Hotter After Midnight (25 page)

Emily crossed her arms over her chest. Tapped her foot. “I don’t know what you found on her computer, but Darla’s facts were wrong. I’m not now nor have I ever been”—her back teeth ground together as she gritted—“crazy.” No, she just saw monsters.

But the monsters were real.

“A story like that, it would have ruined your practice.”

Doubtful. Emily snorted. It probably would have just given her more business. It would have been as close to advertising for
Other
patients as she could get. “It wouldn’t have effected me.”

“Bullshit.”

Colin rolled his shoulders, narrowed his eyes. “Watch it.”

“Darla was going to ruin your career, tell the world about the little girl who’d hallucinated, whose mom sent her to a psych ward because she didn’t want a crazy kid.”

Emily stepped forward, punched her finger in his chest. “Listen up, Brooks. I told you already, I’m not crazy. Darla’s story wouldn’t have done a damn thing to my career because the story would never have run. She didn’t have any facts to back up her wild ideas, okay?” Oh, the man was starting to royally piss her off.

She didn’t want a crazy kid.

That hit just a little too close to home.

And it made her even angrier. “I don’t have to listen to any more of this crap. I’m working this case with you, Detective. I didn’t kill Darla Mitchell.”

“Then tell me where you were between 8 and 10.”

“At. My. Mother’s. 2801 Terrace Lane. Check it out. Go ask her. Interview her neighbors. I’m sure someone saw me.”

He pulled out a small notebook. Scribbled something down. The address, no doubt. Asshole.

“Now if you’re done interrogating me, I’m going to shower.” Before she gave into the impulse rushing through her and slugged him.

Being accused of ripping out a reporter’s throat first thing in the morning had sure screwed up her mood.

Emily didn’t wait for him to answer. She spun on her heel and stormed from the room.

The bathroom door slammed.

Colin stared at his partner, shook his head. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Very carefully, Brooks folded his notebook. Tucked it in his jacket pocket. “I was thinking we have a murder to solve and that your girlfriend has a hell of a motive.”

“Two murders,” Colin corrected, trying hard to keep the anger out of his voice. “Two murders with the exact MO. What, you think Emily had a motive for offing Preston too?”

“I think she’s linked to him. I haven’t connected the pieces yet, but I will.”

“What? The doc had nothing to do—”

“Her place was trashed last night, wasn’t it? Just like Gillian Nemont’s.”

Exactly like Gillian’s.

“What are the odds of that?” Brooks asked quietly. “What are the odds that both Dr. Drake’s place and Gillian’s would get trashed?”

Colin didn’t reply. Cause he’d been wondering the same thing.

“I think she’s holding out on us. She knows something, or else—”

“Or else what?”

“She’s involved.”

Shit.
“You saw the bodies. There’s no way Emily could have done that.” No, she’d been horrified when she’d seen the victims and the blood.

“The facts aren’t adding up. Not one damn bit.” Brooks began pacing around the room. “The case smells to high heaven. And I know,
I know
I’m being kept in the dark.” He rounded on Colin. “And I don’t like it.”

Colin glared right back at him. “And I don’t like it when my partner comes here at dawn and starts harassing my lover.”

“I don’t trust her.”

I do.
“No one’s asked you to.”

“I’m checking out her alibi. You coming with me or not?”

“Right now, not.” Hell, his eyes were still sandy from sleep. And Emily was pissed, and in the shower, naked.

But he had a fucking job to do, and on this case he couldn’t afford to have anyone questioning his motives. Or his lover’s. “Give me an hour. I’ll meet you at the station.” He’d have to clear Emily so that Brooks would drop this lame-ass theory.

Brooks jerked his head in agreement, turned toward the door.

Colin caught his arm in a steely grip. He figured Emily should be proud of him; he’d held onto his cool a good fifteen minutes. “Not so fast,
partner
.” He applied just enough pressure to grind bones.

“What the he—”

“Don’t ever fucking come to my house and rip into my woman that way again, you understand me?” He didn’t let up on the pressure, not for one minute.

Brooks tried to jerk away. Colin just tightened his grip. “I asked if you understood.” He’d hate to break the guy’s arm, but he had a point to make.

Don’t mess with Emily.

“I’m doing my job.
Our
job.” Moisture appeared above Brooks’s upper lip. “I have to check her out.”

Yeah, but it was more than that. He’d seen Brooks check out hundreds of suspects before, and he’d never had the tight rage in his voice that he’d had when he confronted Emily. Understanding dawned. “You don’t like her, do you?”

“I don’t trust her.”

Colin eased his grip. He’d deliberately reached for his partner’s left arm. No sense putting his shooting hand out of commission.

“You don’t have to trust her.”

“You shouldn’t either. There’s something about her…it’s just…off.” When Colin’s hold lightened, Brooks managed to jerk his arm free. “Don’t let the fact that she’s a good piece of ass screw up your head, Gyth. She’s got secrets, and those secrets could be deadly.”

He wrenched open the door, stalked into the bright morning light.

Colin watched him leave, watched as he revved his small sports car and spun out of the drive.

Brooks was getting drawn deeper and deeper into the Butcher case, and the guy was a good detective.

There was a chance he could find out the truth.

How would he handle it?

The guy seemed certain that Emily was a threat. How would he feel if he learned the true danger came from his own partner?

You fucking freak! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!

He rolled his right shoulder. Been there, done that. He hoped there wouldn’t be a repeat performance this time around.

He shut the front door, heard the faint spray of water from the shower.

His head tilted at the sound, and an image of Emily, her pale body glistening with water, filled his mind.

Hmmm. He’d told Brooks he’d meet him in an hour.

More than enough time…

The warm water slid over her skin. Ah, God, it felt good. Emily tilted her head beneath the spray, letting the water soak her hair.

Steam rose around her, light, foggy tendrils that drifted in the air. She turned back around—

And saw the outline of a man’s body through the distorted glass of the shower door.

Her heart beat faster, faster—

Colin pulled open the door. He was naked. And aroused.

Emily swallowed. Forced her gaze to lift. “I-is your partner gone?”

“Umm.” His own gaze swept down her body, lingering on her breasts, the dark hair at the juncture of her thighs.

He stepped into the shower, closed the door with a soft click behind him.

“H-he’s wrong, you know. I didn’t have anything to do with Darla’s murder.”

He pressed his fingertip against her lips. “I know.”

The water poured over them in a warm, steady stream.

Emily opened her mouth. Her tongue snaked out, licked the tip of his finger.

His pupils flared in hungry response.

She drew his finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around him and sucking softly.

“Don’t tease me,” he growled.

She released his finger. Heady power filled her. It was the kind of sensual power she’d never felt—until Colin. He made her feel beautiful, sexual.

Wanted.

She wasn’t a freak with him. She didn’t have to choose her words for fear he’d discover her secret. She didn’t have to pretend with him. She could just…be.

Her fingers trailed over his chest. Found his nipples. Rubbed. “Who said I was teasing?” His cock pressed against her belly, fully aroused, easily thicker than her wrist.

She bent her head, let the water rush down her back, and took his nipple into her mouth.

His fingers tangled in her hair, held her closer. She heard him suck in a sharp breath.

Keeping her mouth on him, her fingers slipped down to his groin. Found the hard length of his arousal. Wrapped around him, squeezed.

Oh God, but she couldn’t wait to feel that cock in her, driving deep, filling every inch of her sex.

Colin pulled lightly on her hair, forcing her head to lift. His mouth locked onto hers, his tongue sweeping inside, claiming her.

He spun around, pinned her against the smooth tile. His fingers dipped into the dark curls at her sex. Parted her folds and plunged inside.

Oh yes!
Her hips ground against his hand. Her mouth jerked away from his and she hoarsely demanded, “Colin, more!” He knew just how to touch her. Knew where to press, where to stroke, where to—

He pushed three fingers inside of her. Emily squeezed her eyes shut. Her sex trembled around him.

“You’re so damn sexy,” he growled, licking his way down her neck. “Every time I see you, I want to take you.”

Her hips twisted against him, jerked. He was holding his fingers still now. The pressure was maddening. She needed him to move, to—

He pulled his hand away and Emily moaned in protest.

Colin laughed, but the sound was strained. “It’s all right, baby, I’ll give you what you need.”

His hands locked on her waist. Lifted her. “Wrap your legs around me.”

Damn,
but she’d forgotten just how strong he was. Shifter strength.

Her legs curled around his hips. The head of his cock nudged her entrance.

Then he drove deep inside, lodging his cock balls deep in her sheath.

Her sex clamped down on him, and she squeezed him, loving the feel of his flesh inside her.

He was moving then. Pulling back. Thrusting deep. Again and again.

Her hands rose to his shoulders, gripped the slick flesh.

His mouth captured her breast and his tongue swirled over her nipple.

His hips slammed into her. Withdrew, plunged.

And his mouth, oh, his mouth—

His fingers edged between their bodies. He found her clit, pressed with his thumb.

She came, her sex contracting as a powerful orgasm shot through her.

Colin lifted his head, watched her. “Damn, I love it when you come.” Another thrust. “You. Feel. So. Fucking. Good.” And then he was shuddering against her, his own climax claiming him.

When the waves of pleasure finally stopped, Emily didn’t move. Her back felt bruised, sore from contact with the tile, but she didn’t really care.

Her fingers stroked the back of Colin’s neck.

He kissed her shoulder and held her.

Terrace Lane was one of those quiet, unassuming little streets that looked like it belonged on a greeting card. Perfectly groomed lawns. Large, brick houses. Neat little sidewalks. Cute kids playing in the yards.

The neighborhood made him tense. He didn’t belong there. Wasn’t part of that picture-perfect world.

And neither was the doc.

How had she felt, he wondered, growing up there? She’d been seeing demons and vampires, and the other kids had been playing basketball and hopscotch.

She’d never fit in. And neither had he.

“All right. Donna Tillman, the neighbor on the right”—Brooks lifted his notebook and pointed to a house with a large bay window—“said she saw Dr. Drake arrive a little after seven-thirty last night.”

Colin grunted. It was the same story he’d gotten from Tom Henry, the neighbor on the left. “She sure about the time?”

“Yeah, said she was taking out her garbage when she saw her.” Brooks turned his attention to 2801 Terrace Lane. “Mrs. Tillman thought it was real odd, too, because apparently, Dr. Drake never comes to visit, and when she did get here, she stayed in the car for about fifteen minutes before she went inside.”

He was sure that the helpful Mrs. Tillman had been peering through her window that entire time, so she probably had an exact count on those minutes. “They’ve confirmed her alibi.”

Brooks lifted a brow. “Neither of them remember when she left.”

“Then let’s go ask the mother.” And Colin had to admit that he was curious about Emily’s mom. The schoolteacher. The woman who’d sent her daughter to Serenity Woods.

They rang her doorbell, and the soft peal echoed back to them. A moment later, the door was opened and a small, delicate woman with short black hair and wide green eyes peered up at them. “Yes?”

Colin pulled out his badge. “Atlanta PD. I’m Detective Colin Gyth, and this is my partner, Todd Brooks.”

Her fingers curled around the side of the door. Turned white. “Wh-what do you want?”

Brooks flashed her a smile. “We just have a few questions to ask you, ma’am.”

Her eyes darted between them. “About what?”

“About your daughter, Emily Drake.”

Colin saw her flinch.

Not the reaction he’d been expecting.

Brooks stepped forward, charming smile still in place. “Why don’t we go inside and discuss this?”

As often happens, Mrs. Drake stumbled back, opening the door as she moved. “But I don’t know what you want to discuss!”

Brooks walked into her foyer. “We told you. Emily.”

Colin followed them inside, his glance sweeping over the spotlessly clean house. Emily’s mother led them into a large den. There were no photos on the mantel, he noted. No photos anywhere.

“Wh-what do you want to know about Emily?” She’d crossed her arms over her chest and she lifted her chin, a gesture so like Emily’s that Colin almost smiled.

“Was she here last night, Mrs. Drake—or actually, can we call you Karen?” Another of Brooks’s tricks—make the witnesses feel comfortable, get ’em on a first-name basis and get ’em talking.

“What? Oh, yes, Karen’s fine.” She frowned. “And, ah, yes, Emily was here last night.” Her eyes widened in sudden worry.

“Nothing’s happened, has it? Emily—”

“She’s fine,” Colin told her instantly. “We’re just following up, asking some questions on a case we’re working.”