Otherwise, he’d be screwed.
“And I never lower my shields all the way,” Emily spoke again, her voice softer now. “I always keep some protection in place.”
Colin grunted and cranked the Jeep. He wanted to ask Emily more about the coma, ask her about the guy who’d nearly put her under, but he figured he’d pushed enough for one day.
Besides, he needed to get her to the station. They needed to talk to Smith, needed to find out if the ME had gotten any more information for them.
After they talked to Smith, he’d drop the doc off at her place. Then he’d go meet the cameraman. And he’d find out exactly what Jake Donnelley knew about his case.
“Uh, aren’t you forgetting something?”
He glanced at her. Found her eyes narrowed on him. “What?”
Her lips thinned. “An apology.”
“Ah, Doc, you don’t have to apologize to me. I understand now.” She wasn’t jumping in his brain. As far as he could tell, she still didn’t know the full truth about him, and that was very good news. “Just stay out of my head, and we’ll get along just fine.” More than fine if he had his way. In fact, they’d be—
The doc growled. Actually growled. Oh, he liked that. The beast within emitted a hungry growl of its own.
“I’m not talking about me giving you an apology,” she snapped. “I meant you owe me an apology.”
“What would I owe you an apology for?” He hadn’t jumped in her head.
“I don’t remember asking you to—to—” The doc broke off, flushing.
And the light dawned. He hadn’t jumped into her head, but he’d jumped her.
“I told you before, Gyth.” That pointed chin lifted and she stared straight at him, even as a blush stained her cheeks. “If I want you to kiss me, I’ll ask.”
Ah, yes, the doc wasn’t a fan of— what had she called it?— the He-man routine. Well, if the lady wanted an apology…“Sorry, Doc, guess my basic nature just got the best of me.” His basic nature, his anger, and the hard lust he seemed to feel every time he got near her.
“Yes, well, shifters are reputed to be highly volatile and, umm—”
“Sexual?”
She blinked.
“Yeah, we are.” Unfortunately, most shifters tended to be male, so it wasn’t like there were a ton of like-minded women strolling the streets.
But when he’d held the doc, for a bit there, “It seemed like your basic nature took control, too, huh?” She’d been kissing him back, rubbing that sweet little pink tongue of hers against his, pushing her body against him, clutching him tightly with her hands.
“Maybe it did,” Emily said softly, and his respect for her shot up. A woman who could admit her need—just what he wanted.
He wished they didn’t have to go back to the station. Wished they could just keep driving, preferably back to his place so that he could find out more about Emily’s needs.
Even though he could still taste her, he knew his lust would have to wait.
The case came first. It had to. But once the killer was caught, oh yeah, once the killer was tossed in a dark cell to never see the light of day again, then he could focus completely on Emily.
In the meantime, he’d keep mixing his business and pleasure every damn chance he got.
She wanted Colin Gyth. Wanted a shifter. All right, she could admit it.
Emily hurried to keep pace beside Colin as they maneuvered through the police station. A few officers called out greetings to Gyth as they passed. He didn’t stop for anyone, just kept walking with that I’m-a-bad-ass stride of his. She was having to double-time it to keep up with him.
He pushed open a door leading to a stairwell. A dark, narrow stairwell.
“Ladies first,” he murmured.
“Thanks.” She brushed past him, and his scent—the warm, rich scent of masculine flesh—teased her nostrils.
Her heart beat faster, her breath hitched.
Oh yes, she had a serious problem where the detective was concerned.
So what was she going to do about it? About him?
The stairs ended in front of a rust-colored door. Emily knew what waited for her on the other side of that door.
It was time to stop fantasizing about the detective and get to work.
Straightening her shoulders, she pushed open the door and began to walk across the shining white tile. Her high heels tapped lightly against the floor.
Colin pointed to another door. A metallic door with a narrow strip of a window.
“Go on, Doc. Smith’s waiting.”
She stepped inside.
Damn, but she hated that smell. It had been seven years since she’d been inside a morgue. But the place still smelled the same.
Emily inhaled and tried to control an automatic gag impulse. God, the place reeked. Chemicals. Bleach. Decay. The scents of death.
Fluorescent bulbs glowed overhead, revealing the stark environment of the morgue. A small desk sat in the far corner. A covered body rested on a table. And a shining tray of sharp instruments stood waiting near the body.
“Hey, Gyth, couldn’t wait any longer, huh?” A tall, thin, incredibly gorgeous black woman stepped from behind a row of filing cabinets. Her hands were covered in white, latex gloves and a blue face mask dangled around her neck.
“Hi, Smith.” He flashed her a smile. “You know, it’s been at least”—he glanced down at his watch—“five hours since I’ve been down here.”
“Hmmm.” Smith didn’t smile back at him, and she didn’t sound too happy. Her gaze drifted to Emily. “And you’ve brought company.”
“This is Dr. Emily Drake. She’s profiling the Myers case.”
Smith nodded. She held out her hand, and a smile finally curved her full lips. “Nice to meet you.”
“Ah, you, too.” This was the ME? The woman could have been a double for Tyra Banks.
Smith’s smile dimmed a bit as she turned her attention back to Gyth. “Seriously, you need to stop harassing me about this case. I’m working on the body as fast as I can. Myers wasn’t the only guy to get murdered lately, you know.”
“Yeah, but he was the only one killed by the Night Butcher.”
Her jaw dropped. “The what?”
“The Night—”
Smith held up her hand. “I heard you. Jesus, you mean the press has already named this guy?”
Colin nodded. His hand came to rest at the small of Emily’s back and he gently pushed her forward.
She could feel the warm weight of his touch through her shirt. She stiffened, trying to ease away from the strong press of his fingers.
“Don’t guys like him usually have to kill a couple of times before they get nicknames?” Smith shook her head. “He could be a one-hit wonder, right, Dr. Drake?”
“Ah, maybe.” But she really doubted it.
Smith’s dark eyes narrowed. “You think this guy’s a serial?”
Not in the strictest sense of the word. The rules for serial killers didn’t really apply to the Other when they crossed that thin line that separated right and wrong for them. “I want to study the case more before I make a determination of that.” Nice, safe answer.
“Night Butcher.” Smith muttered the name again, shaking her head. “What a dumb-ass name.” She headed for the gurney, the gurney that held a body covered with a thin white sheet. “The poor SOB wasn’t butchered. He was bitten, clawed.”
Emily lowered the shield in her mind just a bit. She wasn’t sensing any supernatural powers from the doctor, but on this case, she didn’t want to take any chances.
She felt the whip of Colin’s shifter life force against her, but as for Smith…
Nothing.
The ME was completely human. Not even a half or a quarter breed.
That meant they needed to handle this case very, very carefully.
“You said he was bitten?” Emily questioned as she stepped toward the covered body. “You mean the killer showed cannibalistic tendencies toward the victim?”
“The guy wasn’t eaten,” Smith said, tapping her gloved fingers against the sheet. “But there were marks on the throat, like the attacker bit him. Bit his throat half open and then clawed it the rest of the way.”
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.