Excerpt of Bitten by Cupid by Lynsay Sands, Pamela Palmer, Jaime Rush

KISS AND KILL CUPID

Anthology story for Feb 2010's BITTEN BY CUPID

by

Jaime Rush

CHAPTER 1

Anyone who hyped Valentine's Day should be locked in a cold theater and made to watch sappy movies for an entire month. While eating nothing but chocolates. No sleeping allowed.

Kristy walked into Casey's Coffee Shop and snarled at the pink and red hearts dangling from the ceiling like an obstacle course. Five days to go. Let's not forget this mushy stuff has been in my face for three weeks now. She got into the line and cranked up her iPod to drown out the noise. She bobbed to the funky-alternative-rock band, Does it Offend You, Yeah, as she moved ahead in line. To say the MP3 player had saved her sanity was not overstating a fact. Reluctantly, she paused "Dawn of the Dead" and pulled out the ear buds as she stepped up to the counter.

"Mondo white chocolate mocha, please."

She readied herself for the noise. Not steam-hitting- metal or conversation. No, these sounds were much worse: everyone's thoughts.

What am I going to do about Stan, that cheating bastard?

Kewl. That hot chick's checking me out.

Crap, my stock just took a dump.

Ever since this curse started at the age of fifteen, she hated being around people. Being a travel writer was much preferable to having to work in an office or in retail. It was also why having a relationship—heck, even having sex—was a nightmare. Hearing the guy's every thought, not so good. For example:

"John, does this skirt make my butt look big?"

"No, not at all, honey." Only as big as a freakin' mountain.

Even worse was when they lied about where they had been and with whom.

Being able to pop those ear buds in and hear her fave tunes instead of everyone's thoughts was a Godsend. If only she could learn to resist moving her body to the music.

She wasn't just here to grab a coffee, though. She had an important meeting. The magazine she'd been doing freelance assignments for was closing. She needed to line up a new gig. This opportunity had come out of nowhere, a real coup. She was early enough to snag a java and get her bearings before the people she was meeting arrived.

She was going to have to watch her thoughts. If everything worked out, Adrian Kruger might be her new boss. From everything she'd read and seen about him online, he was funny, down to earth, and mouth-wateringly gorgeous. Bad idea, Kristy, and a good way to lose an assignment.

The place was a cacophony of voices, audio and thought, and she tried to tune them out. One thought, though, stood out because it was more menacing than the jumble of other thoughts:

Oh, yes, there she is. That face would look lovely on the news as Kiss and Kill Cupid's next victim.

She turned around, her body feeling as though she'd been dunked in a vat of ice water. Kiss and Kill Cupid. He'd been menacing New York City for five years, killing a woman on Valentine's Day. The most disturbing aspect was his signature: he left a lipstick kiss along with the words "Kiss and Kill, Cupid" across the dead woman's stomach. The media, of course, had been playing that up as well as the romantic aspects of the holiday.

Had she heard the words correctly? Maybe it was a mix of two people's thoughts that only sounded like… all right, she couldn't kid herself. The killer was in here, and he'd found his next victim.

Then her body went even colder. Had he meant her? A few men were looking her way, though none with an evil gleam in his eyes.

And that long hair, I'll bet it's as silky as, well, silk. Maybe I could use it to strangle her with.

She involuntarily clamped her hand over her hair, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Kristy Morgan?"

She jumped at the voice coming right from beside her.

The man standing next to her looked like the pictures in the write-ups, only he was bigger than she'd imagined. And even more gorgeous. He had to be six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders, straight, brown hair that fell to his shoulders. In a cable sweater and jeans, he looked every bit the part of the outdoorsy adventurer.

He smiled. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Are you Kristy?"

Take a breath. "Yes." She held out her hand, jabbing it toward him, feeling flustered and taken off guard in more ways than one. "You must be Adrian Kruger."

He nodded to another man sitting at a table. "My business partner, Owen, and I are sitting over there."

When the barista told her the amount due, Adrian put his hand on hers. "Allow me."

"That's not nec…"

He'd already paid the young man, and another barista called out her order. She looked around the café again, fear tightening her throat. Why is this happening during what might be the most important meeting of my life?

She took her cup, feeling the warmth seeping into her cold fingers. "I, uh… thank you."

He led her toward their table, but her thoughts were a scramble. Owen stood and extended his hand. He wasn't nearly as tall or as built as Adrian. His smile was forced, his gray eyes blank behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. The shaggy blond hair and wrinkled, linen shirt gave him the look of someone confused about what style he was going for: business, college student, or surfer.

She shrugged out of her coat, and Adrian took it from her and draped it over the empty chair. He held out her chair for her. She tried not to seem surprised at the act of chivalry as she thanked him.

She was faced away from most of the café and had to fight not to turn around and keep studying the crowd. Okay, just a glance. Still, no one obvious. The thoughts she heard weren't the killer's:

I've got to get this formula memorized before the exam tomorrow.

When is she going to get here?

Her elbow tipped over her coffee. She caught it before it hit the table even as Adrian tried to grab it, too. Their hands collided, but she kept a hold on her cup. She smiled and tried her best to compose herself. It didn't help that through her earbuds, which were hanging around her neck, Katy Perry was singing about kissing a girl. Kristy yanked down the wires and set them in her lap.

She focused on the two men sitting across from her, her forced smile still in place. "It's so nice to meet you both."

Adrian and Owen had gotten publicity by being twenty- year-olds who'd started a successful outdoor adventure magazine three years ago. They were hailed as "Beauty and the Brain" by one snarky magazine because someone had found a modeling shoot Adrian had done to earn money while he, as he'd put it, worked and lived his way across the country.

She knew she'd like him when he commented in a later article that he was glad he hadn't done the nude layout he'd been offered. That would have given the name of his magazine a whole new meaning.

She tried to push aside the creepy sensation of being watched and focus on the interview. "I love Get Out! It's fresh, fun, a bit irreverent, and pushes the boundaries. Maybe I shouldn't say this at the outset, but I'd really like to write for you."

Adrian's perfect smile and white teeth made her heart flutter. "I feel the same about your writing." For such a masculine man, he was surprisingly soft-spoken. "Most of our articles are in your face, out there, rugged adventures. When I read your article about finding inner peace while sitting on a rock in a rushing creek in Helen, Georgia, I forgot about the five meetings I had scheduled for that day, forgot about the pile of phone messages sitting on my computer, forgot about the looming deadline. I was there on that rock. I want to share that experience with my readership. I'm thinking a monthly column of about six thousand words to start."

Oddly enough, she had also done some modeling, nudged by her mother, and when she found herself in exotic locales, she became lost in the moment, journaling about how the place made her feel…much to the annoyance of the photographer who was waiting on her. She quit modeling and pursued a freelance writing career, covering far-flung (and thus not so populated) places.

Owen spoke his first words so far. "As soon as he read your piece, he was determined to bring you on board."

Adrian gave her a pointed look that demonstrated his determination. "You're good. I want you."

Those words shimmered through her. Wanted her. Her writing, of course. With all the other thoughts flying around, she couldn't quite pick up theirs.

Owen's voice was as deadpan as his expression. "As the Sales Manager, I need to make sure your kind of column would integrate well with the rest of the magazine. And with advertisers. We'd like to see some sample pieces, with Get Out! and its high-octane readership in mind." He pulled out three copies of the magazine from a leather satchel and handed them to her.

She nodded as she fought to filter out random thoughts, including one she knew was about her: That girl's wearing socks with her high heels?

She involuntarily crossed her ankles beneath her chair, and then uncrossed them and even extended her left leg. Yes, pink socks with her periwinkle blue heels that matched her dress. A silk pink scarf around her neck matched her socks.

"I can write up a couple of pieces over the next few days." She brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, taking the opportunity to glance back in hopes of catching someone leering at her with menace in his eyes. No such luck.

She turned back to the two men at her table. Could it be one of them? The thought startled her. Get hold of yourself, girlie. You're good at masking your reactions. Put on that perky smile, no matter what the other person is thinking.

Course, she'd never heard someone plotting her murder before.

Adrian's blue eyes were filled with concern. "Are you all right?"

She took a sip of her coffee, taking a moment to compose. "I'm fine. I'd better get going, though, get to work." She tapped the magazines Owen had given her. She'd read the current issue before the meeting.

She stood, scanning the café. The line of people down the middle blocked her view of the far side of the room.

Oh, yeah, she's perfect. I could have fun with that pink scarf, too.

She grabbed at her scarf as she got to her feet, stumbling as she spun around too fast. Adrian's hand clamped onto her shoulder to steady her.

She laughed in such a god-awful phony way, he couldn't have missed it. "My heel caught on the chair leg."

He turned to Owen. "I'm going to walk her out."

"It's okay. I promise, I'm not a klutz."

His laugh was soft. "Walking a lady out is just something I do."

Really? Was this guy for real? Or was he a murderer?

Damn. All she'd wanted was a freelance job.

"Thanks," she managed as he held her coat for her.

She slid into it, belting it at the waist and searching the crowd for the face that went with those horrible thoughts. It was her. The killer had definitely targeted her. There wasn't another woman wearing a pink scarf in the whole place. The blood fled her face as she stepped out into the cold.

Maybe Adrian's walking her out was a good thing. She could read his thoughts out of the din of the café.

"I'm taking the subway," she said, nodding toward the entrance from where she'd come.

"I'll walk you. It'll give us a chance to talk more."

She took one last look inside the café. Owen was watching them, that flat look on his face.

"Your business partner is your childhood friend, right?" she asked.

Out in the sun, she could see faint freckles across Adrian's nose and cheeks. It was somehow endearing on such a rugged guy.

"Since third grade."

She wanted to know more about why he'd been so determined to bring her on board. Not to hear accolades about her writing. In the small magazine she'd been published in recently, they always ran her picture. She didn't want to think Adrian had fixated on her, really didn't want to consider that he was Kiss and Kill Cupid.

"It's hard to imagine. You and he are so different."

She tried to tune in to his thoughts between their banter. Nothing.

"I guess that's what makes our friendship and the magazine work. He's the analytical, business type. I'm the adventurer."

She gave him a lopsided grin. "Beauty and the Brain."

He rolled his eyes. "The write-up I'll never live down."

She found herself laughing at his chagrinned expression. "But great publicity, you have to admit." Of course, it would help if she wasn't wishing he'd gone ahead and done that nude layout.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of the city: a hot dog vendor on the corner, spicy Indian food wafting from a restaurant, and cologne that smelled familiar. She picked up the random thoughts of passersby: to-do lists, the kind of mundane stuff she was surprised to find muddled most people's minds a lot of the time.

Except…nothing from Adrian.

She paused as she reached the entrance and turned to him. "Thanks for accompanying me." Thank goodness, not a trip or stumble.

"My pleasure. Call me when you've got the articles ready." He held out his hand, and when she shook it, hers became lost in that gentle grip. She imagined herself enfolded in his strong arms, her body against his, feeling completely protected, safe, and…she pushed away her own intrusive thoughts and focused on his.

But no. Absolutely nothing coming from him. She realized she was still shaking his hand and let go. "Thank you. I'll be in touch soon."

"The sooner, the better." At her surprised look, he added, "I'd like to start working together for the next issue."

She nodded, still stunned she could hear nothing from him. Was he blocking his thoughts? Or was he the only person whose thoughts she couldn't hear? What an amazing possibility! If he wasn't a murderer.