“You’re a clever one.” She tucks her clutch under her arm and squares her shoulders. “None of the girls go by their names.”

None of the girls. As if she’s just simply one of them. “What is your name, then?” I demand.

“Whatever you want it to be, baby,” she fires back.

My mouth slants disapprovingly. That line doesn’t work for her. My presence here is bothering her. I’m an interference for some reason.

I step closer and slip my phone into my front pocket. “I noticed you don’t seem too bothered to entertain your clients.”

“You seem to notice a lot,” she says, her gaze tracking over me deliberately. “I notice a lot, too. Like the fact that your name isn’t Lawson. Not according to your credit card, Alex.”

A heated spark shoots up my back, a current of electric excitement. She just ticked up the score a notch on her assessment.

“You’re extremely observant,” I say. “Maybe I wasn’t comfortable enough to give my real name, either.”

Her gaze narrows. She doesn’t believe me. “Look. My time is better spent entertaining in private. That’s what my clientele pay for. Which”—she makes it a point to look at my clothes—“I’m sorry to say, is very out of your price range.” She levels me with a severe glare. “You should leave, whoever you are.”

Those eyes…that stare… It’s unnerving.

I lean in toward her and lower my voice to an audible whisper. “You’re not a whore.”

Her blood-red lips tip upward. That smile is disarming. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“You’re not an escort,” I clarify. “What are you, undercover? FBI? Trying to take down an escort ring, underground MMA fights? Or does it have to do with Ericson and his firm?”

The value of a predator is unrecognized, unappreciated. I am not one to take predators for granted. Her skills far outweigh those of one simply offering physical indulgence. Whatever this woman’s purpose here tonight, it’s not to bring pleasure to men. In truth, I’m probably doing Ericson a favor.

Our moment is disrupted as a guy comes around the corner. Lilah uses the opportunity to inch closer to me. Her body presses against mine, her curves mold perfectly to the contour of my form. She’s a distraction in all the wrong ways, and she knows this. She uses her body as a weapon.

“Whatever your kink is,” she says, “I’m not into it. Maybe Sophie or one of the other girls would be interested.”

“I don’t think Sophie is my type.” No—none of them are the type I need. I’ve found what I’m looking for.

The first step in the scientific method is to identify, and I’ve just identified my new subject. A thrill courses my blood as I stare into the eyes of a psychopath.