“Don’t want folks to panic,” Ben Mitchell, the DA, had muttered at her news.
Ben stepped forward, offering a vague smile to Nguyen and the rest of the reporters who’d gathered in the press room. “It’s far too early to predict whether or not this disturbed individual will strike again.” His old, Southern boy accent played on the words.
“So you think the guy’s disturbed.” This came from Darla Mitchell who was looking TV perfect as she leaned forward with a hungry glint in her eye. Jake was behind her, a tense, slightly haggard expression on his face.
“Well…”
“Disturbed isn’t the right word for this man,” Emily cut him off, trying to keep her voice calm, professional.
“Then what’s the right word, Dr. Drake?” Darla was in the front row, easily seen as she stretched forward. “Psychotic? Deranged? Or maybe just plain crazy?”
It was quite possible all those terms applied. “It’s difficult to say at this stage exactly what psychosis this individual has. I do know that this man is highly intelligent, organized, strong, and very, very dangerous.”
“Dr. Drake, do you intend to work with the police until the Night Butcher is caught?” This came from Nguyen.
“I intend to work with the Atlanta PD until they no longer need my services.” Time for her to step out of the limelight. “Thank you.”
Ben motioned Smith forward. “Our ME has some findings she’d like to share.”
Smith swallowed as she looked out at the sea of faces. She was looking even more gorgeous today. She’d ditched her white lab coat in favor of a simple black suit.
She pulled the microphone up, adjusting it slightly. “I’d like to clarify a few points that have previously been mentioned in the press.”
There was a brief of buzz of excitement at her announcement.
Her lips tightened. “First, despite the rumors, the victim was not ‘butchered.’ His body was intact. Preston Myers died because of severed jugular and carotid veins.”
“What weapon was used?” This question was fired from a middle-aged man in the back.
Dr. Smith shook her head. “I’m not at liberty to say at this point.”
Yes, Emily really didn’t think the DA wanted the press to know that the “weapon” used by the Night Butcher was his teeth.
“I would like the public to know that the suspect left several hairs behind.”
Wolf shifter hairs. Pretty hard to do a DNA analysis on those, Emily thought.
“And I am confident that the evidence will soon lead us to the killer.” Smith inclined her head like a queen dismissing servants. “Thank you.”
Ben took over then, answering a few questions and ending the press conference with a promise to follow up as soon as more details became available.
Thank God.
Emily hurriedly exited the small stage area. She’d never liked talking in front of large groups. Always made her knees shake and caused a tight knot in her gut.
Classic anxiety disorder, of course. But knowing the clinical root of her condition didn’t really make it any easier to bear.
“You did a good job, Doc.” Colin stepped from the crowd, appearing at her side.
“I thought you’d be up there, too.” She glanced at him, feeling a blush stain her cheeks. When she’d woken that morning, he’d been awake, gazing at her with his solemn stare.
He’d left just after seven, given her a hard but too brief kiss, and gone to the station.
They hadn’t talked about last night. Hadn’t said a word about the mind-blowing sex.
“Brooks is the one who handles the reporters.” He jerked his thumb toward his partner who was just now leaving the staging area. “He’s got the pretty-boy face that always looks good on camera.”
Well, she thought Colin would look pretty good on camera too. Emily tensed. Damn. They really needed to talk, to clear the air.
But now was hardly the time and—
“Dr. Drake!”
Emily turned at Darla’s call. Found the woman making a beeline straight for her. Jake tagged along in her wake.
Darla paused two feet away from her. A smug smile curved her lips. “I’ve got a few questions for you.”
Colin stepped forward. “She’s done talking about the case.”
“Umm, well, it’s not about the case. Not really.”
At her Cheshire cat look, Emily got a very, very bad feeling in her gut. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me, Doctor,” Darla paused, arched one perfectly plucked brow, “what do you know about a place called Serenity Woods?”
Her heart stopped. Then raced in a double-time rhythm. “Serenity Woods?” Her voice was clear, calm. And her palms were sweating. “Once, it was a psychiatric facility for children and teens in northern Georgia.” Emily shrugged. “I don’t think the place is still in business anymore.”
“No, it’s not.” Darla’s eyes were narrowed. “There was a fire at the hospital a few years ago, and after that, the place closed down.”
Emily stared back at the reporter, keeping her features carefully blank.
“Arson, according to the investigators.”
Colin took her arm. “We need to go, Dr. Drake. I think Smith wants to talk with us about the case.”
That was news to her. But Emily nodded, glad for an excuse to get away from Darla. Serenity Woods. She hadn’t heard that name in years.
Darla’s hand snaked out, snagging Emily’s just as she was turning away. “One more question.” The reporter’s hand felt like ice against her skin. Darla leaned forward, pitched her voice whisper low, as she asked, “Do you still see demons?”
Emily tensed. Then forced a slightly confused expression onto her face. “See demons?” She shook her head. “Of course not.” Emily strove to look concerned. “Why, my dear, do you?”
Darla’s lips thinned as she snatched her hand back. Her pretty face twisted and she turned on her heel, shoving her way through the crowd.
Jake looked at Emily. Met her stare for just a moment. There was worry in his eyes. Worry for her and for himself.
He nodded to her, a slight inclination of his head, then disappeared into the throng of reporters.
Her breath left her in a hard whoosh.
Shit. Darla Mitchell was digging into her past.
And her past was definitely not pretty.
Emily looked pale. Scared.
Colin tightened his hold on her arm and steered her toward the stairwell. He shoved open the metal door and gently pushed her past the threshold. When the door swung shut behind them, he hesitated a moment, listening intently, then, satisfied that they were the only ones in the stairwell, he figured it was time for a question-and-answer session of their own.
“Doc, what’s going on?”
Emily stared up at him, and her eyes looked very wide. “There are some things you don’t know about me.”
After last night, he’d started to think he knew the woman damn well. He knew just where to touch her to make that soft moan rumble in her throat. He knew what it felt like when she climaxed around him. Knew what she looked like first thing in the morning when the sunlight trickled through her blinds.
Yeah, he was starting to know the doc pretty well. But he knew she still had secrets.
So did he.
He figured he had the advantage though, considering he’d run a background check on her. After that first night, when he’d been sure someone was watching her, he’d started searching for information about the doc.
From what he’d gathered, the doc led a pretty quiet life. She dated occasionally but seemed to spend most of her time working with her patients.
He knew there was more to Emily though, knew secrets lay beneath her calm surface. And it looked like he was about to learn one of those secrets now…
“I think Darla’s investigating me.” Her lips tightened. “Correction, I know she is.” Anger hardened her voice. “I don’t know how she got the file. It should have be
en destroyed. There is no way she should have—”
“Whoa. Slow down.” He gripped her elbows. “I’m not the mind reader, baby. I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about.”
“Serenity Woods.” She bit off the words. “She knows about the time I was at Serenity Woods.”
He wasn’t getting it. “So you worked at a psych ward.” He’d heard Emily and Darla’s conversation, and he’d thought the doc would be more rattled about the reporter’s demon question than a vague mention of some old psychiatric hospital.
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 he
art. “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.”