Page 4 of Girl, Reformed

Luca laughed, a rich, warm sound that madeElla's toes curl in her boots. ‘All good things, I promise. So, I’m here tolearn. Tell me everything,’ he said.

'You first,' Ella said. 'That's thedownside of being office-famous. Everyone knows you, but you don't know them.'

Luca shrugged, that easy grin stillplaying around his lips. But before he could begin, the waitress arrived andsat down two coffees. Ella watched as he thanked her, noting the way the girl'scheeks flushed pink. Christ, the guy must have been fighting them off with astick.

He pushed one over to Ella’s side of thetable. Ella eyeballed it, taking in the sweet aroma, the way the surfacetension kept the white foam slightly north of the lip.

Vanilla latte, no doubt. He’d got it inone.

‘Alright,’ Ella said. ‘How’d you guess?’

‘I got lucky,’ Luca said.

She shot him an eyebrow, then gauged hisbody language. Defensive, playful. Ella didn’t buy it. She picked up her cupand put her nose to use. ‘Come on. Vanilla latte, no sugar, cinnamon on therim. You should play the lottery tonight.’

Luca shrugged, then gestured just belowhis eyeball. ‘Well, I could tell you that the patch of rough skin under youreye means you’re a caffeine freak. And I could tell you that discoloredpremolar hanging out of your gums means you’ve got a sweet tooth. I could tellyou I played the odds. Probability versus possibility.’

Ella withheld a smirk. ‘Oh really?’

‘I could tell you that,’ Luca said, thenwiggled his ear. ‘Or I could tell you I was queuing behind you in here a fewdays ago.’

She couldn’t hold back the grin. ‘Damn it.Great trick. You got me.’

Luca took a sip of whatever caffeinecocktail was in front of him. ‘You never know who’s listening.’

‘I guess your profiling skills are onpoint.’

‘That’s how I ended up here,’ Luca said.‘I was a criminal psyche in Massachusetts until last year. Up until a string ofdead girls show up in my neck of the woods. I put together a profile, led thelocal yokels right to the killer's front door.’

Ella nearly choked on her latte. ‘Wait,hold up. We heard about that case back at the office. That was you?’

Luca shrugged, like it was no big thing.But Ella wasn't buying the aw-shucks routine. She'd seen the file, heard therumors. This guy had the gift people spent decades trying to master.

‘Is it true?’ she asked, pinning him witha look. ‘About your profile?’

Luca cocked his head, playing dumb. ‘Iswhat true?’

Ella leaned forward, her elbows on thetable. ‘That it was so dead-on, you predicted what he’d be wearing when youcaught him.’

A smile twitched at the corner of Luca'smouth. He took another sip of coffee, drawing out the suspense. Then, finally,he gave a slow nod.

‘Blue shorts,’ he said. ‘Black socks. Hada lisp, facial scarring and worked as a chef.’

Ella let out a low whistle. ‘Christ on abike. How the hell did you know?’

Luca shrugged, like it was nothing. ButElla could see the glint of pride in his eyes. ‘The vics all had fancy stuff intheir stomach contents. Truffles, saffron, that kind of thing. Way toohigh-class for the shithole where our boy lived. And I knew that town well.It’s full of grifters. Ain’t no one hoarding saffron and not trying to makemoney off ‘em. That suggested he worked as a chef.’

Ella nodded, the pieces falling intoplace. ‘So you figured he was wining and dining them first. Cooking them agourmet meal before he snuffed them out.’

‘Bingo. You know what they say. Fastestway to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.’

‘And the lisp? Scars?’

‘Projection and rejection. Tell me if I’mtalking crap, but I find modern serial killers fall into one category or theother. I don’t buy into the whole organized versus disorganized debate. Theyeither project their insecurities onto their victims, whether that falls underthe banner of revenge killings, mission-orientation or power-control dynamics.Or they’re hedonistic or lust-motivated, which ultimately comes down to fear ofrejection.’

‘And which one was your unsub?’

‘Both,’ Luca said. ‘He wined and dined hisvictims to elevate his status, get that dopamine high. , put him one rung abovethe objects of his affection. Then he killed them before they could reject him.He obliterated his victims’ tongues and cheeks, because those were his deepestinsecurities. Lisp, facial scarring.’

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