I cross the distance between us quickly, somehow feeling more powerful since I'm wearing my heels. "Who are you?" I demand.

"I believe we've already met. My name is Vincent," he says simply. "And your name is Amy."

My calm demeanor slips a little when he utters my name. The pause before it tells me he wants me to actually hear it. To understand that he knows who I am.

I clear my throat, determined not to show him how disconcerted I was am, how hypnotized I feel by those almost black eyes. And most importantly, I am determined not to let him see the shudder of desire that went through me when he said my name in his low, seductive voice.

There is something raw and masculine about him, even down to the way he smells. Musky and wild. Feral, almost.

"I know what you did to that woman," I blurt out.

"Yes, it was lucky we both saw her fall, wasn't it? She could have been there for quite some time, exposed and alone, otherwise."

I barely hear his words. His voice is almost hypnotic, soothing. I shake my head slightly. What's wrong with me? This man attacked a woman in front of me, and I'm fighting the urge to flirt with him.

When I look at him, I don't see a monster or a serial killer. All I can see is him sweeping me up into his arms, kissing me, holding me close.