CHAPTER FOURTEEN
At first, I didn’t think he heard me.
He’s stirring whatever is in the pot, eyes cast down, examining the insides. Eventually, he speaks. “What makes you think that?”
I knew it. He does think I’m loony. I should have passed it off as research for my screenplay. I drain what’s left in my glass and frown at him. “You can escape now, you know. I didn’t ask you over and—”
“I did not say I do not believe you. I merely asked why it is you think your employer is a serial killer?”
Can skin actually burst into flames? I keep embarrassing myself in front of him. It’s the wine. I jump from the stool and pace the length of the bench. “I sound crazy.”
“Then explain your reasoning.”
Not a chance. “Look, I don’t even know you. You might be a . . . I don’t even know what you are.”
