Page 4 of Dolls & Daggers
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Joe starts hesitantly. “See, he was originally hired to cover the Shadow Siren, but?—”
“Joe.” My tone stays impossibly cheerful. “If you say the Baby Doll Killer, I’m going to have to pretend I didn’t hear you.”
Dove Carroway is always a bright, pink bundle of joy. No matter her mood.
Sweat glistens on Joe’s pasty forehead. He dabs at it with a blue handkerchief dotted with red hearts as we reach my office. “I know, I know. I told him that’s your area of expertise, but… well, he’s very insistent.”
Leaning in just enough to invade his personal space, I turn the knob and push open my office door. “You’re the boss, Joe. Just tell him no.”
“Here’s the thing, Miss Carroway?—”
A smooth baritone rolls through my office. “I really hate the word ‘no.’”
Startled—and irritated because nothing startles me—I swing my gaze to the man sitting behind my desk.
I blink.
Uh, excuse me? The audacity!
He smiles, and it’s completely devilish. The kind of grin that probably knocks most women flat on their backs.
It does nothing for me.
Rising from my chair, he moves toward us with aslow, calculated gait, extending a hand. He’s tall. Like, really tall. Then again, everyone is tall to me—even with four-inch heels.
“Wrenley Campbell.” His dark brown eyes rake over me, assessing. Judging. I know what he sees—a joke of a woman whose job he’ll have no problem stealing. “Looking forward to working together.”
Oh, Songbird, we won’t be working together at all.
He’s got that lethal combination of sun-kissed skin, dirty blond hair cropped on the sides while the top is styled to perfection, and rich brown eyes with high chiseled cheekbones that would usually make my panties wet. He looks like he belongs on the cover of a high-end magazine. And he knows it.
Confidence drips off him in waves as he sizes me up like he’s the Big Bad Wolf and I’m Little Pink Riding Hood.
I flash him my best smile—the one I use to lure victims to their gruesome deaths.
I shake his hand weakly. Let him underestimate me. Let him believe he can take my job.
It’ll make my victory so much sweeter when he realizes I’m not a woman to be messed with. “Dove Carroway.”
Soon to be your worst nightmare.
Disgust.
Pure, unadulterated disgust floods my veins the moment I lay eyes on the beautiful woman before me.
It’s irrational but lethal—poisonous. Suffocating. Her azure eyes, so eerily familiar, pierce me with a quiet madness, dragging me straight back to that room, to a time when I was younger. Helpless.
She has the same bouncy blonde hair. The same pretty blue eyes that sparkle with lies, hiding a darkness no one else sees. Long, thick lashes and a heart-shaped face painted to perfection. The only notable difference is the outfit—head-to-toe pink. A colorshedetests.
It’s not the same. Stop it, Wren.
Dove’s enticing smile never falters as dark thoughts echo through my mind. Delicate fingers, with nails painted like watermelon slices, slip from mine andsettle on her hip, drawing my attention to her white skirt—too short to be office-appropriate.
Judging by the way my new boss watches her, like he beats his dick to the image of her prancing around in outfits like this, I’d say she gets away with whatever she wants.
She doesn’t return my polite sentiment about looking forward to working together. I mask my amusement with charm and flattery. “I’m a big fan. I’ve followed your work since the Baby Doll Killer started sending in the nursery rhyme videos. It’s amazing how much you can glean from an otherwise silent serial killer.”
Her cheeks flush. The backhanded compliment and insinuation that she makes a bunch of shit up for her articles sails over her head as she giggles and waves me off. “Oh, there’s nothing silent about her, Songbird. You just have to stop yappin’ to hear what she has to say.”
