one else can describe me.”
The surveillance equipment that the Riggio boys installed. God, she hoped it was working so they would at least know what he looked like.
And did Sammy know he was a pharma rep? Was he really a pharma rep? Maybe not.
“ You don’t need to be afraid, Paige,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face.
She cringed inside, but only licked her lips and said, “I-I know. You said that. We’re friends. Right? So please tell me why my friend would do this, do these things?”
He tilted his head. “You always did listen to me, didn’t you? And I always listened to you. First, though, tell me something. Do you like him? Is he special for you or is he just a... convenience?”
She frowned.
“Your cop,” he clarified. “Mike? Isn’t it?”
She nodded. “I-I think so. I hope so, special that is. I mean, he just... just accepts me.” And he did. He didn’t ask a lot of questions and if he did it was so he could know, not so he could judge.
He studied her a moment. “That’s good. That’s good. I’ll admit, I am a bit jealous, but really, I’m not a good fit for anyone. At least no one that I’ve met yet. I’m a little selfish, I know that. Plus, several therapists have informed me that I have trust issues.” He smiled at her. “Can’t imagine why that might be. Can you?”
She grinned back at him ; though she knew it wasn’t a real one, maybe he wouldn’t know that.
“ Don’t worry about Mike, either. He’ll find you when it’s time.”
She only stared at him. Was that a good thing? Was he tricking her? Did she dare to believe him? How would Mike find her? Even if Mike did find her, would she be her? Or would Mike find her as one of Cohen’s art projects? One of his dolls?
“ I don’t want to be art, Cohen,” she whispered. “Or a doll.”
He chuckled and then laughed. “Oh, squirt, you’re the reason for the art. The dolls are gifts for you. I know you can’t keep them, per se, as they wouldn’t really keep, would they?” He smiled. “Another reason I take the photos. It’s like art on several levels. I create them, my dolls, and create another layer with the photographs.” He studied one and tapped it. “I prefer the old bellows method with slides and silver and chemicals, but it’s hard to capture just right. I’ll have to keep practicing. I think it captures a gothic feel to the images. To be honest, I started taking photos first because it interested me.”
She shook her head and tried to pull on her wrists without him noticing.
“ That’s, um, that’s really interesting, Cohen.” At least he hadn’t left the dolls on her porch, or stoop, or her door, or, God forbid, on her bed, where little girls usually kept their dolls. Where she had kept hers once upon a time.
“U sually, I have the clothing first, and the image, the setting in my mind. Then I try to find the girl. Sometimes it doesn’t matter what hair color she has, or eye color, what shape her face is. If she’s slim, curvaceous, tall. Other times, I want the contrast or the compliments of colors, textures, shapes in a photo.” He looked back at her and sat on the edge of the bed. “I found a hobby in photography and just took it into an area that interested me.”
Taking photos of dead women?
“I realized later they were almost doll-like. And boom! A moment, you know? A reason I was doing this. My muse! You!”
Wha t the hell did she say to that?
“Your muse?” she asked quietly.
He nodded. “Once I saw the dolls in my photos, I knew.” Again he motioned to the collection on the walls. “So I’ve made sure you can have the dolls in another way. My art, for you to keep.”
Ar t.
Black and white photos, a few in sepia. Some looked really old. Different women were in the photos. When had he taken them all? She couldn’t help but study the photos. How many women were there?
“ So many, Cohen. “ She tugged again on her wrists, glancing at her bound hands and
The surveillance equipment that the Riggio boys installed. God, she hoped it was working so they would at least know what he looked like.
And did Sammy know he was a pharma rep? Was he really a pharma rep? Maybe not.
“ You don’t need to be afraid, Paige,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face.
She cringed inside, but only licked her lips and said, “I-I know. You said that. We’re friends. Right? So please tell me why my friend would do this, do these things?”
He tilted his head. “You always did listen to me, didn’t you? And I always listened to you. First, though, tell me something. Do you like him? Is he special for you or is he just a... convenience?”
She frowned.
“Your cop,” he clarified. “Mike? Isn’t it?”
She nodded. “I-I think so. I hope so, special that is. I mean, he just... just accepts me.” And he did. He didn’t ask a lot of questions and if he did it was so he could know, not so he could judge.
He studied her a moment. “That’s good. That’s good. I’ll admit, I am a bit jealous, but really, I’m not a good fit for anyone. At least no one that I’ve met yet. I’m a little selfish, I know that. Plus, several therapists have informed me that I have trust issues.” He smiled at her. “Can’t imagine why that might be. Can you?”
She grinned back at him ; though she knew it wasn’t a real one, maybe he wouldn’t know that.
“ Don’t worry about Mike, either. He’ll find you when it’s time.”
She only stared at him. Was that a good thing? Was he tricking her? Did she dare to believe him? How would Mike find her? Even if Mike did find her, would she be her? Or would Mike find her as one of Cohen’s art projects? One of his dolls?
“ I don’t want to be art, Cohen,” she whispered. “Or a doll.”
He chuckled and then laughed. “Oh, squirt, you’re the reason for the art. The dolls are gifts for you. I know you can’t keep them, per se, as they wouldn’t really keep, would they?” He smiled. “Another reason I take the photos. It’s like art on several levels. I create them, my dolls, and create another layer with the photographs.” He studied one and tapped it. “I prefer the old bellows method with slides and silver and chemicals, but it’s hard to capture just right. I’ll have to keep practicing. I think it captures a gothic feel to the images. To be honest, I started taking photos first because it interested me.”
She shook her head and tried to pull on her wrists without him noticing.
“ That’s, um, that’s really interesting, Cohen.” At least he hadn’t left the dolls on her porch, or stoop, or her door, or, God forbid, on her bed, where little girls usually kept their dolls. Where she had kept hers once upon a time.
“U sually, I have the clothing first, and the image, the setting in my mind. Then I try to find the girl. Sometimes it doesn’t matter what hair color she has, or eye color, what shape her face is. If she’s slim, curvaceous, tall. Other times, I want the contrast or the compliments of colors, textures, shapes in a photo.” He looked back at her and sat on the edge of the bed. “I found a hobby in photography and just took it into an area that interested me.”
Taking photos of dead women?
“I realized later they were almost doll-like. And boom! A moment, you know? A reason I was doing this. My muse! You!”
Wha t the hell did she say to that?
“Your muse?” she asked quietly.
He nodded. “Once I saw the dolls in my photos, I knew.” Again he motioned to the collection on the walls. “So I’ve made sure you can have the dolls in another way. My art, for you to keep.”
Ar t.
Black and white photos, a few in sepia. Some looked really old. Different women were in the photos. When had he taken them all? She couldn’t help but study the photos. How many women were there?
“ So many, Cohen. “ She tugged again on her wrists, glancing at her bound hands and
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