“But they were dead.” Pointing out the obvious there. “I thought the death had to be fresh in order for you to sense anything.”
“They were fresh enough.” She winced. “God, that sounds cold, doesn’t it? But the kill—it was less than twenty-four hours ago, and I could still feel them in there.” She shuddered. “Do you know how cold death feels?”
No, and he was pretty damn glad of that fact. Until then, he hadn’t really thought about how hard the doc’s gift might be on her.
Seeing into people’s minds, well, seemed it wasn’t as exciting as most folks would think.
He opened his mouth to reply, but Emily pulled away from him, muttering, “Of course you don’t know. No one else knows. Just me.” She shook her head, the light glinted off her glasses, and he watched her pull into herself, watched her pull away from him. He could see her withdrawal, see it in the suddenly blank expression on her face, read it in the stiffness of her body.
The doc was trying to pull away from him.
Oh, hell, no. He grabbed her arms, jerked her back against him. Yeah, he liked that a whole lot better. “I might not know what it’s like to be you, Doc. But I know you.”
“You think you do.” He had her pinned against his body, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his stare. “We had sex, and suddenly you think you know me.”
He felt the flames of his temper stir. The doc should know better than to yank a shifter’s tail.
“I’ve got news for you.” Her voice was ice cold. “You don’t know me. There’s so much—” She exhaled slowly, then whispered,
“You wouldn’t understand.”
His fingers tightened around her. “Try me.”
“No.” A shadow of pain appeared in her eyes. “Let me go.”
Not an option. He’d just found her. Only started laying his claim. No fucking way was he going to let her slip through his fingers now.
Shit. He didn’t like the way she was dismissing him. The doc was putting distance between them, erecting that ice-princess wall she’d worn the first day they’d met. He’d broken through that wall once before, and he’d be happy to smash it to bits again.
“You can’t know me,” she whispered, and there was a glint of pain in her eyes. “No one ever has.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” He growled the words as he lowered his mouth to hers. “I’m not like the men you’ve known before.”
He kissed her, plunging his tongue deep in her mouth and drinking up her sweet essence. Her hands lifted, wrapped around his shoulders—and pulled him closer.
Yes. This was what he wanted. His woman, pressed breast to chest, sex to sex. His cock swelled against her as a heavy wave of arousal flooded his body.
Last night had been good. Fucking fantastic. And he wondered, just what would it be like if he let go of his control? Would the doc be able to handle him?
Her nipples were hard, stabbing into him, and he had to touch them. Keeping his mouth on hers, sweeping his tongue against hers, he lowered his right hand and cupped the warm weight of her breast.
Damn. He wanted that breast in his mouth. His fingers edged under her shirt, slid past the lacy bra, and found her nipple. When he squeezed her with the tip of his fingers, she gasped into his mouth, and the rich scent of her arousal perfumed the air.
They were alone in the hallway. Dimly, he could hear the slow beat of music coming from the ME’s office. Smith had started the jazz CD again. She wasn’t going to come out and find them. And no one else was down in the Crypt.
He walked Emily back a few steps, pushed her up against the wall and slowly lifted his head. She was watching him, her eyes wide behind her glasses, her bow shaped, fuck-me lips a dark red, glistening.
Oh, those lips. He wanted to feel them around his cock. He’d fantasized about the doc, imagined her taking him inside and licking him with that sweet, skillful tongue of hers.
But the Crypt wasn’t the place for that. And they didn’t have much time.
And he needed a better taste of her.
He jerked up her shirt, exposing her bra. Black, of course.
“Colin, no, someone might come—”
He pushed her bra aside. Gazed down at her breasts. The woman truly had the best breasts he’d ever seen. And he’d seen his fair share.
Not too big, not too small, just perfect for his hands. And so sweet…
He closed his lips over her nipple, pulling gently, then stroking her with his tongue.
“Oh, Jesus, Colin…” He could hear the need in her voice, and it filled him with fierce satisfaction.
I do know you, Emily. I know just how to touch you, know just what you want.
Emily might think she could dismiss their physical connection, but he’d show her just how wrong she was. Sex might not be the key to linking them, but he figured it was a damn good start.
He caught the fabric of her skirt in his hands, pulled up the material slowly, very slowly. He liked the way she felt against him.
Warm. Soft.
He pulled her breast deeper into his mouth, sucking strongly. And he fucking loved the way she tasted.
Her hips bucked against him. Her nails cut through his shirt and dug into his skin.
The doc had claws. Oh yeah, he liked that.
Growling his pleasure, he pushed his hand between her spread thighs. Her panties were wet with cream, and when he eased his fingers beneath the small band of fabric, Emily’s breath choked out. “Colin—”
“Easy.” They both needed this. His fingers stroked her. His thumb pressed against the button of her desire. Just a few more minutes…
A slow, grinding rumble reached his ears. Then a soft, faint ding of sound.
Shit. The elevator. He jerked down her skirt, spun around, covering her with his body. “Someone’s coming.” Someone with extremely piss-poor timing.
He was so aroused that he hurt, and he’d been minutes, seconds, away from finding release with Emily.
He glanced over his shoulder. She was frantically rearranging her shirt. Her face was flushed, but he knew it wasn’t due to passion.
Making out in the Crypt probably wasn’t the doc’s usual style.
Another strike against him? Or one in his favor?
Damn. He hadn’t meant for things to go so far. He’d just wanted to touch her, wanted to remind her of what they had.
Sex like that—the heat, the fast combustion—it was damn rare. And worth fighting for.
“Emily…”
Her chin jerked up. Fire flashed in her eyes.
And the elevator doors swished open. Colin’s head jerked back around just as Brooks stepped forward. Looked to the left, then the right—
“Gyth! Damn, man, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Pity the guy couldn’t have kept looking for another two minutes.
Brooks noticed Emily. One brow rose, and the light seemed to dawn. “Uh, is this a bad time?”
A very bad time.
Emily pushed past him. Her clothes were perfect again, but her nipples were thrusting against the soft fabric of her shirt, her lips were plump and darkly pink, her eyes bright.
Brooks wasn’t an idiot. He knew what those signs meant.
Wisely, his partner didn’t say a word when Emily crossed in front of him.
“Where’s McNeal?” she asked.
“His office.” He also managed to keep his eyes on her face. Good man. He wouldn’t get punched.
Emily nodded. Stepped into the elevator.
Well, damn. Not even a good-bye. Colin lunged forward, shot out his hand to stop the doors from closing. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Her jaw locked and she stared at the control panel. “I have to think, Colin. There’s too much going on…”
He heard Brooks’s soft footfalls. The guy was inching back, probably trying to give ’em some privacy.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he repeated. They had to talk. About Darla. About Serenity Woods. About the demons who’d attacked them.
Her gaze flashed to his. “This is the second time you’ve given yourself an invitation to my place.”
“Yeah, but you want to finish what we started as much as I do.” He let his eyes drop to her breasts. His voice thickened as he said,
“And we will finish, Doc, that’s a promise.”
Colin stepped back. The doors slid closed, and Emily disappeared.
Brooks whistled softly. “Tell me you weren’t just making out with our profiler in the Crypt.”
“Fine. I won’t tell you.” He actually didn’t want to tell him a damn thing about Emily. She was his. His business. His woman.
“I don’t think a place like this is, uh, quite what Dr. Drake is used to,” Brooks said softly.
Yeah, no shit.
Damn. The doc—she was different. She made him feel different.
Wanting to fuck and wanting to protect—what in the hell was up with that?
“Listen, loverboy, I’ve got some pictures upstairs I want you to look at,” Brooks said. “Maybe you can match the tat on that guy who jumped you.”
“Forget it. He’s not an issue now.”
“What? You can’t be serious, man, the guy tried to kill you—”
“And now he’s lying on a slab in Smith’s cold chamber.” While the guy’s spirit might be sending some kind of message to Emily, he sure as hell wasn’t talking to them.
Brooks glanced toward the morgue. “What in the hell happened to him?”
“Oh, I’ve got an idea.” Niol.
Time to go interrogate the master demon.
“You up for a little good cop, bad cop?”
“Always.” A wolfish smile curved Brooks’s lips.
Colin punched the button for the elevator. He figured Emily would be long gone by now. “Good. Cause I’ve got a bastard we need to press, hard.” Niol wasn’t going to cave easy. He was too cocky. But if they caught him unaware, he just might slip up.
That’s what the bastards usually did. Got too confident. Thought they were too smart.
Then they screwed up.
Would Niol be the same?
Well, he’d just have to find out.
Yeah, time to go and question the master demon about the little matter of multiple murders.
Chapter 10
Emily sat in her car, her fingers gripping the steering wheel, and stared up at the tidy, two-story house.
After talking with McNeal, she’d fled the station, embarrassed, afraid that she’d see Colin or Brooks.
Lord, what the hell had she been thinking? She’d almost had sex in a morgue for Christ’s sake.
When he’d touched her, lust had pumped through her, and she’d wanted to rip the man’s clothes off his body.
Not her normal style.
Her emotions were high, she knew that. Knew she was running on a hard mixture of fear, worry, and adrenaline. And as a psychologist, she knew those emotions made her susceptible to certain things.
And she sure as hell was susceptible to Colin.
But a morgue? Her knuckles whitened. That wasn’t just being susceptible. It was crossing the line into crazy.
If Brooks hadn’t walked out of that elevator, she would have had sex with Colin. Right there in that smelly, dingy hallway. And she would have loved it.
Shit. Is this what good sex did to a woman? Made her take stupid risks?
Cause she had enough trouble right then without giving the cops at the 12th Precinct a peep show when they went to the morgue.
But, dammit, she’d been ten seconds away from coming. If Brooks had to interrupt, why couldn’t the guy have waited just a bit?
A car horn sounded in the distance. A red-haired boy on a bike flew past her. Emily realized that she was sitting in her car, gazing blankly at the house and slowly rubbing the leather off her steering wheel.
Hell. She didn’t want to be here, but when she’d run from the station, she hadn’t even thought about going home or going to the office. No, she’d known exactly where she had to go. Exactly who she had to see.
Darla’s words kept playing in her mind, rolling around and around like one of those songs you just couldn’t get out of your head.
The reporter knew about her past. There was no denying that fact. No ignoring the smug look that had been on the blonde’s face.
Emily had tried to hide her past. She thought she’d buried it in the ashes at Serenity Woods Psychiatric Hospital.
She’d planned the fire so carefully. Made absolutely certain that none of the patients were near the records room. Stayed close just in case someone had happened to wander by.
Yes, she’d been so careful, but her story had still leaked out.
Her gaze focused on the house. On the perfectly groomed lawn. The leaves that had been swept into a nice, neat pile.
What was she doing here? Talking to the woman would do no good, she knew that.
But the mention of Serenity Woods…oh damn, how long had it been since she’d even thought about that place? Years. Many blessedly forgetful years.
Now that the door to her past had swung open, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
She closed her eyes a moment and saw the girl she’d been.
“No!” Their hands were too tight around her. They were hurting her. “Let me go! Mommy! Mommy!”
Her mother was there. Watching from behind the thin sheet of glass. She was letting them do this to her, letting them hurt her.
They strapped her onto a bed. Put ties around her wrists, her ankles. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. They didn’t understand. No one understood.
Monsters were everywhere. In the streets. In her school. Even at church. They were everywhere.
She’d told her mom, tried to point to one of the monsters with black eyes and show her mother what he was.
