“Latte,” I say with a small smile.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice calmer now. “I’ll be right back.”
He walks out slowly, closing the door behind him. The moment it clicks shut, I turn to the monster sitting across from me.
He leans back against the chair frame, posture loose, and locks his eyes onto mine again. His jaw tightens slightly.
He is watchingme.
“Do you like coffee?” I ask. My palms begin to sweat as I press them together and lean forward against the table. “I do,” I add with a quiet chuckle.
My hand lifts to the strand of hair that has fallen onto my forehead. I tuck it behind my ear and adjust my glasses.
He keeps staring.
Not a word.
I pick up one of the photographs from the table. I slide it closer to him.
“Did you know her?” I ask, then lift my gaze to meet his.
Ten seconds pass.
Nothing.
Then he shakes his head.
He answered.
“Okay,” I exhale.
Why am I so damn nervous?
He makes me nervous.
“What was her name?” I ask.
She was listed as Jane Doe. A victim without an identity. He took even that from her.
Another ten seconds pass.
This time, he doesn’t shake his head. He lowers his hand and presses a finger against the printed words Jane Doe. He taps twice.
“How did you meet her?” I ask, lifting my eyes to his again.
Silence again.
He doesn’t speak.
My lips part to continue, but the door swings open and the detective steps back inside, carrying two cups of coffee. He sets the cup down on the table, without saying a word.
I lift the cup to my lips, wrapping my hands around it. Steam curls upward, warming my face. I take a breath and chuckle softly.
“I forgot where I put my last cup of coffee.”
Zayne tilts his head. He leans forward slightly and motions with his chin behind me.
When I turn, I see the cup sitting on the table near the door. I must have placed it there when I came in.
