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Kiss and Kill Cupid
JAIME RUSH
Chapter One
Anyone who hyped Valentine’s Day should be locked in a cold theater and made to watch sappy movies for an entire month. While eating nothing but chocolates. No sleeping allowed.
Kristy walked into Casey’s Coffee Shop and snarled at the pink and red hearts dangling from the ceiling like an obstacle course. Five days to go. Let’s not forget this mushy stuff has been in my face for three weeks now. She got into the line and cranked up her iPod to drown out the noise. She bobbed to the funky-alternative-rock band, Does It Offend You, Yeah, as she moved ahead in line. To say that the MP3 player had saved her sanity was not overstating a fact. Reluctantly, she paused “Dawn of the Dead” and pulled out the earbuds as she stepped up to the counter.
“Mondo white chocolate mocha, please.”
She readied herself for the noise. Not steam-hitting-metal or conversation. No, these sounds were much worse: everyone’s thoughts.
What am I going to do about Stan, that cheating bastard?
Kewl. That hot chick’s checking me out.
Crap, my stock just took a dump.
Ever since this curse started at the age of fifteen, she hated being around people. Being a travel writer was much preferable to having to work in an office or in retail. It was also why having a relationship—heck, even having sex—was a nightmare. Hearing the guy’s every thought, not so good. For example:
“John, does this skirt make my butt look big?”
“No, not at all, honey.” Only as big as a freakin’ mountain.
Even worse was when they lied about where they had been and with whom.
Being able to pop those earbuds in and hear her fave tunes instead of everyone’s thoughts was a godsend. If only she could learn to resist moving her body to the music.
She wasn’t just here to grab a coffee, though. She had an important meeting. The magazine she’d been doing freelance assignments for was closing. She needed to line up a new gig. This opportunity had come out of nowhere, a real coup. She was early enough to snag a java and get her bearings before the people she was meeting arrived.
She was going to have to watch her thoughts. If everything worked out, Adrian Kruger might be her new boss. From everything she’d read and seen about him online, he was funny, down-to-earth, and mouthwateringly gorgeous. Bad idea, Kristy, and a good way to lose an assignment.
The place was a cacophony of voices, audio, and thought, and she tried to tune them out. One thought, though, stood out because it was more menacing than the jumble of other thoughts:
Oh, yes, there she is. That face would look lovely on the news as Kiss and Kill Cupid’s next victim.
She turned around, feeling as though she’d been dunked in a vat of ice water. Kiss and Kill Cupid. He’d been menacing New York City for five years, killing a woman on Valentine’s Day. The most disturbing aspect was his signature: he left a lipstick kiss along with the words “Kiss and Kill, Cupid” across the dead woman’s stomach. The media, of course, had been playing that up as well as the romantic aspects of the holiday.
Had she heard the words correctly? Maybe it was a mix of two people’s thoughts that only sounded like…all right, she couldn’t kid herself. The killer was in here, and he’d found his next victim.
Then her body went even colder. Had he meant her? A few men were looking her way though none with an evil gleam in his eyes.
And that long blond hair, I’ll bet it’s as silky as, well, silk. Maybe I could use it to strangle her with.
She involuntarily clamped her hand over her hair, her heart hammering in her chest.
“Kristy Morgan?”
She jumped at the voice coming from right beside her.
The man standing next to her looked like the pictures in the write-ups, only he was bigger than she’d imagined. And even more gorgeous. He had to be six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders and straight brown hair that fell to his shoulders. In a cable sweater and jeans, he looked every bit the part of the outdoorsy adventurer.
He smiled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Are you Kristy?”
Take a breath. “Yes.” She held out her hand, jabbing it toward him, feeling flustered and taken off guard in more ways than one. “You must be Adrian Kruger.”
He nodded to another man sitting at a table. “My business partner, Owen, and I are sitting over there.”
When the barista told her the amount due, Adrian put his hand on hers. “Allow me.”
“That’s not nec…”
He’d already paid the young man, and another barista called out her order. She looked around the café again, fear tightening her throat. Why is this happening during what might be the most important meeting of my life?