by Cynthia Eden
Oh, not a good visual. Unfortunately, it was exactly what had happened. The image of Preston’s dead body flashed before her eyes.
Vamps and shifters had never been known to eat prey. Drink blood, yes, but actually eating human prey? She’d known only a few demons who indulged in consuming flesh.
“A man didn’t do that.” Smith stopped her tapping and looked straight at Gyth. “No man could have done that.”
He didn’t say a word.
So Emily had to take the ball. “Then what do you think attacked Preston Myers?”
Smith’s midnight-black gaze never left Colin. “I think it was a large dog, maybe a wolf.”
He shook his head. “You know that’s not possible, Smith. The cameras—”
“I know! Dammit!” She jerked the mask off her neck and tossed it into the garbage. “But nothing else makes sense. I found animal hairs on the vic. I sent them off for analysis. We should have a full match on them soon. The bite radius on the vic’s neck—there’s no way that came from a human mouth. And the lacerations—” She paused, shook her head, “They don’t fit the profile of knife wounds or ice picks. They’re jagged, deep as hell.”
A wolf shifter had powerful, deadly claws. Far longer and stronger than a normal wolf’s.
“This is the weirdest damn case I’ve ever seen.” Smith turned her attention back to Emily. “And I’ll sure be interested in finding out exactly what you think about this killer.”
Well, Smith wasn’t going to be among the select few who got to view her full report. Emily knew Danny would want her data to go to his select superiors—the superiors who he knew would “understand” the special details of the case.
Smith pulled off her gloves and held her hand out to Emily. I’m glad Gyth brought you on the case, Dr. Drake. I sure hope you can catch this bastard.”
Emily’s hand met hers. “Yeah, me, too.” She cleared her throat, glanced back at Colin. “Is there an office I can use here? I want to start going over the files.”
“Yeah, we’ve got a place for you.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “Come on, I’ll show you. It’s barely bigger than a closet, but that’s the way all the offices are in this place.”
Nodding to Smith, Emily stepped back. “Good to meet you.”
“Same here.” The ME watched her as she crossed the room. Just as Emily stepped over the threshold, Smith called out, “Dr. Drake, just one question.”
Emily glanced back. Beside her, Colin seemed to tense. “Yes?”
“You didn’t seem particularly surprised to hear about the animal hairs on the vic.” Her head cocked to the side. “Why is that?” Suspicion was rich in her voice.
Emily hesitated.
“I’d already told her,” Colin said, shrugging casually. “I mentioned that bit about the dog or wolf hair on the ride over.” He flashed her a smile. “Sorry to steal your thunder, Smith.”
The ME’s shoulders relaxed. “Ah, it’s okay, Gyth.” She laughed softly, the sound a little rusty, and she admitted, “I was worried there for a minute, though.”
“Worried? Why?” He asked.
Smith didn’t look at Emily as she said, “I thought the doctor might know more about the perp than she was letting on.”
Yes, that was the truth. Emily tried a smile of her own, but her lips felt stiff, the movement too false. “I just have suspicions at this point, Smith. Nothing more.”
She glanced down at her watch. Five o’clock. There was time to start reviewing the case files, time to get more than just suspicions before she had to meet Jake.
Time to start tracking the shifter.
The woman had been huddled in the shoebox-sized office for the last three hours. He could see straight through the windowed walls, could see right inside to her hunched figure.
The doc was poring over the files. Crime scene photos were spread on the table before her. Typed notes lay to her side.
She was tapping a pen against her lips as she read, tapping, tapping…
“Well, well, is that her?”
The gravelly voice sounded at his side. Colin didn’t bother glancing to his left. He’d know that broken drawl anywhere.
His partner was back.
“Yeah, that’s her.” She pushed the notes aside, reached for a photo. Held it up, stared.
“Hmmm. Kinda pretty.” A chair shrieked a protest as Todd Brooks sat down.
Colin swiveled his chair very slowly to face him. Todd was the pretty-boy of the precinct. Brown hair perfectly cut. Too perfect teeth. And big, brown, You-Can-Trust-Me eyes that he’d used on more than his share of suspects.
The idiots couldn’t trust him, but they never realized that fact until it was too late.
Brooks reeled ’em in, convinced them he was their best friend. He got their confessions, then those eyes lost their warmth.
And the real man began to show.
Normally, Colin almost liked the guy. Todd didn’t ask stupid questions, he minded his own business, and he was a damn good shot.
The guy was also a notorious ladies’ man. He’d slept with nearly every female cop in the precinct.
But he’d sure as hell better not be planning on letting his gaze drift to the doc.
“She’s off-limits, Brooks.” Better to go ahead and make that clear.
His partner just shrugged. “So she’s working the case. Big deal. We can still—”
Colin leaned forward. “No, I don’t think you get it. She’s off-limits.”
Those puppy-dog eyes blinked, and the light seemed to dawn. “Ah, got her marked already, huh, partner?”
No, he hadn’t marked her. Not yet. That would come later. Shifters always marked their mates.
Colin stiffened. Where the hell had that thought come from? The doc was not his mate.
Sure, he wanted to have sex with her, wanted it damn bad, but she was not his mate.
No fucking way.
“Pity.” Todd’s brown eyes drifted past Colin’s shoulders. “I sure would have liked to have gotten her on my couch.”
“Stop thinking with your dick, Brooks.” Captain McNeal stood behind him, his brows beetled low.
Brooks clenched his jaw. Then lifted one brow. “You knew he was there, didn’t ya?” His voice was whisper soft.
“Hell, yeah.” He didn’t bother lowering his voice. His gaze lifted to meet the captain’s. “Having a late night?”
“I was waiting to talk to Dr. Drake.” When Brooks turned to face him, McNeal shoved his index finger into his chest. “Don’t screw around with the doctor, Detective. We need her.”
“I’m not the one you’ve got to worry about,” he muttered.
“What’s that supposed to—”
“Captain McNeal? Gyth? May I speak with you both?” Emily asked, her seductive voice cutting straight through the rumble of noise in the precinct.
“Ah, sure, Em—Dr. Drake.” McNeal nodded to her but stabbed his finger against Brooks’s chest once more. “Don’t mess with her.”
The captain pushed past him and Brooks exhaled heavily. Then he took a step forward. “Hey, I should hear what she’s got to say, too.”
McNeal didn’t glance back at him. “Colin will brief you tomorrow. Go home, Brooks.”
Colin easily read the disbelief on his partner’s face. This was not the way things were usually handled at the PD. “What? But I’m assigned to this case, I need to know—”
McNeal stopped, turned slowly to face the angry detective. “You need to know what I tell you. She hasn’t worked up a full profile yet. When she does, you’ll know.”
He clenched his jaw, shot a fuming glance toward Colin. “You’ll fill me in?”
Colin nodded. He’d tell him as much as he could. He had a feeling the captain wouldn’t let him reveal all the facts to Brooks, but he actually saw that as a good thing. Brooks probably wouldn’t believe them when they started talking about the Other, and he sure as hell wouldn’t know how to track one of them.
“Fine.” He inclined
his head toward the captain. “Then I’ll follow your orders and get the hell out of here.” His glance drifted to Emily. “But first I want to meet the doctor.”
The captain grunted but stepped back so that Brooks could make his way over to Emily. She watched him with lowered brows as he approached, her lips slightly pursed.
Colin crossed to Emily’s side, deliberately positioning himself next to her.
Brooks held out his hand. “Dr. Drake, I’ve heard a lot about you.” He flashed his pretty-boy smile. “I’m Colin’s partner, Detective Todd Brooks.”
Emily took his hand, held it for all of three seconds—yeah, he counted—then pulled away. “Nice to meet you, Detective.” Her hair was still loose around her shoulders and the lenses of her glasses glinted faintly in the light. Her stare fell on Danny. “Will Detective Brooks be joining us for the briefing?”
“Ah, no, he—”
“I’ve got orders to head home tonight,” Brooks murmured. “But I’ll look forward to discussing the case with you soon.”
She nodded.
Brooks gave a little salute. “Night, guys.” Then he turned on his heel and headed for the exit.
Emily stepped back into her makeshift office. Colin and Danny crowded in behind her. When Colin kicked the door closed, the bustle of noise from the station immediately quieted.
“So what do you have for us, Doc?” he asked, his gaze dropping to the crime scene photos spread across her desk.
Her hand lifted and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve got a basic profile going so far. You’re probably looking for a male—but you already knew that. Shifters are predominately male. And in this case, the killer had to be damn strong to overpower Preston. Another point for a man. The level of raw violence is also an indicator that the perp is male.”
Yeah, Colin had already guessed they were looking for a guy. “Keep going.”
“The killer’s young, probably in his mid-twenties to late thirties, and it’s a good bet that he lives in the area.”
“How do you know he’s not a drifter?” the captain asked, and Colin knew he was hoping the killer was a one-hit wonder who’d just been passing through.
“He knew the house,” Emily explained. “Knew the neighborhood. Knew how to get in and out without being seen. This guy knew Preston. He’s not an out-of-towner who just popped in and randomly decided to murder the vic.” And stranger crimes didn’t usually have this dangerous level of rage.
“Well, shit.” McNeal looked even more disgruntled than usual. “There’ve been some rumblings upstairs about this guy being a serial.” He leveled a hard look at the doc. “You told me before you thought he’d do it again.”
“Yes, I did.” Her lips pursed. “But so far, this guy doesn’t fit the strict definition of a serial.”
“You mean because he hasn’t killed three people?” Colin asked.
She nodded. “The FBI requires three victims before the label of serial killer can be applied. So far, we’ve only got one body.”
The doc was holding back. He could feel it. “But?”
“But I think he’s killed before.” She touched the security photo of the hooded figure entering the Myers house. “This guy is confident. He had his plan in mind, probably for days before the actual attack. And there were no hesitation wounds on the victim’s body.” Her tongue snaked out, licked her bottom lip. “He went straight for the kill. This guy’s no amateur, no first-timer feeling his way. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“But until we find more bodies, we can’t say he’s a serial,” McNeal muttered.
“Right.”
Colin didn’t think that was a particularly bad thing. The public tended to panic when they got news that a serial killer was on the streets, and a panicked public could be very dangerous.
“If he is a true serial killer, he won’t attack anyone else right away. He’ll wait and have a cooling-off time. Could be for a few days or it could be years.” She began to straighten the photos, putting them into a nice, neat pile. “Course, since the guy’s a shifter, the normal serial rules might not apply at all.”
“What rules would apply?” This came from the captain, who was no longer leaning back against the wall. He’d shot to attention as Emily spoke, and now he stood at the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest.
“Well, if we’re right and he is a shifter, then here are a few generalities for you.” She didn’t glance toward Colin as she spoke. “The guy’s about five times stronger than a human male. He’s highly sexual, got an extremely high IQ, and he’s damn good at manipulation.”
Colin stiffened at that. “Manipulation?” He didn’t particularly like that term.
Her head turned slowly, and she met his gaze. “Shifters are born looking human, but they carry beasts their whole lives. They have to hide their animal natures, have to pretend to be just like everyone else, and usually, by the time shifters reach adulthood, they’re damn good at pretending.”
You have to pretend, or else the humans will kill you. Hunt you and kill you.
Emily glanced back at McNeal. “He’s used to lying, used to hiding, used to blending in with the crowd.”
“If this guy is so damn good at blending in,” McNeal muttered, “then how the hell are we going to find him?”
Good question, and one that Colin didn’t have a ready answer for. Sure, he was chasing down leads. He was planning to go see just what Jake Donnelley knew about the case, but flushing out a shifter? That wasn’t going to be easy. Not by a long shot.
“We have to go into his world,” Emily said softly. “Preston was involved with at least one demon that I know of. He could know other SBs. Maybe we can get one of them to talk to us.”
Well, hell, the doc had just voiced his own plan.
McNeal shot him a quick, searching glance.
Colin nodded. “That’s my general plan.” Emily had just beaten him to the punch.
The captain grunted. “You can’t take Brooks with you to question them. The guy doesn’t understand the circumstances of this crime.”
Yeah, he knew Brooks was out. The guy was a decent partner. Smart, tough, and dependable. Hell, the guy’s main flaw seemed to be that he was always chasing a new lady.
Brooks was a good-enough guy, but he had no clue about the existence of the Other in the world. No idea that the creatures from the horror flicks he loved so much were actually real.
His partner lived in the human reality, the black-and-white world where bad guys pulled guns or knives on you—not the world where shape-shifters could rip you apart or demons could incinerate you.
“Take Dr. Drake with you.”
Colin jerked at the order, sure he’d misunderstood. “Ah, run that by me again, Captain.”
McNeal’s lips thinned. “You heard me, Gyth. You need someone to go with you when you interview the Other. You need her. Hell, without her, you won’t even be able to tell the difference between the humans and the—”
“It’s not safe for her,” Colin snarled, cutting across the captain’s words. Take Emily with him to interview demons, shifters? Hell, no.
“You keep her safe.”
“I—” He floundered. Well, sure if Emily was with him, he’d do everything in his power to protect her. But he didn’t want to put her at risk. Anything could happen on the street, and if someone were to hurt the doc on his watch…
His nails began to stretch into claws.
What the fuck?
Colin balled his hands into fists and jerked away from McNeal and Emily. He hoped they hadn’t seen the change. Hoped they hadn’t noticed the razor-sharp claws that sprung from his fingertips.
Jesus. That had never happened before. He’d never had the change come on him so damn fast when there wasn’t a physical threat nearby.
What in the hell is happening to me?
“Colin?” Emily’s voice. The soft drawl was laced with concern.
Great.
“She do
esn’t go.” He didn’t look back at her. At the captain. His normal control wasn’t back yet, and he was having to fight the lure of the beast.
McNeal grunted. “Don’t be an asshole, Detective. You need her and you know it.”
The faint creak of the floorboards grated against his ears. Emily is inching closer to me.
Get your control back, man. Get it back now.
He spun around, came face-to-face with her.
Her green eyes widened and her lips parted on a startled breath of surprise.
With the beast so close, all of his senses were heightened. Her scent filled his nostrils, and the light whisper of her breathing filled his ears. He could even hear the faint drum of her heart. Beating fast, so fast.
“Are you all right?” Her brows drew together as she stared up at him.
And he wondered just what she was feeling. Was the doc using her mojo? Was she tapping into his emotions? Before she’d told him that he projected, and he bet the beast was projecting a hell of a lot of raw emotion straight at her then.
“I’m fine,” he gritted, and it was the truth. The beast had just tried to slip its leash for a moment, but the animal was chained again.
Emily had lifted her right hand toward him. It hung in the air, hovering just above his chest. As he watched, her fingers slowly lowered and she pulled back her hand, stepping away from him.
“A civilian can’t work the street.” And his captain should damn well know that. “She’s not armed. She won’t be able to defend herself.”
“But she’ll know exactly who you need to talk with, won’t she, Detective?” The captain looked about as satisfied as a man could get. The jerk.
Yeah, she’d know who he needed to interview. She’d make his questioning go a hell of a lot faster.
But the idea of taking her with him…
It didn’t sit well with him. Not one damn bit.
“You need me, Gyth,” Emily told him softly. And yeah, she was right. He needed her for the case.
Needed her in his bed.
Right then, he wasn’t pleased with either fact.
His eyes narrowed on her. “If we do this, you do what I say, exactly as I order.” Keeping the doc under his control wasn’t gonna be easy. Hell, this was the same woman who’d gone traipsing after him as he searched that old vacant lot near her house.