Don't Trust A Killer(3)

By: Cynthia Eden


“Have you waited tables before?”

“Yes.” Now she moved and tapped her hand on his desk. Her resume sat there. “I’ve done a lot of waitressing work. I’ve done bartending work. I can handle anything.”

“I guess we’ll see if that’s true.” He rolled back his shoulders. “Like I said before, you’re hired.”

Her breath left in an excited rush.

“Start tonight. Be here at seven p.m. We don’t open until nine, but you’ll need some training. And clothes.” He motioned vaguely toward her. “All of my waiters and waitresses have a particular uniform. For the women on the first floor, it’s red heels, black pants, and a black blouse. I provide the uniforms for everyone, so be sure to stop and get outfitted before you leave today.”

“Thank you! I really appreciate—”

“If you fuck up, you’re out.”

Well, wasn’t he the blunt one? Her chin notched up. “I won’t fuck up.”

A faint smile curled his lips. “That remains to be seen.”

Then he headed back for his desk. Sat down. She assumed he was dismissing her, so Bree hurried for the door.

“I want to hear the stories.”

She stilled, her fingers reaching for the doorknob.

“Before you leave, tell me, exactly, what you’ve heard about me.”

Her tongue slid over her lower lip. Carefully, Bree schooled her features before she turned toward him. “I heard you were a killer.”

Kace didn’t even blink.

“Those who cross you don’t get second chances. You eliminate threats to you. You make your own laws. You do whatever the hell you want.”

His fingers tapped on the desk. “That all you’ve heard?”

No, not even close. “Two…two women were found murdered in New Orleans recently. I heard the cops think you were involved with their deaths.”

His smile came slowly, and it was a strange sight to see. So charming. So warm. She imaged the devil would smile just that way. “Who has been telling you all these stories? Especially since you’ve only been in town a few days…Three, wasn’t it? Surely, they didn’t all come from the talkative lady at your bed and breakfast. Although, I do know Ms. Queen. Most of the town does. She certainly enjoys her gossip.”

No, all of the stories hadn’t come from Ms. Kelly Queen. “The news,” she blurted. “I saw about—about the two women on the news.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you see…or hear.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m in your club right now, asking for a job.”

“From a man who many believe to be a murderer. Interesting. You are interesting, Ms. Harlow.”

There was something about the way he said her name…

“Some women get off on danger. They like to fuck criminals.”

She shook her head.

His eyes narrowed. “Is that a no? You don’t enjoy that dark thrill?”

“I was shaking my head because this is the weirdest job interview I’ve ever had.” That statement, at least, was the absolute truth.

“Ah, so you do get off on danger. Good to know.”

Her lips pressed together.

“Relax, Ms. Harlow. I have a strict policy about not having sex with my employees. You’ll have to look elsewhere for your rush.”

“But—but those two women—” Bree pushed when she probably shouldn’t have.

“I didn’t have sex with those women, despite what the media says. And what the cops think. I wasn’t involved with them romantically. And, in case you were wondering but weren’t quite brave enough to ask…No, I didn’t kill them.” His hands flattened on his desk. “I didn’t kill Lindsey Marshall and Ciara Hall. I didn’t strangle them and dump their bodies behind the St. Louis Cathedral so that some poor, unsuspecting tourists could find them the next day.”

Bree swallowed. His voice had been completely flat, dead of emotion while he spoke.

“Still want the job?” His bright gaze seemed to mock her.

More than ever. “Yes.” Another swallow. “And at least now, I know my boss isn’t a killer.”