Serial Killer Games by Kate Posey 
on April 29, 2025
An unexpected treat but avoid reading reviews.
SPOILER FREE REVIEW…
Dolores dela Cruz knows that something is off with the new temp. Jake Ripper—is that his real name?—walks around the office with his fake smile and his blend-into-the-background, bland corporate wear. Dolores is watching him and see that he is always watching everyone and making notes.
Dolores is almost certain he is a serial killer. She listens to enough true crime podcasts that she can certainly recognize one when he skulking the halls of her workplace. Everything about Jake screams that he is a predictor stalking prey among the office sheep.
What she doesn’t realize is that Jake is watching Dolores as well and trying to determine if true crime podcasts are just an obsession with Dolores or is more a list of what not to do so she doesn’t get caught.
Who is the killer here: Dolores? Jake? Or maybe, they both are.
Thoughts:
Let’s see if I can do this without giving away anything important. The author leads us through this story, lulling us into the false sense of knowing where the story is going, only to realize we weren’t picking up on the right clues time and time again.
The best part of a story like this is not knowing anything about the twists and turns since on more than one occasion I found myself following the flow of the story only to hit those moments with a “Wait, wait, wait. What just happened? What did you say?” Then mentally going back and connecting dots from the false trail of crumbs the author duped me into following
I love a story that keeps surprising me.
Dolores and Jake were cute in their odd “are you a killer” flirting. I did fear that once we got past the mystery and learned exactly what secrets each were hiding, and found out that maybe they were just boring people, would we lose interest in the story and the characters? But as the story plays outs and kept up with those “didn’t see that coming, did ya” plot points, this story really kept me engaged.
Under all the questions about murders, this also is a simple story of two very lonely people who wonder if they finally found someone who might understand them, who might be their person, but who don’t know how to take that leap of faith.
If there was anything unsatisfying about this story is that many times the romance seemed to take one step forward and two jumps back, and if things were coming too close to feelings, they defaulted back to killer flirting. Fun, yes. Romantic, not so much.
I would highly recommend this story but I would also highly recommend you stop reading reviews about this books right here. If this was a movie, I would tell you to avoid all trailers, any articles and any reviews until you have enjoy this yourself. I could do a hidden spoiler review but I don’t want to be responsible for someone stumbling onto the good stuff and ruining their own enjoyment.
I am going to post a follow up review for a week or so after the release so we can talk about this more.
Favorite Scene:
JAKE –
“What’s the appeal of serial killers?” I ask, and everyone startles. They’d forgotten I was there. Unremarkable, dull, in my gray coat and gray slacks and gray tie, my everyman haircut and glasses. I melt into the walls wherever I work.
“What?” Stanley-from-IT says.
“Why do people enjoy the topic so much?”
There’s an awkward little pause while they sit with my accusation that they’re enjoying this, and the woman in black jumps into the silence.
“Wish fulfillment, obviously.”
“Is there someone you want to kill?” I ask.
She holds my gaze, and her lips quiver in a tiny, vicious smile. A good serial killer would never draw attention to her target.
We reach the ground floor and the public transportation cohort spill out when the doors open, nattering all the while. Normally, I’d be with them, but I drove today, the first day of my new temp job. I have an errand after work. The doors sigh shut, and I’m left alone with the shadow bundled stiffly in one corner, her black leather bag clamped under one arm. She glances at me–just a quick lizard-brain reflex to scan her environment–but our eyes catch, and I’m surprised to find myself talking again. Chitchat is not something I do.
“What would your MO be? Would you push someone off a roof?”
She answers immediately, as if she’s been waiting all day for this question. “I’m a straight razor kind of girl. Small, portable, quick. Wouldn’t require much physical exertion. And there’s a certain retro classiness to it, don’t you think?”
“Very Sweeney Todd.”
She frowns and turns to face me properly with dark, inscrutable eyes. One slim hand slides her phone into her pocket.
“I was thinking Black Widow. Kept her first husband’s razor as a trophy.”
“Sounds messy.” I don’t like messes myself.
Her red lips twitch. “Why do you think I’m wearing all black? How would you do it?”
I adjust my cuffs while I contemplate my answer.
“Ah. You have strangler gloves,” she says.
I flex my fingers in my black leather gloves. “Like Stanley said,” I say. “A true serial killer has the good manners to keep it personal. A good firm stranglehold and then eye contact till the end.”
She snorts. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
My insides twist pleasantly and unexpectedly. It’s not unlike that fairground feeling. “What’s your name?”
The amused twist to her lips flattens. She doesn’t need a straight razor. She slits my throat with a scowl and returns her attention to her phone.
A moment later the doors open onto the dim basement parking, and her heels fire a gunshot staccato that echoes in the cavernous space. I follow. She walks to a black car, swings her bag into the front seat, and turns to me.
“You’re following me.”
“No. This is my car.” I lean against the car next to hers.
She considers the sleek car and weighs it against my temp uniform. “That’s definitely not your car.”
“It is.”
“Prove it. Open up the trunk and show me your latest strangle victim.”
I don’t move.
She twists sinuously on the spot and flicks her eyes up and down, from my head to my toes. “You’re a creep,” she says, and I can’t tell if it’s an insult or praise. She hops in her car and I watch as she drives off. She flips me the bird as she vanishes around a cement pillar.
I stare after her, my thoughts twisting this way and that. There was something about how she looked at me and really saw me–the faceless office temp who no one normally sees, who no one is supposed to notice. It feels risky, and exhilarating.
I fish my keys out of my pocket and pop the trunk. There’s a rolled-up rug inside, blond hair spilling out one end.
I could have shown her. Wouldn’t that have been hilarious.
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