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I scroll down on my computer and click on a picture of my father. It was taken only a year before he died. He was still so young, attractive, charismatic, and the smartest man I ever knew. Everyone loved him, everyone wanted to be around him. He helped so many people get over such terrible tragedies.

The tears sting my eyes like poison. I don’t want to cry over him, but I loved him. He was a good father to me.

I peer outside, at a cloud passing the autumn moon. “I understand why he killed your mother, but why did he kill the other girls?” I ask him.

He lets out a breath, and I can imagine him running his hands through his hair, disheveling it.

“Honestly, Summer, my theory is your father was born with a taste for blood. When he killed my mother, it sparked something in him, and he went on a spree. He couldn’t control it. Don’t ask me why he left the photographs; I can’t begin to understand his version of crazy, or why he took such a vested interest in me.”

I sit with those words for a moment. A big part of me knew Lincoln was important to him, but I never dreamed he was the child of a woman he was in love with.

A sick, vile, and twisted thought hits me. “Lincoln… We’re not…?”

“No, Summer, get that dirty thought out of your head. My real father was a one-night stand. I was born before my mother even met your father.”

He’s silent for a moment before he says, “He’s not my blood relation, but he is the most brilliant mind I’ve ever encountered. I know him well enough to know that your mind is the same as his.”

“Because you think I’m a psycho, capable of mass murder?”

“I believe that your minds are similar, but it is entirely up to you what you choose to do with that mind. I’ve watched you throughout your entire life, witnessing you turn into the confident girl you are now. This is precisely why your reaction to discovering that all the men in your life are serial killers is abnormal. Now, ask me the right questions, not the stuff you already know.”

More riddles.

I blow out an exasperated breath, feeling the weight of the situation. The sound of clicking fills the silence on the other end of the line.

His thesis is due soon, the semester is half over. He’ll be a full-fledged professor in a matter of months, yet within that same timeframe, he is expected to slaughter me and inherit a fortune.

I breathe out, staring out into the trees, the starry night, the old town road, that may be my undoing. “I miss you, Lincoln,” I confess. “I can’t function anymore without being near you.”

More clicking.

“You’re a distraction for me right now, baby. A pleasant one, but you won’t help me hit my thesis deadline. My research is done now. I just need to write and finesse. I’m not clear-headed when I’m around you, as you’ve probably figured out.”

I smile despite myself. “Maybe a distraction is a good thing once in a while.” His phone call suddenly turns into a video call, and I answer it immediately.

He’s lying on his bed with the phone propped up on his nightstand. My heart stills when I see him. His hair is mussed as usual when he’s working. His skin is so pale, it’s almost like he’s glowing. And I’m relieved to see him wearing his glasses.

He arches his sexy brows. “What do you have in mind?”

I place my phone on my dresser, and I lift my knees, hinting at what he’s missing. I pull off my shirt so I’m on full display, and I lie back for him.

I hate that I crave him so much and it’s only been a few days. I hate that he supposedly doesn’t feel the same way.

He glances up from his computer and smiles. He’s stressed, I can tell by the tightness of his eyes. I pull my blanket up to cover myself. “I know you’re busy. I’m distracting you, I’m sorry.” I have so much to process, so much to consider, but all I can do is think about him.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am stressed, and I despise it. I have fifty shitty papers to grade before I can even think about beautiful distractions like you.”

This makes me melt a little inside.

“Anything I can do to help?” I ask and motion to get dressed.

“Don’t you dare move an inch—not one fucking inch the rest of the night.” He drops the computer down a touch. “Just lie like that, pretty girl, and let me watch you all night long.”

Pretty girl.

It’s become cathartic to have him watch me. Like when he’s not watching me, there is a dark empty void in my stomach. I secretly like the thought of Mikael watching me, too. Maybe a tiny bit more…

I click open my computer, now more focused—and naked, very naked. I have my own work to do, anyway. After a few minutes, I click off my Word doc and type in Mikael Peters in the search bar. Lincoln’s staring so intently at his computer, I almost think he’s in a trance.