Bitten by Cupid(76)
She stepped out of the elevator and called him. “Dale, my name is Kristy. We met at the police station two days ago.”
“Long, blond hair?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“You had information on Kiss and Kill Cupid.”
“Not information, per se. But I have someone I’d like you to check out, if I can trust you to be discreet and not to print his name or mine.”
“You can’t get to my level of success by not being trustworthy. Where are you? I can meet you right now.”
She gave him her location. “There’s a Starbucks on the corner.”
“I’ll catch a cab and be there in about fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“See you then.”
She walked inside, inhaling the rich scent of coffee. After ordering, she stuck in her earbuds and found an empty table. The only thought she could hear was her own: I sure hope I haven’t made a huge mistake.
Chapter Six
Dale burst in sixteen minutes later, scanning the crowd for her as he untangled his earbuds. He wore a backpack and looked like a college student taking a break from mad-crazy finals. He held up a finger to indicate she wait for a second while he ordered an espresso. From his rapid movements, she suspected he’d already had at least four. His hair was again in disarray, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.
He dumped five packs of raw sugar into his cup, jabbed the stir stick in circles, and set the cup on the table before dropping down into the seat next to her. “What do you have for me?”
No wonder he had so much energy. He was hyped on caffeine and sugar.
“I can’t tell you everything, but I can say I think I know who Kiss and Kill Cupid might be.”
“No shit.” He pulled out a notepad, poised his pen, and looked at her expectantly.
“I don’t know for sure that it is this guy. I don’t want him to know I’m having him checked out.”
“Trust me, he won’t have a clue. What’s his name?”
“Owen Bushnell. He co-owns Get Out! magazine here in New York.”
He was writing furiously in a kind of shorthand. “Never heard of him or the mag. Is it a gay rag?”
“No, outdoor adventure.”
He nodded. “Okay, and why do you think he’s the killer?”
“That’s the part I can’t tell you. You have to trust me on that.”
“Fair enough.” He gave her a serious look. “I have a bad feeling about this. About you, in particular. Do you believe in that kind of thing?”
“Sort of.”
She tuned into his thoughts among the murmur of everyone else’s. What does she know? What is she holding back? If only she’d tell me everything.
She took a sip of her coffee. “I know serial killers have certain tendencies. Owen fits some. Socially uncomfortable. Broken home. Loner. Maybe you can find out if he fits the profile. I figured from your articles you know Kiss and Kill Cupid pretty well.”
“Unfortunately, that I do. What I really want to write is an article about how they caught the guy.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “And how I helped.” He tapped the notepad. “Has this guy been bothering you?”
“Not bothering, per se.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t get into it.”
“Tell me this: has he just appeared in your life in the past few days? The police think that’s what Kiss and Kill Cupid does, targets his victim and gets to know her in the days leading up to Valentine’s Day.”
Well, that fit Adrian more than Owen. “His friend approached me about a business opportunity.”
“His friend.” Dale poised his pencil over his notepad. “What’s his name?”
“No, it’s not him.”
“Can you be sure about that?” He studied her. “What, you’re into him, aren’t you? Can’t imagine a nice guy could be a killer? Think again. Ted Bundy was the nicest guy around. He even helped at a suicide hotline. Can you believe that? He helped people to not take their lives, then went out and killed.” He shook his head, but his gaze narrowed in on her. “It’s not worth your life to trust anyone.”
She felt a tightness in her chest. “Just check out Owen.”
Dale whipped out his BlackBerry from his backpack. “Owen Bushnell,” he muttered as his thumbs danced over the tiny keys. Bart Simpson peered at her from the skin on the back, asking, Do I know you? Dale scanned the results. “A few articles connected to the mag. I’ll see what I can dig up about his past.”
“That would be great.”
He tapped his BlackBerry. “I’ve got your number. I’ll let you know if I find anything suspicious. In the meantime, do you have any protection? Gun, pepper spray?”