A heady business, meeting a murderous antagonist face to face.
Fascination trickled through Darell’s fear.
Craig Barlow stood on his doorstep, clad in a brown sport jacket over jeans. He carried a soft-sided black leather portfolio case, presumably with his manuscript chapters inside. If you didn’t know him for what he was, you’d think him a good-looking kid. Perfect face for a killer. Women would never guess.
“Come in, come in.” Darell stood back, ushering him into the web, the spider to the fly.
Craig stepped inside. His gaze cruised the entryway as if cataloguing details. “This is just such an honor, Mr. Brooke. Thanks again for inviting me.”
Darell surveyed him. A keen confidence overrode his air of faux humility, although no doubt he didn’t think it showed. It was in the tilt of his head, the firmness of his mouth. Most telling were his eyes. In their glacial blue Darell saw the depths of the man’s calculation. They were eyes that could look straight at you, sheening with sincerity while he lied.
Leland Hugh.
“Thank you for coming.” Darell led him down the hall.
Like an old fluorescent light, Darell’s brain hummed as he rounded the corner into his office. Weariness pulled at him even as adrenaline coursed through his veins. So many details to remember. So much he had to get right.
“Please.” Darell indicated the chair upon which the hidden camera was fixed. “Sit.”
“Thank you.” Craig put his black case on the table and settled in the offered chair. Resting his forearms, he laced his hands, torso bent forward, body language exuding the picture of eagerness to help.
Taking his time, Darell positioned himself, resting his cane on the floor.
“So.” Craig smiled, and the grooves in his jaw deepened. Such model good looks wouldn’t keep long in jail. “What research questions did you want to ask me?”
“Let’s talk about you first. Tell me about your writing.”
“Oh. Well, I started about a year ago. Have maybe half a book done.”
“What’s it about?”
He looked chagrined. “It’s a suspense novel. A detective investigating a string of homicides.”
“Really.” Darell raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s right up my alley.”
“Yeah.” Craig reached for his portfolio and unzipped it. He stuck his hand inside. “I brought some chapters, like you asked.” As he pulled out pages, he glanced at the top one. Immediately dismay creased his face. “Oh, no.” He slapped down the papers and leaned over to shuffle through the stack.
He looked up at Darell, embarrassed. “I stuck the wrong ones in here.”
“That’s all right. I’ll look at whatever you’ve got.”
“No, no, I—these are an older draft. I had everything in my own car and then had to transfer over when I borrowed my sister’s. What I want is probably on the passenger seat. Mind if I go get them?”
Darell started to push back from the table. “Not at all.”
“No, just sit.” Craig was already on his feet. “I’ll just let myself out and come right back.”
“No, I’ll—”
“Please. I don’t want to put you out.”
Before Darell could pick up his cane, Craig whisked up the papers, stuffed them into his portfolio, and hurried from the room.