot, yet on the inside, determination beat within her heart. Unlike other wives who’d just found out that their husbands were brutally murdered, Diana hoped to drown in this mystery, to investigate the people, places, and things the police so often missed. And what would be better than to look into her own husband’s death?

Does he even deserve justice? No, Diana. Stop that. Neil is dead. I can’t be mad at him.

Yet, anger and sadness bubbled in her chest. She pushed it all aside, blinked the tears away, and considered all the new facts that she’d heard tonight.

I need to find witnesses. That’s what the police have been unable to do. I’ll need to find the blonde chick that was seen walking in with Jackson. That will be where I’ll start. Then maybe I can talk to Thomas’s daughter. He was the man found dead at his daughter’s head board while she slept. Why would the killer murder Thomas in his daughter’s room?

Diana had been in the game long enough to know what she was and wasn’t supposed to do. She thought about the news headline she would write later today. It flashed over and over again until it burned into her skull.

A Serial Killer Among Us.

Ovid Island City Police Department would be furious with the article. Her boss would scold her, and then give her his classic wink, but one thing would remain despite it all:

The truth would be out.

He,
whoever he was
, would know that Diana Carson was not the reporter you wanted to fuck with. And if you’re going to kill her husband and his pathetic mistress, you are bound and determined to get caught.

So she waited in the interrogation room, as the police tripped over their own shoes and twiddled their thumbs with evidence.

She waited for them to double check her alibi.

She waited for them to notify her that she could not enter Neil’s extra sex-fest apartment, due to it being a crime scene.

And she waited and waited some more, the whole time, writing her entire news article in her head, until finally, Captain Rothschild let her leave.

“Sorry about your loss, Mrs. Carson,” he said to her as she passed him in the hallway.

“I’m not.” She tossed back her hair and let the heavy police doors slam shut on the way out.

T
he rest of the day
, Diana dived into the murders. She consumed the files Officer Slattery had given her, called up some of her trusty contacts, and was sure she had some good leads to search out in a few hours.

Then a knock came at her office door.

She looked up from her big desk.

A gorgeous man greeted her eyes and said in a deep voice, “Are you Diana Carson?”

Diana was certain he asked a question, though it sounded more like a command. As if the words barreled out of him and fed right into her veins. He was tall, blonde, impeccably dressed in a fitted navy striped suit.

Banker? CEO?

She cleared her throat. “Yes, I am.”

He nodded and pulled a chair up to her desk. “I’d like to offer you a deal.”

Diana’s eyebrows rose.

This should be good. If it involves any sort of sexual bargaining, I’m in
.

“Oh yeah?” She took her hand off her mouse and placed it in her lap. “And what’s that?”

“I would like you to investigate something for me.”

“I’m a news reporter, not an investigator.”

He curved those lovely lips into a smirk. “I’m well aware of who you are.”

“Then you know that if I’m investigating it, then it’s to publish a story. I don’t keep secrets. I share them with the world.”

“Like I said.” His smirk widened. “I’m well aware of who you are. Besides, I believe you would be invested in this deal.”

“Why?”

“Because it involves your husband and his. . .horrific demise.”

A shutter of sadness ran through her. The reaction disgusted her. Wasn’t she supposed to be happy Neil had gone that way? If he’d been a better man, wouldn’t he still be alive? Why the hell could she not be okay with just hearing that Neil was gone?

Pushing all of the emotional chaos out of her head, she swallowed and carefully said, “Maybe you should explain what the deal is.”

“Are you confident that the murderer you wrote about this morning, is a serial killer?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Yes. Why?”

“Most serial killers have specific victims that they target.”

“Yes, this is correct,” she agreed. “I think it’s at least safe to assume that this serial killer targets rich men.”

“Maybe even only rich, white men.” He held his hands out as if to say that he, himself fit that category.

“So my article scared you?”

“It freaked out a lot of people.”

Diana crossed her legs under her desk. “So back to your deal.”

“I researched you.”

“Why?”

“Why not? The point is, I looked up your past works.” He raised his hands and then clapped them slowly. “You’ve accomplished great things, Mrs. Carson. In your years as a lowly reporter for the Miami Times, two serial killers were caught due to your investigative reports. You then transferred to the New York Times and cracked a few federal cases on Wall Street. I can go on and on—”

“But there’s no need to, I know exactly everything I’ve done. What is the deal, Mr. . .? What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Maybe, you should.”

“Perhaps, when the appropriate time for personal conversation is over dinner.”

“I asked for your name, not your social security card.”

“And I asked you out, and you didn’t respond.”

“I’ve just been newly widowed.”

“So you’re single.”

“Umm. . .Excuse me?”

“Back to the deal.”

“Wait.” She held her hand in front of her. “What is your name?”

“Mrs. Carson, I’ll tell you my name, after we’ve agreed to the deal, the one that you will say yes to, because you simply can’t say no. I understand this about you, this woman who has justice and curiosity burning through her veins.” He raised one finger. “This is why I came to your office, among other things. The first reason was to fund your passion, get you on this supposed serial killer haunting our island and targeting people that look just like me.”

She touched her chest. “You want me to investigate this possible serial killer?”

“Yes, and then I want you to give me your number and commit to dinner tonight.”

“Okay. No to dinner. Now, back to—”

“I came to see you. To listen to your voice. To inhale your scent. To maybe get a sense of the feel of your skin. And although, this is a bit much coming from a stranger who’s just trampled into your life barely hours after your dead husband—”

“Excuse me?” Diana rose from her desk. “This is too much.”

“And doesn’t it feel good?”

“What?”

This man that sat before her was a tongue twister of sorts. Somehow he’d lassoed her mind, and had Diana spinning all over the place.

“Doesn’t it feel good to have something be too much in your life,” he said. “Doesn’t it feel good to finally feel something vibrate through to your bones, after this boring and staggered life as a trophy wife for a heartless man?”

“You don’t know me.”

“I want to.” His response exuded confidence that had energy tingling at Diana’s toes. “But first, I need your help.”

“Finding this serial killer?”

“Yes, and I want to fund the entire manhunt. I’m willing to pay for any resources you need. I’m intrigued. I’m wondering if you can really catch this man, after finding so many others.”

“You want me to go on a manhunt?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Interesting,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because we both know you’re going after this man. You’ve probably already started running down clues and witnesses. So why aren’t you telling me yes?”

Something doesn’t feel right. He’s good-looking which explains the bloated ego, but he’s also pretty smart, and really good at leaning others toward his way. I can see it in the smirk on his face. He knows I would do this for him. But why would he want it done? What am I missing?

Diana had already decided to trigger a manhunt herself, but it was personal, something that she needed to solely control. This man’s funding would bring up too much accountability and possibly reveal some of her illegal exploits in digging through clues. But even worse, getting into a deal with this guy might not be a good idea, although she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Detective work is not exactly my job,” she said, trying to buy herself more time to think about the deal. “I’ve found criminals, and helped put many to jail, but I also lost even more, and wasted hundreds of hours on investigations that revealed nothing.”

“You’re a reporter, Mrs. Carson. Of course it’s your job. What I’m offering is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’ll fund you however you desire, as long as you at least try to catch the killer. I would even get this worked out with your boss, make this your main story. I have just recently bought a large part of stock with this newspaper. In a way, you could call me your boss too.”

Diana’s heart thwacked against her chest. “Why would you buy up stock in this newspaper?”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t explain your sudden interest in Ovid Island Newspaper.”

“It’s a grand paper.” He shrugged.

“It’s a small time set-up that doesn’t provide half of the things that USA Today reports, which is why residents still have all the others delivered to their doorsteps.”

“I read this paper every morning.”

“Why did you buy the stock?”

“I like to own things.” He focused his gaze on Diana’s face. Those eyes, golden brown with flecks of dancing emerald and sapphire, stared straight into hers. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. They claimed her, right then. He could have done whatever he wanted with her, and Diana would have been putty in his hands.

“You won’t own me, whether you have all the stock or even if I agree to your deal. There’s no way to own me.”

“Interesting.” He rubbed his hands together and rose from his chair. “I’m a simple man. I don’t try to take much, although I could. These murders interest me, for nothing more than to save my own life. I believe that you could help the police on this island, who basically,” he chuckled, “Are just a bunch of buffoons.”

Diana didn’t believe most of what he said. Sure, he may have been interested in finding the killer’s identity just as Diana was. But that wasn’t the reason he went out of his way to ask her, and even try to buy up the company. There was something else going on in the background. He was invested way more than he cared to say.

Is he protecting someone or something? Men on this island are always committing treachery in all types of ways. What is the benefit to him, if I find the killer?

“Are you over there considering my offer, Mrs. Carson?” A blonde tendril fell over his eye. He pushed it back and crossed his big arms over his chest.

What does he do for a living? Some sort of fitness thing or maybe body building?

“I’m considering it,” she said.

“Just say yes to my deal, and yes to dinner.” He unloosened his arms and checked his watch. “I’ve got to run over to the gym today, so I can be ready for our date tonight.”

“You sure you don’t want to take a day off from the gym?” She looked him up and down, and could care less if he noticed. He’d walked into her office and knocked her off balance. Maybe a bit of flirting would shove him over too. He seemed like a man who needed to be in charge, craved the ability to hunt, what if he was the one that was being hunted?

“You definitely keep in shape. Very sexy.”

He quirked his eyebrows. “This is why I know you’ll say yes for dinner tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “Because of your body?”

“No, you’ll say yes, due to my stamina. I could show you.”

“Show me what?” She bit her lip.

He licked his lips and gestured toward her desk. “Show you my stamina.”

It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. Images cluttered her head. Hot ones, where sweat dripped down his bare chest as he lifted her naked body up, propped Diana on the desk, and rammed into her all night long.

She gasped.

My husband just died, there’s a serial killer on the loose, and all I can do right now is think about this man stripping me down and fucking me.

“And now this part of the conversation must end.” She walked around her desk and made a show of guiding him out.

“I want my answers.”

“I’m giving them to you, as you leave.” She opened the door.

He refused to take another step.

“I’ll say yes to the investigation, but it needs to be in writing with a budget and all guidelines for legal responsibilities. I’ll have my lawyer look over it before signing.”

He stepped her way, and got close to her, too close. Barely two inches or so ran between them. The haunting scent of his cologne snared her, made Diana tilt a little forward in his direction and sniff.

God, he smells good.

“Dinner?”

“I’m now a widow.” She leaned away from him and tried to get together her composure. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to date while mourning.”

“Mourning is about healing. Most use wine, food, and other things to help them get through the process. I’ll be providing all of those tonight.”

“The wine and food?”

He seared her with his gaze. “And the other things.”

Speechless, Diana decided she didn’t care what his motives were, somewhere under all his lies, had to be the truth. The one she’d figured out. She hoped it was something that ended with the two of them in a luxurious bed together.

She just couldn’t rule anything out.

"Okay," she whispered. “But, just dinner.”

"Marvelous,” he whispered and closed in one of the inches between them. “Tonight at seven pm?"

Backing away, Diana reached for the water bottle on her desk and realized too late that it was empty. She was suddenly parched, her mouth dry and scratchy. She'd never been caught this off guard before.

“Where will dinner be?” she asked.”And I don't even know your name. This is ridiculous."

"Asher Bishop.” He extended his hand out. The minute his calloused fingers graced Diana's impossibly smooth palm, she felt it again. The same chilling, air-sucking aura that pressed against her from last night, when she’d stood in the kitchen.
How strange
.

"As in Asher Bishop, millionaire and heir to the Bishop Food Empire?"

His smile didn't waver. Not even a twitch. "I see you've heard of me."

Diana's mind worked on overdrive, trying to piece together any other facts she’d heard about the man.

“Dinner at The Cove tonight, then.” He interrupted her brain scramble. “I'll have my pilot pick you up."

"Pilot?"

"How else would you get there?" He laughed and Diana’s chest was an earthquake. Her bones rattled, her ribs shook and the blood that ran through her veins turned molten. She didn’t know what
this
was, but she wanted to feel it again and again and again.

“I’ve never been to The Cove,” she muttered the words under her breath.

But he’d caught them, and frowned. “Shame on Neil for never taking you. You will love it. This a place where men dine with their women, ones that they love, ones that they’re hoping to show the whole world too.”

“And why are
you
taking me?”

Chuckling to himself, he said nothing else, and walked out without event looking back.

Not one glance over his shoulder or utterance of a smart remark.

He left her there with jumbled emotions and thoughts spiraling in her mind as well as this all-encompassing tremor moving through her limbs.

She wasn't sure what to be more worried about: the fact that Asher Bishop, handsome and wealthy millionaire had just offered to fund her very own murder investigation that dealt with her husband, or that he looked at her with an intensity that set her heart ablaze.

This is all in my mind. Neil just died. I’ve gotten almost no sleep. I’m probably just a mental mess. What am I even thinking.

Yet, for the first time that day, fear pounded in her heart, and it had nothing to do with the serial killer that had been wreaking havoc on the island. Maybe, it was the deal, and the oddness of the invitation. Perhaps, it was his suspicious involvement or how he’d basically offered her money and his cock all in one swift conversation.