Hotter After Midnight

He remembered reading an old file about the fire a few years ago. No one had been hurt. The smoke alarms had alerted the staff and they’d gotten all the patients out safely. A sudden thought had him tensing. “Dammit, Emily, were you working there when—”

“I didn’t work there!” Her voice was sharp. “Oh damn, I’ve got to go talk to Darla, find out what she knows.”

“You mean we’ve got to talk to her.” The doc should have gotten it by now. They were partners. Partners worked together. “But we can’t question her with all those other reporters around. We’ll wait, go to her later tonight.”

Emily nodded, but she didn’t look pleased with the delay. “Fine.”

Tension had made her body stiffen against his. His gaze swept over her. She was wearing a black turtleneck again. He’d wondered if she’d worn that top to hide the faint mark he’d left on her throat.

He’d marked her deliberately, of course. It was the way of his kind.

And he’d do it again. As soon as he got her beneath him, or on top of him.

Hell, he’d take her any way he could get her. He’d gotten his first good taste of the doc, and he was hungry, starving, for more.

His gaze dropped to her waist. She was wearing a skirt. A slim black skirt.

Pity Smith was waiting on them. He’d sure love to lift up that skirt and find out if Emily was as soft as he remembered.

His cock swelled against his zipper.

Damn. Not the time.

Emily was angry, frightened, and sure as hell not in the mood for a horny shifter.

Later.

He forced his hands to release their grip on her. They needed to talk more. A hell of a lot more. He still didn’t know what secret was burning her from the inside, but they were already running late. It would have to wait. He’d question her after they talked to Smith. “We need to get going. Smith wants us to meet her in the morgue.”

A flash of distaste covered Emily’s face.

“Yeah, Doc. I hate the smell down there, too.” He sure as hell didn’t know how Smith could stand it. “But she’s got something to tell us.” Maybe they’d gotten lucky and Smith had found a link to the killer.

Emily nodded jerkily and began hurrying down the stairs. He frowned as he watched her, remembering too late the words he’d all but ignored moments before.

I didn’t work there.

But if Emily hadn’t been working at Serenity Woods, then what had she been doing there?

Smith was waiting on them, already covered in her white lab coat. She had her radio turned on; she usually listened to it when she was doing paperwork, and soft, whispery jazz filled the air.

She frowned when she saw them. “Damn, Gyth. What’d you guys do, stop for coffee?”

“Sorry.” Emily cleared her throat. “My fault. I was talking to a reporter.”

“Hmmm. Freaking vultures.” Smith shoved away from her desk. “Those idiots didn’t care about the facts. They just want to hype the killer, sell more copies of their paper, and get folks so scared they stay glued to their TV sets.”

“A little harsh, don’t you think?” Colin asked. He knew Smith didn’t love the media. She’d had a run-in a few years ago with a reporter for News Flash Five. The guy had tried to make it look like she’d contaminated evidence in a murder trial.

She hadn’t, but the reporter had done a damn good job of insinuating that she and the department were corrupt.

Luckily, the jury had been sequestered and they’d missed the daily news reports and the murderer had gone to jail.

But Smith hadn’t forgotten or forgiven.

One thing he’d learned about Smith in the six years they’d worked together, the woman could hold a serious grudge.

Smith grunted and looked at Emily. “You handled yourself pretty well. Glad you didn’t let ’em push you in the corner about the killer being all crazy.”

Emily blinked. “Uh, thanks.” Her voice sounded a little absent, and Colin realized she wasn’t looking at Smith. Or at him. Her focus was on the “cold chamber,” the vaults near the back of the lab that were used to store the bodies.

She even started walking toward them, her eyes narrowed, her right lifted as if she’d touch the metal doors.

Smith snagged her hand. “Goin’ somewhere, Dr. Drake?”

Colin knew Smith was very particular about her lab. Particular, or possessive as hell.

“Umm, sorry.” But Emily was still gazing at the vaults. “I just…umm…what did you want to show us? And shouldn’t McNeal be here?” Tension was back in her voice.

Now Smith was the one to stiffen. “He doesn’t need to be here.”

Oh, yeah. He’d forgotten about that, Colin realized. Word around the precinct was that Smith and McNeal had dated. Very briefly.

Emily finally looked back at him. “I think he should be here.” There was a note in her voice, a glint in her eye that finally made him realize—

The doc is sensing something.

His own gaze drifted to the vaults that seemed to hold her so spellbound.

What had she said when she’d first examined Preston’s body? The captain had wanted to know if she could tell whether the guy had been Other, and Emily had said, “If the death is recent, some of the spirit will still be there.”

Anybody in the vaults, well, they wouldn’t exactly be “recent,” but Emily was sure acting odd. Acting like she knew something he didn’t.

Yeah, big surprise there.

Colin jerked his thumb toward Smith’s desk. “Maybe you should page the captain.”

“What?” Smith dropped Emily’s hand. “You guys don’t even know what I want to show you.” She spun on her heel, hurrying toward the vaults. “And it could be nothing, but, well, the other night, I was listening to the police radio when the APB was sent out on those guys who jumped you.” She swung the lock on the middle vault, pulled open the door.

Colin urged Emily forward. Cold air hit him, followed closely by the thick stench of death.

Damn but he hated that smell.

Emily twisted her hands together and grimaced.

Smith hummed along to the music as she pulled out a slab. A sheet-covered body appeared, and when Smith’s hip bumped the slab, a man’s hand slipped from under the cover.

Colin’s eyes immediately locked on the tattoo. A long, twisting black snake encircled the dead man’s left wrist.

Sonofabitch. His gaze flew to Emily. She gave a nearly imperceptible nod. And the light of understanding finally dawned.

The dead man on the slab, he wasn’t a man at all. He was one of the demons who’d attacked them last night. Emily had known, had sensed the truth when she’d come into the room.

Hell, no wonder she’d been trying to get them to call for McNeal.

“The tat’s a match for the description you gave.” Smith pulled back the sheet, revealing the white face of a young guy; he looked barely twenty, with a shaved head and a glinting nose ring. “Cops found his body downtown. He was in an alley.”

Colin stared at the guy’s still features. “We didn’t see his face. He—they had masks on the whole time.” But this was one of their attackers, he’d bet his life on it.

And the fact that Emily’s psychic radar was going off just made him all the more certain.

You couldn’t go wrong with a psychic.

Smith pulled the sheet down a few more inches, revealing a clear bullet hole right over the man’s heart. “Close range,” she murmured. “I found powder burns on his chest.”

His hands clenched. He’d hoped to question the bastard. Hoped to find out who’d sent him.

A kid. The guy’s just a kid. His gut tightened. What a damn waste.

“Three others were found with him.” Smith stepped back and tapped the vault door near her. “Same MO. One shot, straight through the heart. The uniforms on scene thought it was a gang hit.”

No, not a gang hit.

“W-were they all young? Like him?” Emily asked softly.

Smith nodded. Her eyes were narrowed as she appraised him. “Four attackers, right? That’s what they said on the radio.”

“Yeah.” His mind was racing. If the men who’d attacked them were all dead…damn, that was no coincidence. The guy who’d hired them, the sonofabitch who’d sent those kids after them, had tied up his loose ends.

Probably afraid the kids would cave and reveal his identity if the cops caught them.

“Kind of a strange coincidence, isn’t it?” Smith drawled. “You two getting attacked like that, and these poor guys getting killed? All within forty-eight hours.”

“Very strange,” Emily said, and she lifted her hand toward the dead man. Her fingers hovered in the air over his chest, not quite touching him. Her hand was a soft, light gold above the stark white body. “So much pain…” she whispered. “For so long…”

“What?” Smith shook her head. “No, Dr. Drake, didn’t you hear me? The guy was shot in the heart. He died instantly. He didn’t suffer, I guarantee you that.”

Emily blinked and shook her head. “Uh, right. Sorry. I was”—a barely perceptible pause—“confused.” Her hand balled into a fist.

“You haven’t done an autopsy yet.”

“No, he was brought in just a few hours ago.”

“McNeal needs to be notified before you cut into him.” Colin made the words an order. “He should see the bodies first.”

“See the bodies?” Smith’s brows scrunched together. “Why would he need to see them?”

Because these guys are demons and he might not want you cutting inside them. Hmm. Better go with option B, instead.

“Because there’s a chance these guys are linked to the Night Butcher.”

“This isn’t his MO.” Smith was definite. “A professional did these guys. Swift, clean.”

The jazz music faded into silence.

Emily stared at him for a moment, then inclined her head slightly toward the door.

“Smith, just don’t start cutting on them yet, okay? I’ll send the captain down here.”

He stalked across the gleaming floor, heading for the door. Emily was in front of him, moving quickly to the exit.

“Hey, wait! Don’t you want to see the others?” Smith called after them.

Emily was at the door now. She paused a moment, glanced back over her shoulder, and whispered, “There’s no need, Colin. I know it’s them.”

And you couldn’t argue with a psychic. Since he’d never gotten a look at the guys, seeing their faces now wouldn’t do him much good. He’d have to rely on Emily’s sensitivity.

He spared a brief glance for Smith. She was watching them both, her brow furrowed. “I’ve got a suspect to question.” That was the truth. When four demon bodies turned up in the morgue, it looked damn suspicious.

Especially when those guys had attacked him right outside of Paradise Found.

Someone sure as hell had to be pulling the strings on the demons who’d attacked them. The odds were good that same person had been the one pulling the trigger and ending their lives.

And the guy at the top of his suspect list was a powerful demon, the kind strong enough to threaten others of his race.

Niol.

The door swung shut behind them. Emily hurried down the hallway, her high heels clicking on the tiles. Her shoulders were stiff, her back a tense, straight line.

“Em, wait up.” He grabbed her arm, pulled her around to face them. She was still too pale for his taste, and secrets were burning in her eyes.

“I’ve got to go talk to McNeal.”

“He can wait a minute.” The cloth of her shirt was soft beneath his touch and her arm felt so delicate and small.

Sometimes he forgot just how delicate humans were. He’d have to remember. Have to make sure that he took every care with her.

He’d held onto his control last night. Managed to chain the beast. Yeah, he’d marked her neck, but he’d had to do it. Had to show that she was his.

It’d been too long since he’d had her. Too long since he’d felt her beneath him. He’d watched her during the press conference. Felt hunger coil tightly within him. Then afterward, when she’d talked to that blond reporter and he’d seen the fear flash in her eyes, anger had burned in him. He’d wanted to step in front of her, to protect her.

And where in the hell had that impulse come from? His kind, they weren’t exactly a protective bunch. They were fighters. Hunters.

They destroyed those who were weak. Devoured them.

They didn’t protect them.

“Those men in there—I know they’re the ones who attacked us.” Her words jerked him out of his rambling thoughts and back to the present.

Yeah, he was pretty sure the tattooed kid had been the one he’d seen. He had an eye for the tats, and the details of the snake were extremely clear.

But Emily had known the guy was the perp even before they’d seen his wrist, he was sure of it. The doc had started acting weird the moment they’d gone inside. “How’d you know?” he asked, keeping his hand on her arm. He had the feeling that if he let her go, she’d run from him. And he didn’t want her to run.

Jesus. What the hell is my deal? Did a little bit of good sex make me go crazy?

Course, it hadn’t just been good sex. It’d been the best damn sex he’d had in, hell, he didn’t even know how long.

“I felt the echo of their power when we went inside.”

Yeah, he wasn’t real sure what that meant. Emily must have read his expression, because she shrugged and muttered, “It was like shadows hanging in the room, okay? I could see them, feel them. And demon power is distinct.”