Page 4 of X Marks the Stalker (The Hemlock Society #1)

“Your jacket bulges,” he says, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I notice things like that. Inconsistencies. Patterns.” A flash of embarrassment crosses his face. “That sounded creepier than intended. I don’t just...stare at women’s clothes. Professional habit. Observation. ”

He holds up the bag of gummy worms, examining it like evidence. “Mind if I...?”

Before I can answer, he opens the package and pulls out a green and red worm. His eyes lock with mine as his tongue touches the candy first, then drags it slowly across his bottom lip before his teeth close around it.

The way his mouth moves as he chews should be illegal. Or at the very least, regulated by some sort of government agency.

“Sweet and sour,” he says, his voice rougher than before. “Not unlike you, I suspect.”

My mouth turns to sand.

I swallow hard, trying to ignore how this stranger just made eating candy look like something that should require an ID to watch.

“So, Oakley Novak,” he leans against the doorframe, his posture casual while his eyes remain laser-focused. “Since I’ve crushed your undercover operation, perhaps I could make it up to you with dinner?”

The question throws me off balance.

“Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner. That meal people typically enjoy in the evening.” His mouth curves into something between a smirk and a smile that’s both teasing and tempting. “I know a place not far from here. Excellent wine list. Private booths.”

His voice caresses “private” in a way that sends blood rushing to places it has no business going right now.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” my mouth says, while my body stages a mutiny.

He tilts his head. “Why not? You want information about this club. I’m a member. Perfect match. ”

“Because I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

“Who says both can’t be enjoyable?” Another step closer brings another wave of his cologne. “Information and...other satisfactions.”

My traitorous body responds with a flutter low in my belly.

It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by anyone but myself that I’m practically vibrating with need.

And this man—with his perfect suit and knowing eyes and the way he looks at me like I am dinner—definitely seems like the type who wouldn’t need a GPS to find my clit.

I take a step back, my brain finally catching up with my libido.

The Gallery Killer. What if it’s him?

He matches the loose profile I’ve been building. He’s a member, he has the physical strength, access to victims, and most importantly, the ability to move through high society without raising suspicions.

And he’s standing right in front of me, eating my damn gummy worms.

Sexy, murderous killer.

The words float through my mind like a neon warning sign, but they excite as much as they alarm me. What kind of sick person am I?

“You seem to be having an interesting internal debate,” he says, breaking into my thoughts. “Care to share with the class?”

I force a casual smile. “Just wondering if I should break my own rules.”

“Rules are made to be broken,” he says, and the way his voice dips lower sends a shiver down my spine. “Especially self-imposed ones. ”

If he is the killer, going to dinner with him is either the stupidest or smartest thing I could do. Stupid because, well, murderer. Smart because it’s an opportunity to investigate up close.

I’ve spent four nights staking out this club. What are the chances that the first member I meet happens to be The Gallery Killer? Pretty damn slim, my rational brain argues.

But what if he is?

“No.” I take a step back, creating some much-needed space between us. “Absolutely not.”

“No?” There’s genuine surprise in his voice, like rejection is a foreign concept to him. Given how he looks, it probably is.

“No,” I confirm, straightening my shoulders. “I appreciate the offer, but no. It’s not personal,” I add, seeing something flicker in his eyes. “I’m just...busy.”

He shrugs, but the casual movement doesn’t match the intensity of his gaze. “Fair enough. Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He holds out the bag of gummy worms. “At least take your snacks back.”

Our fingers brush as I grab the package, and I ignore the spark that zips up my arm.

“If you change your mind about dinner, my card has my number.”

“Thanks, but I won’t.” I tuck the gummy worms back into my pocket with the card. “Change my mind, that is.”

“Never say never, Oakley Novak.” The way he says my name feels too intimate, like he’s tasting each syllable. “Life has a funny way of bringing people back together.”

“Is that a threat? ”

His smile is slow and deliberate. “More of a prediction.” He vanishes through the club door.

“Wait!” I call out as he steps back, reaching forward as if I could somehow stop the heavy mahogany door from closing.

But it’s too late. The door clicks shut with a soft finality, leaving me standing alone on the steps of the Boston Gentlemen’s Association like an idiot.

“Shit,” I mutter, my hand still extended toward the door.

I pat my pocket, feeling the outline of his business card. Pulling it out, I stare at the elegant typeface, searching for a name.

There isn’t one.

Just a phone number and a logo. No company name, no job title, no personal identification at all.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I flip the card over, but the back is blank. “Who doesn’t put their name on a business card?”

I stuff the card into my pocket and head back to my car, the evening’s failure settling around my shoulders like a damp coat. His face flashes in my mind—the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how his fingers brushed against my chest as he extracted my gummy worms, the way his tongue...

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image. Focus, Oakley.

I pull out my phone and tap the number into a search engine. Nothing comes up.

“Sweet and sour,” I mutter, mimicking his words. “Not unlike you. ”

Who talks like that? Pretentious security consultants who moonlight as serial killers, that’s who.

Or a socially awkward tech guy who reads too many spy novels and thinks mystery is his personality.

My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.

Anonymous

Drive safe, Oakley Novak.

I stop dead beside my car, my heart hammering as I scan the empty street. No sign of him anywhere.

I never gave him my phone number.