“It’s not that bad. I mean, you can smell it, but it’s not overwhelming. Will you rebuild it then?” she asked as they got out of the car and walked toward the front door.
“Yeah, I’ve spent most of the week cleaning up the mess. I took down a few trees on the other side so I could make it a little bigger.”
“What do you need all that space for?”
“I don’t, not really. I just like to work with my hands. It’s soothing. You know, like a hobby,” he said, unlocking the front door.
Adriana stepped inside and looked around. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was outdated, right down to the crocheted blanket tossed over the back of a mustard yellow sofa.
“It’s atrocious, isn’t it?” he said as if seeing it for the first time himself.
“No. It’s quaint.”
“Right. Quaint,” he chuckled. “What’s your poison?”
“What do you have?”
“Come and I’ll show you,” he replied.
Adriana followed him to a door in the hallway. He opened it and reached inside to flip a wall switch. A light came on that lit the top of the stairs and part of the way down, but the bottom was still quite dark. She took a deep breath and smiled at him, considering how easy it had been to get her here. Right here. Alone with a man she barely knew out in the middle of nowhere, in a house that didn’t look like he even lived in it.
This is what the detectives always missed. They didn’t consider how their victims had gotten lured in by their prey. It was just charm. They didn’t have to drag a woman out to their lair, kicking and screaming. They didn’t have to drug her. All it took was a bit of sex appeal and conversation. Her eyes darted behind her, wondering if she could make a run for it.
“Adriana?”
His voice cut through her thoughts like a razor. She shuddered, goosebumps popping up all over as she more fully realized her predicament. Who would write the article about how a journalist researching an online dating app was lured to her death by a handsome stranger? She hadn’t been able to find his name online. Dane Johnson.
The penny dropped. Dane Johnson. Dwayne Johnson. The motherfucking Rock! Not only had he taken on a fake name, but he had made a joke of it. Jesus, she was stupid. Okay. Okay, don’t panic, her brain screamed.
“Adriana?” he repeated.
“You’re not The Rock,” she blurted.
“What?”
“You lied about your name. Dane Johnson? Really? I can’t believe I fell for that.”
“Adriana, what’s going on?” he said, looking bewildered.
“Who are you? Why did you bring me here?” she said, moving away from the door.
“To have a drink?”
“What is your name?”
“Dane.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is,” he said, walking back down the hallway and pulling a photo off the wall. He slipped it out of the frame and turned it over, handing it to her. “See?”
Adriana looked down at it. Dane. Age 15. Though it was a much younger face, it was obviously him. She bit her lip and kept looking at it, unable to meet his gaze.
“Adriana? What’s this about?” he asked.
“I . . . I don’t know. I had a moment of panic when you started to take me down to the basement.”
“Down to the base . . . Oh. Jesus. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how that might look to you. Of course. You’re out here alone with a stranger and he tries to lure you down to his basement.”
He looked down, a low chuckle escaping his lips. When he looked back up at her, he was smiling broadly, and she felt like a complete asshole.
“The wine cellar is down there. Well, not just the wine. All the booze. I thought it would be easier for you just to pick what you’d like because I’m not quite sure what’s down there myself.”
Adriana continued to look down at her shoes until he reached out and cupped her chin in his hands, pulling her face up toward his. He was still smiling, and she still felt like an idiot.
“I tell you what. Go have a seat on the sofa, and I’ll just bring up a couple of bottles of wine for you to choose from. I’ll even let you open them so you can be sure I didn’t put anything in them,” he said with a wink, not giving her a chance to answer.
Instead, he made his way down the stairs, flipping another switch at the bottom to light that part up. She could see a section of what appeared to be a substantial wine rack down there before she turned and went to the living room to park what was left of her dignity on the sofa and wait for him to return. She had no idea why she had reacted that way. Was it a leftover from her encounter with Parquo? Some repressed fear she’d been choking back, perhaps?