Black In White
Published on 9-10-15 Genres: Paranormal, Romance
“My name is Black. Quentin Black…”
Gifted with an uncanny sense about people, psychologist Miri Fox works as an off and on profiler for the police. So when they think they've finally nailed the "Wedding Killer," she agrees to check him out, using her gift to discover the truth.
But the suspect, Quentin Black, isn't anything like Miri expects. He claims to be hunting the killer too, although for reasons of his own, and the longer Miri talks to him, the more determined she becomes to uncover his secrets.
When he confronts her about the nature of her peculiar "insight,” Miri gets pulled into Black's bizarre world and embroiled in a game of cat and mouse with a deadly killer––who still might be Black himself. Worse, she finds herself irresistibly drawn to Black, a complication she doesn’t need with a best friend who’s a homicide cop and her boyfriend in intelligence. Can Miriam see a way out or is her future covered in Black?
A paranormal mystery romance, introducing brilliant, dangerous, and otherworldly psychic detective, Quentin Black.
I approached him assuming he was a psychopath.
The most dangerous types were harder to spot.
Often highly intelligent, deeply manipulative, glibly charming, uninterested in other people and totally unwilling to acknowledge the individual rights of anyone apart from themselves, the more dangerous individuals with anti-social personality disorder were masters at evading detection by psychs who couldn’t see past the veneer.
Narcissistic bordering on grandiose. Inflated sense of their own entitlement. Zero compunction about manipulating others. Generally lacking the capacity for love. Generally lacking the ability to feel shame or remorse. They either experienced only shallow emotions or feigned emotion altogether.
They had a constant need for stimulation…
Well, you get the idea.
Truthfully, I doubted this guy would talk to me any more than he would talk to the cops.
Well, unless he decided I could help him in some way, or perhaps entertain him…since “short attention span” was often a big issue for the average psychopath. Or perhaps he would treat me differently because he wanted a female audience instead of a male one; I was reasonably certain that only male cops had been tried on him so far.
Either way, I strongly suspected I wouldn’t win him over by trying to play him for a fool, at least not right out of the gate.
I seated myself in the metal folding chair across the table from him.
I did my own quick once-over of the room, even though I’d been in here a few dozen times already––reminding myself of the location of the cameras, looking at the four corners out of habit. My eyes glanced down to where the suspect’s ankles had been cuffed, not only to one another but to metal rings in the floor. His wrist cuffs were also chained to his waist, as well as to those same rings in the floor.
Glen already assured me that the range of the chains wouldn’t allow him to reach me as long as I stayed in the chair.
Still, he’d warned me not to get any closer.
I didn’t need to be told twice. The guy looked a lot bigger from in here.
He also looked significantly more muscular.
Leaning back in the hard, metal seat, I watched those gold, cat-like eyes flicker over me. They didn’t pause anywhere for long, much less conduct one of those lecherous, lingering appraisals some convicts did in an attempt to unsettle me.
I sensed a methodicalness to his stare, instead.
That unnerved me a little, truthfully, maybe because it surprised me.
Even for a psychopath, that kind of focus was rare. Usually other people just weren’t that interesting to them.
Then again, captivity may have changed that for him, too.
My eyes took in his appearance for the second time that day, lingering on the strangely high cheekbones still colored with smears of dried blood. I saw flakes of that blood on the surface of the table too, from where it had been rubbed off by his metal cuffs.
Wincing, I glanced up to find him staring at me once more, his gold eyes bordering on thoughtful as they took in my face.
When he didn’t break the silence after a few seconds more, I leaned back more deliberately, crossing my legs in the dark-blue pantsuit I wore.
“So,” I said, sighing. “You don’t want to talk to anyone.”
I didn’t bother to state it as a question.
The man’s eyes flickered back to my face, specifically to my eyes.
After a pause, I saw a faint smile tease the edges of his lips.
“I doubt my words would be very convincing,” he said.
I must have jumped a little in my chair, but he pretended not to notice.
“…Covered in blood,” he continued, motioning with one cuffed hand, likely as much as he could, given the restraints. Still, something in the odd grace of the gesture struck me, causing me to follow it with my eyes. “…Picked up near the scene of the crime. And you have witnesses, too, I suspect? Or did those three little girls decide it wasn’t worth getting in trouble with their parents by calling the police in the wee hours of dawn?”
His words surprised me.
More, the longer he spoke.
Not only because he said them, but because they came out with a clipped, sharp accuracy and cadence. They wore the barest trace of an accent too, although it was one I couldn’t identify. His manner of speech certainly implied a greater than average amount of education.
“In any case,” the man said, leaning back so that the chains clanked at his ankles and on the table. “…I imagine I lack credibility, wouldn’t you say, doc?”
I heard murmurings of surprise through my earpiece, too.
Apparently, I’d already gotten more out of him than any of them had.
I smoothed my expression without trying to hide my own surprise. Instead, I watched him openly, letting him see me do it.
“Doc,” I said.
At his widening smile, I returned it, adding a touch of wry humor and raising an eyebrow.
“You think I am a doctor?”
“Aren’t you?” he said at once. “Military, too, I suspect. Once upon a time. I saw you checking the corners. You’ve carried a gun…haven’t you, doc? Maybe you even carry one now.” He glanced around him ruefully. “Not in here, of course.”
I shifted in my chair, not answering him.
“Aren’t you a doctor?” he prompted.
“Depends on who you ask,” I said drily, sighing a little.