Page 17 of Captive Audience

He didn’t even blink when he replied, “Yes.”

There was an awkward silence while we held each other’s stares. Something tightened in my gut. Maybe it was his serious expression or how easy it was to imagine him doing exactly what he’d said, which was ridiculous. No one was that irrational over a person they’d just met.

I burst into laughter at the absurdity of it. Rook grinned like he knew a juicy secret and was dying to tell me.

As my giggles died down, I pointed at him. “You’re good. I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”

He seemed too perfect to be true. Charismatic, quick-witted, and somehow into me. I couldn’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop. Any moment now, he’d give me his crypto sales pitch or tell me his mom still did his laundry.

Maybe this wasn’t a setup. Maybe it was simply my turn to catch a break. I needed to stop second-guessing this stroke of good luck and take the win for once.

“What’s happening here?” I asked, because this felt different from two strangers hooking up in a bar for a night of meaningless sex. It felt like a spark that could ignite something bigger, something dangerous.

“You’re about to break your dry spell. That’s what’s happening.”

I shifted in my seat. “All right. Let’s say I’m considering leaving here with you. You still have to answer some questions to convince me you’re not a serial killer. If you lie, I’ll know.”

“I believe you.Go ahead.”

“Wife or girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Been in prison?”

“Never.”

“Still live with your parents?”

“No. They’ve passed.”

Foot, meet mouth. I understood how much it sucked to talk about a dead parent with someone you hardly knew, so I just said, “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” He gestured across the table. “Please, continue.”

“Your place, mine, or rent a hotel room for an hour?”

“We’re going to need a lot longer than an hour. We can go to my apartment at the Lynch Continental.”

Thank God, because there was no way I was taking a man like Rook to my shitty digs. You could hardly swing a hamster in the one-bedroom I’d downgraded to after losing my job.

“The fancy hotel?”

He nodded. “Penthouse. The top floors are residences.”

The Lynch Continental was one of the most prestigious buildings in the city. Rook must be loaded. Which begged the next question. “What do you do for a job?”

“Business owner.”

“I’m gonna need more than that. What kind of business?”

He grinned wickedly and lowered his chin. “Murder.”

I almost gasped with delight and blurted outMe too!before I checked myself and kept my podcast alter ego under wraps.

It took me half a second longer to register that Rook’s response was odd, at least to anyone who wasn’t in the true-crime game. But then he plucked a dog-eared business card from his wallet and handed it to me.

I laughed when I read it. “Rodent Wranglers. We make pests disappear.” I arched one brow. “You’re an exterminator?”