Page 21 of Dysfunctional

“What most people aren’t capable of. I’m pretty tech savvy. There’s nothing that ties you toEzra Hamilton. Once I realized that was a fake name, I just had to work a little harder. A background check brought up little information, but there was one thing. You got pulled over for speeding six years ago. Had to go to court. The court record had you as Ezra Black, and Ezra Black lived in Seattle. After more online sleuthing, I found out there wasn’t an Ezra Black in Seattle. Well, not one that was under fifty, but there was a Quintin Black, and though most of the photos of Quintin Black were a little old, there was no denying it was you. I’m assuming you thought better of only changing one of your names.”

I sit back and stretch my arms over the arm rests.

“You satisfied with yourself?”

I shrug. “A little. It was a lot of work.”

“And how did you connect Quintin with the killings?”

“The first two were personal. You had a connection with them both. I’m not sure how the cops didn’t figure out you did it.”

“Maybe I’m a good liar.”

I grin. “Maybe.”

“Why did you want my attention? And what exactly were you doing to get it?”

“I saw you watching me, and after the first girl, I saw you a bit more. You think I was at Perfectly Convenient by coincidence? I was there because you went there.”

“And the library?”

“You were working the grounds there. I’d hope you’d see me and think to come back.”

“The girls?”

“What about them?”

“What do you do with them?”

“Different things. It depends.”

“Cryptic.”

“Why do you kill people?”

“I haven’t in a while.”

“Whydidyou kill people? Or more importantly, why did you stop?”

“You do know it’s not normal to kill people, right?”

“So you want to benormal?”

“I don’t want to keep running. I’m finally somewhat settled, with little fear of getting caught. Well, until now.” He gives me a pointed look, and I wink at him.

“Where are the girls?” he asks again.

“Why do you care about them?”

“I don’t. I want to know why you do.”

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “So you are interested in me,” I tease.

He doesn’t respond with an eye roll or afuck you, instead he remains stoic. “I am. I want to know why you’re the way you are.”

“Do we have to have a reason? What if I like it?”

“You still haven’t told me whatitis.”

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