“They help me with research from time to time.”
“So you plan a murder and then you call them up and say ‘hey guys, what do you think of this?’ And they tell you whether it would work or not.”
“Close enough.”
“Do you ever go out with them?”
“Ride along? In the past, yes. Now, not so much. When I’m not touring, I’m writing.”
“Were the ride-alongs scary?”
“They were more interesting than scary. But most of what I write about is dealt with by the other departments. I write about—” he reached for the salt, buying time while he worked out how much to say “—complex cases.”
“You mean you write about serial killers.” She put her fork down, leaving half her food untouched. “Why would you want to write about terrible people doing terrible things?”
“The average serial killer wouldn’t think he, or she, was a terrible person. And I write about it because it fascinates me. I’ve always been drawn to scary stuff. Doesn’t make me scary, and doesn’t mean I have small children locked in my closet, waiting for me to show up and torture them, as one interviewer seemed to think.”
“That happened?”
“People assume because I write about crime, I must worship the devil. You should be scared to stay overnight here with me.”
“I’m not scared.” Her gaze held his for a moment and then she picked up her wine. “But I don’t understand why people would want to be scared by choice.”
The sexual awareness was building but she was ignoring it.
He followed her example.
“Books are safe. I think of what scares people and I use those fears. Some people like to be scared. They like to feel that emotion from the safety of their own lives.”
“Don’t you scare yourself when you write this stuff?”
“If the writing is going well, then yes.” Mostly it was the research that spooked him, but he didn’t tell her that.
“Is that why you do martial arts? So that you can protect yourself from the demons you’ve created?”
“I hate to shatter your illusions, but mostly it’s an interesting form of exercise and mental discipline.” He finished his food and sat back. “Enough about me. Now it’s your turn. You don’t read crime or horror, so what do you read? Classics?”
“Yes. And I read romance, women’s fiction and cookbooks. I’m addicted to cookbooks.”
“I thought you didn’t use cookbooks?”
“I don’t often cook from them, but I like to read them.”
He reached for his wine and watched while she served the ravioli. “You ever consider writing one of your own?”
“I have my blog. And I have a YouTube channel. With the work I do for Urban Genie, that keeps me busy.”
“You have a YouTube channel?”
“Cooking is visual. People like to see how things are made. And it turns out I’m pretty good at demonstrating. People like to watch me. That probably surprises you.”
It didn’t surprise him at all.
Who wouldn’t want to watch her?
With those blue eyes and her sweet smile, he was willing to bet even without looking that she had a big following. He wondered how many of them were men and how many were genuinely interested in cooking.
Trying not to think about it too much, he took a mouthful of ravioli and momentarily stopped cursing his grandmother for her interfering tendencies.