Isabella took her time before pulling her stare away from her wine glass. ‘My brother passed away,’ she said with sadness in her eyes.

‘Oh! I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s OK,’ she replied with a slight shake of the head. ‘It was a while ago.’

‘Were you still kids?’

Her stare went back to her wine glass. Hunter could tell she was searching for the right words. ‘He was a Marine, sent to a war we didn’t belong. In a country most Americans can’t even spell the name of.’

Hunter wondered if he should ask any more about it, but Isabella made the decision for him. ‘You know, this ain’t fair,’ she said, clearing the table and taking the dishes into the kitchen.

‘What ain’t fair?’ Hunter followed her, carrying both glasses with what was left of the wine.

‘You. I’ve basically told you my whole life story and every time I ask you about yours you give me some evasive answer. Is that a common thing among detectives?’ She turned on the sink tap placing the plates under the running water.

‘We’re very good at asking questions, but not so hot at answering them.’ Hunter had another sip of his wine and watched Isabella wash the first plate and place it on the dish rack. ‘Wait. Let me do that for you.’ He placed his hand on her shoulder and gently led her away from the sink. She smiled and picked up her wine glass.

‘So you’ll tell me nothing of your life.’ She tried again.

Hunter finished washing the remainder of the dishes and turned to face her. ‘I’m a detective for the Los Angeles Robbery-Homicide Division, assigned to a section called Homicide Special 1. We only deal with serial killers, high-profile and other homicide cases that require extensive time. In other words, I’m assigned mainly sick, overly brutal cases. The people I deal with on a day-to-day basis are either very evil or very dead. The things I see every day would make most people sick to the stomach. Talking about my life is, without a doubt, the biggest conversation killer anyone could come up with.’ He paused for another sip of wine. ‘Trust me, you don’t really wanna know about my days or my job.’

‘OK then. Don’t tell me about your job. Tell me about your childhood, your family.’

‘Not much to tell,’ he said shortly.

She understood and decided not to push it. ‘OK. I like mystery.’ His boyish charm excited her. She stepped closer and took the glass from his hand placing it on the kitchen worktop. She slowly moved her face nearer until her mouth was less than an inch from Hunter’s left ear.

‘So what do you do to relax?’ Her sexy voice was now just a tender whisper. Her warm breath against his neck made him rigid. Hunter lent his face back just enough so they were looking into each other’s eyes.

‘Can I suggest something?’ At that moment their lips touched. Hunter immediately felt her soft tongue against his and they exploded into a passionate kiss. He pulled her closer and felt the stiffness of her nipples against his chest. He pushed her against the worktop and lifted her onto it. In an instant she’d lost her blouse, Hunter’s mouth exploring every inch of her breasts. Isabella threw her head back and moaned with pleasure. Before Hunter had a chance to unbutton his shirt she grabbed it with both hands and ripped it from his body, the buttons bouncing over the worktop and floor. They embraced once again, leading to another ferocious kiss; this time Isabella plunged her long red nails into Hunter’s back, her grip tight and tender at the same time.

They made love over the worktop, on the kitchen floor and then moved into the bedroom. By the time their sexual desires were satisfied the first rays of sunlight had started to grace the sky.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she said, rolling over towards Hunter and resting her hand on his chest. ‘You were good the first time we met, but boy, what an improvement.’ A smile played around at the corners of her mouth.

‘I really hope so.’ Hunter turned to face her and gently moved a strand of hair away from her eyes.

She kissed him again. ‘I’m starving, how about some food? It’s almost breakfast time anyway.’

‘Great idea.’ They both got out of bed. Isabella searched one of her drawers for some clean clothes while Hunter went back into the kitchen where all of his were scattered around the floor.

‘What happened to teddy-bear underwear?’ Isabella had just walked back into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of white lace panties.

‘You better put something else on or we’re gonna go through everything we did last night all over again.’ His eyes never leaving her body.

‘Is that a promise?’ she said, picking Hunter’s shirt from the floor and putting it on. There were no buttons left so she simply tied a knot around her waist. ‘Is this better?’ She gave him a quick wink.

Hunter swallowed dry. ‘It actually turns me on even more.’

‘Great, but let’s have breakfast first.’ She opened the fridge door and retrieved a few eggs, a carton of milk, a small bottle of orange juice and from the freezer some hash browns.

‘Do you need any help?’ Hunter asked.

‘No, I’ll be OK, besides, last time you offered to help in the kitchen you know what happened.’ She poured two glasses of orange juice and handed him one.

‘Yeah, you’ve gotta point. I’ll just wait in the living room then,’ he said, giving her a quick kiss.

‘How do you like your eggs?’

‘Umm… scrambled, I guess.’

‘Scrambled it is.’

Hunter walked back into the living room and sat at the table. For the first time since the new killings began he’d managed to disconnect.

‘You forgot these in the kitchen,’ Isabella said, coming into the living room and handing him his very old-looking pair of shoes. ‘How long have you had these?’

‘Too long.’

‘Yeah, it shows.’

‘I’ve been meaning to get a new pair,’ he lied.

‘You should. In Italy it is a known fact that you can tell a man from the shoes he wears.’

‘Damn. So I’m old and… dirty?’

She laughed a contagious laugh. ‘Anyway, breakfast will be just a couple of minutes.’

Hunter had just finished his orange juice when Isabella walked back into the living room carrying a breakfast tray. Scrambled eggs, hash browns, brown toast and freshly made coffee.

‘Coffee? I thought you’d said you only had tea.’

‘I did, last week, but somehow I had a feeling you’d stay the night, so I bought some yesterday. I hope it’s OK, I’m not really a coffee person. I’m not sure if this is a good brand or not.’

‘I’m sure it will be just fine… it smells great,’ he reassured her.

‘What’s that?’ she said, pointing to the piece of paper in front of him.

Hunter had unconsciously started fiddling with a pen and paper while waiting for breakfast. Amongst the several meaningless doodles he’d drawn, he’d reflexively sketched the double-crucifix symbol.

‘Oh, nothing really.’

‘That’s funny.’

‘What’s funny?’

‘That thing you’ve drawn. I’ve seen it before, I thought it meant something.’

Thirty-Six

Los Angeles is a great party town. Rock stars, movie stars, celebrities, politicians, super rich, it doesn’t matter, one thing they all have in common is their love for parties, their desire to be seen.

Martin Young was a thirty-six-year-old entrepreneur who made all his millions in the property business. His company, Young Estates, specialized in properties for the super rich – Beverly Hills, Bel Air, Malibu and Venice Beach mostly. He’d rubbed shoulders with famous people from all walks of life. Madonna had sold one of her LA properties through Martin’s company before moving to London. It took Young Estates only six months to bring its owner his first million in profit. Two years after he started his company, Martin could’ve retired if he wanted to, but he’d been bitten by the money bug and the more he had, the more he wanted. He became a ruthless businessman with most of his life revolving around his company, except for the weekends. To Martin weekends were for partying, and he liked to party hard. Once a month he’d hire some extravagant-looking house on the outskirts of town, invite a few close friends, pay several prostitutes and fill the place up with every kind of drug imaginable – just like last night.