BLIND: A Mastermind Novel (9 page)

Nicole?

I beg your pardon?

Tell me who you are.

Enough messing around. He’d gotten her attention—whoever he was—and now she was intrigued. If he didn’t give her some information she was out.

I am a man with no connection to your personal life. However, that could change once we’ve finished our discussion. I find you quite intriguing. You asked where all the real men are. I assure you, I’m real. I’m also very private. I intend to respect your privacy, as this has only to do with the two of us, and I expect you to respect mine. Should that be something you cannot do, we shall say goodbye now.

Her mind rapidly tossed out possibilities of who this man could be. No one came to mind. It could be
anyone
. It didn’t even have to be a man.

No longer thinking it was Nicole, she struggled to come up with an answer. The men at work wouldn’t do this. Maybe it was someone from her past. But this guy seemed intelligent in a way the men she dated never were. She pushed for more information.

Are you saying you’d like to go out?

That depends on you, Ms. Farrow. I’d like to learn a bit more about the woman who wrote that letter. Should your answers please me, we can make further arrangements. I’m very precise in my comforts and tend to be quite demanding. You may not be able to help me. But I’m certain I can help you.

Her body shivered with excitement laced with fear. This could be a serial killer. He knew her name. What the hell was she thinking talking to this guy?
You’re thinking he might be the answer to your prayers.
She needed to get real. Someone was yanking her chain. Maybe he worked for the column and hacked her email to get her name.

You’re messing with me.

How so?

I don’t believe your name’s Mr. Stone.

You are correct. Anonymity is important to me. While I can help you, I have stipulations, should we reach that point. For all intents and purposes, you will know me as Mr. Stone. My name carries no influence in the end result.

Help me how?

Why, Ms. Farrow, I thought I made that clear. I’m the man you seek. Should you please me, I’m prepared to show you exactly what you’re after.

Which is?

Absolute adoration.

She stilled. The joke was no longer funny. Her breath came out in a shaky exhale as she carefully catalogued what was happening. A stranger—without a face—approached her online after reading her article and now was possibly offering her everything she wanted. Impossible—and scary.

You’re being very quiet, Ms. Farrow. Tell me what you’re thinking.

I’m thinking there are a lot of crazy people in this world.

Ah. And you’re wondering if I’m one of them. Well, while I insist on a certain level of mystique to protect myself, I can offer you this, whether you trust my words is your decision. I am a responsible American citizen, residing close enough to have received your article in the paper’s circulation. I own my own company and do well enough for myself. I’m very private in my personal life, due to the fact I don’t easily trust people’s motives. The last time a woman captured my interest she fell short of my expectations. My desires are quite defined and I’m patient, believing there must be a cerebral connection before a physical relationship can develop. I have never, nor would I ever, physically harm a living thing. I believe most women are gentle creatures and the praiseworthy ones deserve to be cherished.

Shallow breaths filled her lungs. The light, teasing mood of the conversation had completely evaporated. In its place was curious caution. He could’ve just made that whole spiel up. Choosing her words carefully, she responded.

What do you look like?

I’m disappointed if this is a weighing factor. Based on your letter I assumed you were more preoccupied with the intellectual stimulation of a relationship.

You can see what I look like. You have a rock as your profile picture. Fair is fair.

Ah, but appearances tend to make impressions and tempt assumptions. You’re a smart woman. Think of how a sightless man’s senses are heightened by blindness. I want to provoke your senses, Ms. Farrow. Everything you asked for depends on trust. I require a level of trust in order to proceed. My appearance should be irrelevant. I’m not asking for a physical encounter. Rather, I’m more interested in your mind, as you should be interested in mine. However, I understand the sort of ill-favored images you’re probably concocting in that imagination of yours, so I will offer you this. I’m thirty years old. I have a personal trainer, no nasty personal habits. My hair is medium brown and my eyes are blue. I’m a little over six foot tall and have never been overweight. My health is good and I’ve had two cavities in my life. That should be enough to satisfy your curiosity for now.

Still, he could be lying. If he wouldn’t show himself he had to show her something. She needed some clue to put her at ease and know he was trust worthy.

Where are you now?

I’m sitting in my home office.

“
Hmm…Let’s see how honest you really are, Mr. Stone.” She typed out her next request.

Can you describe it to me? I
t’
ll put me at ease.

Of course. The walls are deep sapphire. My desk is glass. There are floor to ceiling bookcases on either side of the marble fireplace. And my drapes are pale blue. Satisfied?

No. You swear that’s where you are?

What purpose would it serve to lie?

She laughed. “The purpose of murdering me in my sleep.” She smiled as she typed her next test.

Prove it. Send me a picture of the room you just described.

She waited only a minute before the image loaded and her lips parted. Wow. Talk about lush. The carpet looked super expensive and the woodwork was masterful. It matched everything he described although the picture was even prettier than his description. She’d never seen an actual house with a room like—

“Wait a minute.” She responded again.

How do I know you didn’t just copy and paste that from Pinterest or something?

I suppose you have to trust me.

Trust is earned.

I see. Would it help if I wrote a word on a piece of paper and took another picture, so you could see the pictures are mine and not premeditated?

Yes. But I get to pick the word.

Fine. What shall it be?

She considered some choices, but wanted to choose something totally random to make sure he was the one producing the pictures. She grinned cleverly as Harry Potter continued to play in the background. Nothing like a random movie quote.

You have to write the words: The spider
s…
they want me to tap dance.

She waited patiently. If he actually did this and proved that was the room he was sitting in, she’d be highly impressed. Anything that looked superimposed or photo shopped and she was blocking him.

The screen dinged. “Holy. Shit.”

There was the impressive office and fireplace, and there was a man’s hand holding a slip of paper that read:

I admire your movie reference, Ms. Farrow. THE SPIDER
S…
THEY WANT ME TO TAP DANCE. I believe the next line is,
“
And I do
n’
t want to tap dance! ..
.
You tell those spiders, Ron.”

She laughed. He’d certainly done what she’d asked and proved himself. She analyzed every clue she had at her disposal. His hand looked clean. His wrist was a normal size with a nice looking watch. And his handwriting was very nice, sort of like the kind they used for Sharpie ads. Plus, he liked Harry Potter enough to know one of the quotes. Cool points.

When the screen alerted her to a new message, she minimized the image.

Satisfied? Shall we continue?

Yes, she was definitely satisfied. However… She didn’t want to come off as an idiot, but certain things weren’t making sense.

Yes. Thank you. So…are you interested in dating? I don’t understand your intentions.

Think of it as someone being focused on you—in a positive way, Ms. Farrow. You piqued my interest and I find myself charmed with the idea of being the man you seek.

But you aren’t interested in anything sexual?

Not that she’d have sex with a stranger. She was simply trying to understand what this was exactly.

What gave you that idea, Ms. Farrow?

You said you’re not interested in a physical encounter.

Ms. Farrow, allow me to enlighten you. The largest sexual organ is in fact the brain. Our bodies are aroused through the mind, erotic imagery formulated by the brain’s processing of the senses. Not all absorbed things must be learned on a kinesthetic level. I can take you where no man ever has, without ever laying a hand on you, so long as I can engage your mind.

Whoa. He was smart. Maybe he was a doctor or something. The longer she spoke to him the more information she gathered. Brown hair, blue eyes—the trainer was a plus—good with words, owned his own company—company, not practice, so probably
not
a doctor then. But most of all, he was smart! Mr. Stone was adding up to quite an interesting person. To be honest, he sounded like a catch. But it was still strange not seeing him. This could all be bullshit. She wished she had more proof then a wrist shot to know he wasn’t plotting her death.