“This isn’t just about what I know. It’s about what you’re willing to do to get that information.”

“What do you want?”

He chuckles softly. “All in good time, but first, a little conversation.”

“Fine.” I clench my hands under the table. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You, Dr. Andrews.”

I blink at him one too many times, the tiny crack in my composure betraying me. Ghost’s smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens, as if he’s pleased with himself for getting a reaction, however small.

“We both know that I’m not here to discuss myself,” I say, keeping the tremor out of my voice as much as I can manage. He’s watching me too closely, reading every microexpression I try to suppress.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” he replies, his tone soft, almost coaxing. “You think you’re here for the girl, and maybe you are. But really, this is about you. It’s always been about you.”

I force myself to breathe evenly, to stay calm. Later, I can think about the repercussions of what it means to have an insane killer fixated on me. Later I can berate myself for my growing fascination with him. But for now, I need to get through this interaction without losing myself in the process.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You’re the one I wanted to see, Dr. Andrews. Not the police, not the lawyers. You. You’ve been on my mind for a long time.”

Unease runs through me, and I can’t help but wonder how much of this was planned, how long he’s been toying with the idea of meeting me.

“You’re wasting my time,” I say. “If you have something to say about Anna Lee’s kidnapper, then say it. Otherwise, this meeting is over.”

His confidence doesn’t waver. “You’re so determined, so focused. It’s one of the things I admire about you. But there’s more beneath the surface, isn’t there? So many layers. I wonder what it would take to peel them away.”

“You can play whatever games you want, but you’re not going to get inside my head, Ghost.”

“Aren’t I already?”

CHAPTER 7

“You’re thinking about me.” Ghost’s tone is deceptively gentle. “How I know about you. What I know. What I could do. You’re wondering how much of this was planned, how much control you really have. And that’s the beauty of it, Dr. Andrews. The more you try to resist, the deeper I’ll dig.”

He’s not entirely wrong, but I can’t let him know that. I exhale slowly before speaking. “Let’s say you’re right, and I want to know everything about you. None of that matters if you’re not willing to share, which leaves us at an impasse. So, all we have left to discuss is Anna Lee.”

Ghost clicks his tongue in admonishment. “Always so professional, so distant. Look at your clothes, your hair, your mouth.” His eyes drop down to my lips. “All very restrained. But that’s what fascinates me about you. You’re like ice—cold, impenetrable. I can see why men struggle to connect with you. It must be exhausting for them, trying to break through that frosty exterior of yours.”

My jaw aches from clenching it. Inside I’m screaming. The sheer audacity of his assumptions, the way he’s turning this conversation into something personal, something intimate—it’s fucking with me.

And I’ve only been in his presence for ten minutes.

“What’s it like, Dr. Andrews?” Ghost continues, his tone light, almost conversational. “To always be in control, to keep everyone at arm’s length? To never let anyone see who you really are? It must be so… lonely.”

My chest tightens, the air around me thickening, making it hard to breathe. He’s clawing at one of the few vulnerable places in my life, causing emotional damage to rise and flow like blood from a wound.

“You’re projecting,” I say. “Just because you’re isolated doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” His eyes gleam with twisted amusement, and my stomach knots. “You’re more isolated than I am. You put up emotional shields, pretending they’re there to protect you, but all they do is keep you trapped. How long has it been since you’ve truly connected with someone? Not that silly boy you mess around with. Not even that broken friend who thinks she knows you. Real connection is being truthful about who we are. And you’re flame and wrath encased in a wall of ice and control.”

How does he know those details about my personal life?

Under the table, my hands tremble with both fear and anger. He’s trying to pull me in, to make me doubt myself… and it’s working. Fury burns in my gut, singeing me with the need to lash out. Yet here I sit, silent and restrained, with my mind twisting in on itself as Ghost begins to mold me like potter’s clay.

“Enough,” I snap, getting to my feet and slamming my palms on the table. I don’t care if he enjoys watching me lose my composure. I can’t take much more of this and still maintain my professionalism. “You don’t control this conversation. I do. Now, tell me what you know about Anna Lee, or I’m walking out of here.”

For a moment, he just stares at me, his gaze inscrutable. Then, slowly, his smile fades, replaced by something colder, more calculating. “You’re stronger than I expected,” he says, almost to himself. “But strength can be a weakness too. Remember that.”

I don’t respond, refusing to rise to the bait. I can’t let him see how much he’s already unsettled me; how close he’s getting to breaking through my composure. I need to get the fuck away from him.

“I’ll tell you about the girl.” Ghost leans forward further, his voice low and conspiratorial. “But you have to give me something in return.”

I arch an eyebrow, skeptical, but I stay where I am. This glass wall only has a few small holes, but I’ve seen what he can do. “And what exactly do you think I have to offer?”

His smile returns, dark and twisted. “Your time, Dr. Andrews. Your attention. I want to know what makes you tick, what keeps you up at night. I want to understand you as well as you think you understand me.”

My throat constricts and I swallow hard, the full weight of his words sinking in. This isn’t just an obsession—it’s a need to dominate.

“You’re not getting anything from me.” I glare at him before pivoting on my heel.

“Geneva.”

The sound of my name on Ghost’s lips freezes me in place. Hearing it for the first time, in his voice, laced with that dark, insidious charm, feels like a violation. As if he’s reached inside and stripped away another layer of the armor I’ve so carefully constructed, while also caressing me.

I force myself to take a breath, to steady the tremor in my hands. I don’t turn around. I can’t. If I look at him now, I’m afraid of what I might see—what I might feel.

“Geneva,” he says again, softer this time, almost apologetic. “Don’t walk away. Not yet.”

There’s a part of me that wants to bolt out of this room, to put as much distance between myself and that voice, that man, as possible. But there’s another part—a darker, more curious part—that wants to stay, to hear what he has to say, to understand why he’s so fixated on me.

I dig my nails into my palms, using the pain as an anchor, something to hold on to, something to keep me grounded. “You haven’t earned the right to call me that.”

“But it’s your name, isn’t it? And it suits you. So strong, so poised. But there’s a vulnerability there too, just beneath the surface. I like that.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. The temptation to turn around, to confront him, to demand answers is all-consuming. But that’s exactly what he wants.