Page 13 of X Marks the Stalker
“It’s stalking with extra steps,” Calloway says, examining the photo more closely. “Though I can’t fault your composition. The lighting on her face creates gorgeous contrast against the chaos of her apartment.”
“You’re one to talk,” I mutter. “Your idea of a first date is probably staging someone as a corpse in a Klimt tableau.”
“At least I talk to people,” Calloway fires back. “When was the last time you had a conversation with someone you weren’t planning to kill?”
Darius leans back in his chair, that lawyer’s smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, he’s talking to her alright.Every night. Alone. With one hand on the keyboard and the other on his dick.”
“I asked her out,” I blurt, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Five pairs of eyes lock onto me with predatory focus.
“You what?” Thorne’s voice drops to a dangerous register.
“I...asked her to dinner.”
“Let me get this straight,” Lazlo says, barely containing his laughter. “You walked up to the journalist investigating us and asked her on a date?”
“It was a calculated move,” I defend. “Gauge her suspicions, misdirect if needed.”
“And?” Thorne prompts.
I swallow hard. “She said no.”
The room erupts in laughter. Even Thorne’s mouth quirks up at one corner, which for him is practically howling with mirth.
“The master of surveillance got shot down!” Lazlo wheezes, slapping the table. “You poor baby.”
“Try flowers next time,” Ambrose offers with a scholarly air. “Women love flowers. Been working since Roman times.”
“No, no,” Lazlo interjects. “Tell her you’re a doctor. Works every time.”
“You’re the only one who uses that line, Lazlo,” I remind him. “And you’re actually a paramedic.”
“Please tell me you weren’t wearing that blue shirt with the ink stain you think no one notices,” Calloway says, with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Iwasn’t?—”
“Oh God,” Calloway says, genuine horror crossing his face. “You wore the tactical pants, didn’t you? The ones with seventeen pockets?”
“They’re practical,” I mutter, giving my best friend a middle finger that holds no real malice. “And no. I was wearing a suit.”
“Never send this man undercover for a date,” Darius announces to the room. “He’d probably wear an earpiece and ask us for conversation prompts.”
“Okay, enough,” Thorne says, cutting through the laughter. His face turns serious as he locks eyes with me. “This journalist is a genuine concern, Xander. I want daily reports. Any new connections she makes, any evidence she uncovers, any person she speaks to about this case, I need to know right away. Understood?”
I nod, my smile fading. “Understood.”
“And Xander,” Thorne adds, his voice dropping lower, “if she becomes a threat, I expect you to handle it. Regardless of your...interest in her.”
The room goes quiet. I swallow, nodding again.
“Good. Since we’re all gathered,” Thorne says, shifting topics, “let’s discuss our most recent work. Calloway, your art dealer piece was distinctive.”
Calloway’s face transforms as he switches into aesthetic mode. “The David and Goliath tableau was my most challenging composition yet. Getting him to hold his own severed-looking head required extensive preparation.”
“How’d you manage that?” Lazlo leans forward, eyes bright with professional interest.
“A combination of hemlock derivative to paralyze the throat muscles first,” Calloway explains, “then a specializedtoxin that maintains muscle rigidity after death. I positioned him while he was still conscious but unable to resist.”
