wants control, and those who don’t want to be bothered with societal problems and need someone to think for them.”
I pause and deliberate on his words, wondering who the weak one is between us. There’s no question that he’s physically stronger than me and can easily restrain me. I’d be powerless against that tall body that I can only imagine is well-built beneath that tailored suit. His limbs don’t appear to be scrawny, but neither are they the bulky musculature that some men have. Instead, his body is the sleek powerful form of a healthy man. But since he’s not an empath I could undoubtedly overpower him with my mind. His eyes are directly on mine, and I know that he has come to the same conclusion as me. Is that why you’re so boldly staring at me, detective?
“I didn’t realize you were such a cynical man.”
“I didn’t think a murderer would be concerned with other people’s freedom.”
“I suppose you would know a lot about murderers,” I suggest, smiling coolly at him. “How does your wife feel about you working so closely with dead bodies and disturbed criminals?”
“You seem to be rather interested in my wife.” A cloud of smoke slithers toward me, and I fight the urge to cringe away from the memories it threatens to evoke.
“Oh, so you do have a wife.”
“No.” When I narrow my brows in confusion, he clarifies. “I don’t have a wife, Del Mar.”
“Divorced? Widowed?” He just stares at me with those cold, calculating eyes that don’t reveal anything. “You’re an attractive and intelligent man, detective. Surely you have some woman pining after you for matrimony. You’re what–” I pause to tilt my head in consideration. “In your early thirties? You could probably still find a lovely demure wife to impregnate.”
“It would appear that you enjoy wasting time with idle talk, Del Mar.”
A crack has formed in his stoic exterior, revealing impatience. My constant references to his marital status irritate him, but the reason has yet to be revealed. Perhaps he doesn’t like me alluding to the fact that he is lonely. I find it hard to believe that he has never been romantically involved with anyone to the point of a marriage proposal, because he is attractive and intelligent. Maybe he’s one of those people who put their career before their personal relationships. That’s easy to believe, considering the amount of hours he’s in his office.
“Fine,” I breathe. “We have no way of knowing who’s capable of performing such a persuasion because no one would willingly admit it. You might think it’s a concubine because they sometimes use persuasion with their clients in their boudoirs, but that’s merely parlour tricks, and it’s not exclusive to them. The persuasion they use is to satisfy the client’s sexual fantasies. Are you partial to blondes, detective, or maybe brunettes? Or perhaps you prefer the rarity of redheads. A concubine can be anything you want them to be.”
He doesn’t even blink at my statement, which confirms my suspicion that for him work comes before anything else. “So, it’s possible that any one of you could be capable of persuading someone to commit suicide and even murder,” he proposes, but he’s already concluded as much without my help.
“Yes, a blocker may or may not have access to the three victims, but they’re traitors to my kind. I don’t see why they would ruin their position with the Elite. They profit as long as the Elite stays in positions of authority.”
“So, you think that the killer wishes to eliminate the Elite?”
“It would seem so,” I say with a shrug. “They’ve already eliminated two of its members: Charles Darwitt and Madame Del Mar.”
“And what of the constable Collin Evans?”
I narrow my brows in thought. “Was the killer targeting the constable or was his intention to incriminate the concubine that killed the constable? And why have two victims commit suicide and one commit
I pause and deliberate on his words, wondering who the weak one is between us. There’s no question that he’s physically stronger than me and can easily restrain me. I’d be powerless against that tall body that I can only imagine is well-built beneath that tailored suit. His limbs don’t appear to be scrawny, but neither are they the bulky musculature that some men have. Instead, his body is the sleek powerful form of a healthy man. But since he’s not an empath I could undoubtedly overpower him with my mind. His eyes are directly on mine, and I know that he has come to the same conclusion as me. Is that why you’re so boldly staring at me, detective?
“I didn’t realize you were such a cynical man.”
“I didn’t think a murderer would be concerned with other people’s freedom.”
“I suppose you would know a lot about murderers,” I suggest, smiling coolly at him. “How does your wife feel about you working so closely with dead bodies and disturbed criminals?”
“You seem to be rather interested in my wife.” A cloud of smoke slithers toward me, and I fight the urge to cringe away from the memories it threatens to evoke.
“Oh, so you do have a wife.”
“No.” When I narrow my brows in confusion, he clarifies. “I don’t have a wife, Del Mar.”
“Divorced? Widowed?” He just stares at me with those cold, calculating eyes that don’t reveal anything. “You’re an attractive and intelligent man, detective. Surely you have some woman pining after you for matrimony. You’re what–” I pause to tilt my head in consideration. “In your early thirties? You could probably still find a lovely demure wife to impregnate.”
“It would appear that you enjoy wasting time with idle talk, Del Mar.”
A crack has formed in his stoic exterior, revealing impatience. My constant references to his marital status irritate him, but the reason has yet to be revealed. Perhaps he doesn’t like me alluding to the fact that he is lonely. I find it hard to believe that he has never been romantically involved with anyone to the point of a marriage proposal, because he is attractive and intelligent. Maybe he’s one of those people who put their career before their personal relationships. That’s easy to believe, considering the amount of hours he’s in his office.
“Fine,” I breathe. “We have no way of knowing who’s capable of performing such a persuasion because no one would willingly admit it. You might think it’s a concubine because they sometimes use persuasion with their clients in their boudoirs, but that’s merely parlour tricks, and it’s not exclusive to them. The persuasion they use is to satisfy the client’s sexual fantasies. Are you partial to blondes, detective, or maybe brunettes? Or perhaps you prefer the rarity of redheads. A concubine can be anything you want them to be.”
He doesn’t even blink at my statement, which confirms my suspicion that for him work comes before anything else. “So, it’s possible that any one of you could be capable of persuading someone to commit suicide and even murder,” he proposes, but he’s already concluded as much without my help.
“Yes, a blocker may or may not have access to the three victims, but they’re traitors to my kind. I don’t see why they would ruin their position with the Elite. They profit as long as the Elite stays in positions of authority.”
“So, you think that the killer wishes to eliminate the Elite?”
“It would seem so,” I say with a shrug. “They’ve already eliminated two of its members: Charles Darwitt and Madame Del Mar.”
“And what of the constable Collin Evans?”
I narrow my brows in thought. “Was the killer targeting the constable or was his intention to incriminate the concubine that killed the constable? And why have two victims commit suicide and one commit
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