Page 18 of Lake House Killer

“Maybe I could show you a few other selections you might like?” Owen says, edging a bit closer and growing miles bolder.

“Maybe another time,” I say. “I’m actually here with someone.” I nod down the aisle in the event he was wondering. My badge is growing hot and heavy in my purse and I’m tempted to pull it.

He glances back to see Jack inspecting a jug of chocolate-flavored powder that promises to transform a glass of milk into a chocolaty wonder. I drank it by the gallon in third grade.

And into the cart, it goes.

“Ah, I see.” Owen ticks his head wistfully. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were with your husband.”

“Oh, he’s not my husband,” I say a little too quickly for me to mitigate the words coming from my mouth. “I’m very much single.” Something tells me I’ll need to be to get anywhere with this guy.

His lips curve with a greasy smile. “Well, good news, so am I. In fact, I’m not sure if you’re busy later, but there’s a bar called the Oasis in Denver. They’re hosting a speed dating thing there tonight. I’m actually the sponsor.”

“Really?” I hike a brow, amused.

“Yup, tonight at eight. If you stop by, I’ll be there. Of course, I’m participating, too. It goes with the territory on my end. I sell beverages for a living.” He wrinkles his nose without extrapolating.

Way to keep the mystery alive.

“You might just see me there.”

“I hope I do.” He waggles his brows before pushing his cart right out of the aisle, and Jack pushes our cart this way, looking vexed.

“Why did you have to tell him you were single?” he growls as if he took personal offense to my relationship status.

“Because it’s not a lie,” I tell him, dropping the gourmet coffee beans into the cart.

Jack nods, resigned to the fact. “So tonight at eight?”

“It’s a date and I won’t be late.”

“You won’t be alone either,” he says. “I’m coming with you.”

11

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

Not only did Jack accompany me this evening, but Nikki has joined in on the fun as well.

After I fed Buddy a bowl of his brand new kibble, along with a can of wet food, Jack and I drove out to the FBI field office where we met with Nikki. Since she lives about a half hour from us, we thought this might be the best way to meet up. And according to our research, the Oasis has a notoriously bad parking situation, so the carpool worked on many levels.

The neon glow of the Oasis sign flickers above us, casting a green electric haze over the bustling crowd as we push through the heavy glass doors. The scent of musk and high-octane cocktails mingles in the air, and it’s a lively combination that’s both inviting and slightly overwhelming. The floors are dark, matching the tables and chairs, the music is loud, the lighting is spotty, and it all makes me feel as if we’ve just fallen into a mosh pit.

The music hums with a pulsating beat that seems to throb in rhythm with the collective bodies swimming in the room.

“Welcome to the madhouse,” I mutter, scanning the scene. It’s an eclectic mix of hipsters in vintage tees to business types looking to unwind. The energy is alive with anticipation, and I’m betting a misdemeanor or two. Each person here seems to be buzzing with the possibility of a love connection—or in the least a one-night stand.

Jack leans in, and the warmth of his spiced cologne surrounds me. He’s dressed business casual with a tweed jacket and pale blue dress shirt underneath that brings out his eyes.

I noticed.

More than once.

And yet, I hate that I noticed at all.

“You think this is how our suspect lures his victims?” His voice is low, competing with the bass of the background music. “Promises of love and THC?"

Nikki laughs as we make our way to the registration table decked out with name tags and color-coded wristbands.

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