There was a moment shared between us I should be able to describe given my creative abilities, but not a single word entered my mind. Why was I having such difficulty around a stranger?
“Alexia.” She dragged the tip of her tongue across the plumpness of her bottom lip. “Would you mind signing this for me?”
“A beautiful name and I don’t mind at all. What made you chooseGone Before Dawn?” As I scribbled out her name and short passage of endearment, I expected her to offer a flowery answer, but she remained silent. The air drifting between us was suddenly stale, the only scent traces of vanilla and jasmine, the fragrance warm and subtly seductive.
“The way you captured the essence of the killer, the darkness ebbing and flowing inside his blackened soul called to me. Your descriptions were powerful and raw, a touch graphic while allowing the reader to take a journey into madness. Somehow, you managed to slide into the killer’s mind as if for briefly two sides of the same coin. If only for a little while.”
Everything about her description seemed personal, as if she’d lived in the moment. Compliments of this nature, the sense that through my words on the page the readers had lived the danger suffered by the heroine provided a reason to continue with my art.
A little-known secret. The compliment meant more than the seven-figure checks dropped into my bank account.
However, the wistfulness in her eyes kept my attention. Maybe it had been a long time since I’d served in the capacity of law enforcement, but my instincts and training were the depicted on every page in every book. The lovely woman was hiding something. The look in her eyes appeared as if she was a thousand miles away, reliving a moment. From the book or something else?
“I’m very glad I could provide you with thrilling entertainment.”
My not so decent attempt at making a joke broke the dark and intense spell. She laughed, the sound sweeter than any music tapped into on my satellite radio. “Very much so. While I know your book was a work of fiction, it was based on a true crime. Wasn’t it?”
Her challenge was delicious. “Now, what would make you say that?”
Was I finally catching onto the art of flirtation? I doubted my poker-playing buddies would do anything but chastise my method. However, Alexia was enjoying the banter and that was all that mattered.
“Because I’m an excellent judge of character even within the written word. Plus, you state you’re former a FBI agent in your bio. I can only imagine the stories you have to tell.”
She’d caught me there and I laughed. “I’m not certain if you’re referring to the fictional hero or the man behind the computer screen.”
While I was rewarded with another smile, her eyes were continuously searching mine. A light flush hit her cheeks and my cock stirred.
“Definitely a little of both.”
I stood, the book still in my hand, enjoying every second of basking in her beauty. Since when had I become a lecherous man at my own signing? When I leaned forward, her inhale was quick and far too provocative. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. You’re correct.”
“I thought so. You were the FBI agent who solved the Python Killer case.”
The monster had gained the notoriety based on how he’d tried to eliminate his victims. The case that would forever rattle me.
“In my days serving justice, I was lucky enough to solve several crimes.”
The faraway look appeared again. “Not one so heinous.”
Red flags based on the years I’d worked in the field with the FBI popped up, but I refrained from barraging her with questions as if starting an interrogation. “Perhaps you’re right. Here you go.” Handing her the book, I was already being given the evil eye from the people in line behind Alexia.
She cradled it against her chest. “One last question. The killer. Have you ever thought about the possibility that you convicted the wrong man? I mean if you had, then an innocent man has been languishing in prison for years, soon to be executed.”
Hold on. Was she talking about the Python Killer? While I no longer had regular contact with anyone I used to work with, surely my poker-playing buddies would have shared the news with me. Yes, I’d sequestered myself inside my house for weeks, sometimes months at a time, trying to keep my mojo going. However, with two judges, a DEA agent, and a prosecuting attorney as my best friends, if what Alexia was suggesting was true, I was shocked I’d yet to receive a phone call.
Granted, I’d bagged off two recent poker games based on my deadlines, but a phone worked just as well.
Momentarily stunned, I realized whatever expression I wore had shifted her mindset, allowing her to laugh.
“Within the pages of your book, of course. I could imagine how differently the book would have turned out had you not chosen the person you did.”
“You mean the guilty party or the hero?”
“Maybe both. As with every story, whether real, untold or seen through the eyes of a fantastic author, a single shift in truths, clues, or nuances could alter the outcome of a criminal case.A novel. Real life. Anyway, thank you for all your incredible stories. They keep me sane.”
All FBI agents went through extensive education, including psychological training through the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The focus wasn’t simply about learning skills to catch killers, but also about recognizing characteristics of those who were either lying or in distress.
She wasn’t a killer nor was she lying.
