“You stopped a killer before. You and your partner, I guess? War? I like that name way better than Warren, by the way. Sounds a lot tougher.”
He just waited.
She sucked in a breath. “I’m desperate, you see. That’s why I pulled all of that money out of my savings and I came here.” She lowered her voice. “I know some PIs like to deal only in cash.”
They did? Since when?
“If you don’t take the case, I will go to someone else. But after I saw your agency on the news, and since you have such great experience in my particular area of concern, I thought you’d be the best fit for me.”
He would not imagine how they would fit together. He could be professional. He normally was professional.
His gaze dipped over to her swinging foot.
“You stopped one serial killer, so I know you will be able to stop another.”
His gaze flew back to her face. “What?”
She gave an encouraging nod of her head. “You can stop this guy, too. With my help, we can get him locked away in no time. The streets—and my neighborhood—will be safe again.”
He was trying to follow along. Odin hadn’t had a drop to drink from the bar downstairs. Totally sober, but…still confused. “You have a serial killer in your neighborhood?” Was that what Maisey was trying to tell him?
She leaned closer. Her hands flattened on the desk. “Yes.”
He shook his head.
She nodded. “Not just in my neighborhood.” Her voice dropped as if to reveal a secret. “He lives right next door to me.”
Odin stared into her gleaming eyes. Let his gaze sweep over her beautiful face. A few more tendrils of hair had escaped to slide around her cheekbones. “Look,” he began gruffly. “I’m sure you got scared after all the news stories started circulating, but there aren’t serial killers clustering in the streets. You are perfectly fine and—”
“I’m not crazy.”
He didn’t remember using the c-word. He’d carefully avoided that word. War had told him it was bad for business and to not use it, no matter what clients might say when they strode through his office door.
“Is that what you think?” Maisey’s voice notched up. “That I saw what happened to those other women and I got scared and started imagining things? That I am imagining a serial killer next door?”
He had considered that option, yes.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re just like the cops.”
No, he wasn’t. He didn’t have a badge. He had a PI license. “You, ah, went to the cops with this story?”
She jumped off the desk. Began to pace. “They didn’t believe me, either. Why not?” She swung back toward him. “Do I give off some vibe that says I’m delusional? Because I am not delusional, I assure you of that. I know what is happening. I know I am on to something dangerous, and I just need concrete proof.” She pointed at him. “That is where you come in.”
“Me?”
“You.” She nodded. “You’ll help me find irrefutable evidence that the cops can’t deny.” She started pacing again. Fast, determined strides.
“Irrefutable evidence…that your neighbor is a serial killer.” His head tilted as he studied her. She was quite fascinating to watch. The faded jeans she wore clung lovingly to a truly world-class ass.
Not that he was supposed to be noticing things like that. Don’t focus on a client’s ass. He was sure that was probably one of War’s rules for the office.
“Exactly! Undeniable proof that he is guilty!” She spun and beamed at him. “So we have an agreement? You’ll take my case?”
He offered her a strained smile in return but said, “No.”
The wattage on her killer grin dimmed. “Excuse me?”
“Do you watch true crime movies?” His fingers began to tap against the edge of the desk.
“Well, sure, who doesn’t?”
“And let me guess…whodunits, are those your favorite books?” More tapping.
“I love Agatha Christie. Is that some kind of sin?”
Nope. No sin. His fingers kept tapping. “Do you listen to murder podcasts?”
Her chin jerked up. “I might have my own podcast. So what if I do?”
He nodded and his fingers stilled. “I get it. That’s popular these days. And with the shows and podcasts saying killers are everywhere…you started seeing them…everywhere.”
Her jaw hardened. “I’m not seeing them everywhere.” She stalked back toward him. “I’m seeing one killer—one particular killer—right next door. I want you to help me prove that he’s guilty.”
“Yeah, that’s the part I’m getting stuck on.”
“Stuck?”
He tried to be delicate. Not really his strong suit, but he made an effort. “I can’t take your money for something I might not be able to do. Just wouldn’t be right. Not ethical, you get me?”
“Come again?” Judging by her expression, she obviously did not get him.
“Say I take the case. I start investigating. Only I discover that your neighbor is just some normal Joe and not a secret killer who is hacking up people in his basement.”
“He doesn’t have a basement,” she mumbled.
Not the point. “If I find out you don’t have Dexter next door, then you’ll have lost your savings.” His gaze darted to the wad of money still on his desk. “I wouldn’t feel good about that.”
“Why not? I’d feel great.”
She…what? He narrowed his eyes as he studied her. He could not figure out this woman. So much for tact.
“If you can prove I’m wrong, that’s fabulous. Wonderful.” She skirted around his desk. He turned to face her, and the legs of his chair squeaked. “I will be able to sleep at night,” Maisey continued as she came to a halt inches from him. “I’ll stop feeling like I might be next on his hit list. Take the case. Guilt or innocence—that’s what we’re proving. You have real experience at this—”
Not so much. He’d handled one serial killer case, and he’d primarily worked in the background on it. She was under the way wrong impression. He tried to correct the situation. “I, uh—”
“Your agency stopped the last killer that terrorized this state.” She was directly in front of him. Her delectable scent surrounded Odin. “With your experience and my enthusiasm—”
The lady had plenty of enthusiasm, all right. He’d definitely give her points for that.
She leaned forward and put her hands down on the arms of his chair. “We can do this!”
He knew what he wanted to do. It involved leaning forward and kissing that delectable mouth of hers.
Not what she was trying to hire him to do.
“Help me,” Maisey entreated. Her voice was husky and her gaze was so deep and Odin didn’t want to look away. He couldn’t look away. “What do you have to lose? I am paying you, and you just might bag a killer. Double win.”
He searched her eyes. Considered the situation. “If I tell you no, what will you do?”
Her lips pressed together. Then, “Don’t tell me no.” Almost a plea.