After taking one final bite of my pancakes, I stood and brushed the crumbs from my jeans. “Well, it wasn’t me. It was some other poor girl.” I shivered just thinking about it. This was the fifth murder in the past few months. The police thought a serial killer was behind them all, and they’d caught a suspect a few weeks back. The murders had stopped…until now.

Either this was a copycat or they’d caught the wrong guy.

Serena frowned up at me. “Why aren’t you more freaked out? What if that had been you?”

“I am freaked out, but I don’t want to drive myself crazy thinking in what ifs. Not anymore. I spent two years doing that.” I strode over to the window, popped my head outside, and found Hendrix waiting for his morning treat. With a smile, I tossed him a leftover piece of my pancake. He caught it midair and swallowed it in one gulp. Spoiled pigeon.

Serena edged up behind me. “Just don’t go traipsing through the streets at night again, okay? Not even for a job.”

“I won’t,” I replied, though I’d meant what I said. An asshole with a knife wouldn’t make me cower in this apartment. I’d come to the city to finally move on with my life, so that was what I was going to do. As soon as I got a job. First up, I had to nail this interview. And hope they didn’t decide to look me up online.

4

The little cafe sat on a tree-lined street in the nicest part of Clinton Hill and on the ground floor of a brownstone. Potted plants dotted the sidewalk, along with circular wrought-iron tables. Every one was packed with customers sitting in the sun and taking advantage of the warm summer day. I squared my shoulders and pushed open the door. A little bell jangled to announce my arrival.

Two harried baristas glanced up from behind the counter that curved along one wall. A line of customers trailed through the building, though most of the tables inside were vacant. Tiny, multi-colored mason jars lined the walls, and old pallets hung from the ceiling by mismatched chains and ropes. The scent of coffee wafted into my nose in a sudden blast of aromatic caffeine.

Noah popped his head out of a door in the far corner. He motioned me forward. I took a deep breath, wound my way through the crowd, and joined him in the back. He gave me a once-over, taking me in. Unlike last night’s interview, I’d opted for a nice pair of black slacks, a sleeveless, button-up shirt that covered my belly button, and a basic pair of flats.

“You look nicer than usual,” he said.

“Gee, thanks.”