Colin’s stare darted to the woman. “I know she’s dangerous.”
A hard laugh broke from his lips. “Yeah, well, so do those poor bastards she killed.” And he knew it, too, but that fact didn’t stop the wanting. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never been attracted to a suspect before.
Then again, he’d never had a suspect like her before.
“Something’s off with her,” Colin said.
Now he snorted. Yeah, Colin was sure one to talk about something being off. “Well, that’s ’cause she could be a female serial, and we both know that breed is rare.” He remembered a report he’d read back in the academy. Female serials accounted for only 8 percent of all the serial murders. The other 92 percent of the kills were by men.
But women were also said to be a hell of a lot more methodical and precise about their killing. A hell of a lot more careful with their crimes.
Maybe there were more female serials out there than the guys in the suits thought. Could be those women were just too damn good at covering their tracks.
Todd rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I think we might need to bring the doc in on this one.”
Colin stiffened.
The “doc” in question was actually Colin’s current lover, Dr. Emily Drake. She was a well-known psychologist in Atlanta, and the department had recently begun using her as a profiler.
Yeah, it would be a good idea to bring her in and see what she thought of their killer.
Colin’s gaze was still on the woman. “Yes,” he said softly, “maybe we should.”
But first…Todd reached for the file. “I wanna see how she reacts to these pictures, and then we need to get started on a photo lineup.” They’d taken Cara’s photo shortly after she arrived. They’d add it to some more images, show the pics to the desk clerk.
His partner nodded. “Already got a call in to the team.” He sighed. “But I’ll tell you now, man, I don’t think that guy will be able to ID her. Even if the man hadn’t been spending all his time staring at her chest, he reeked of booze.”
He’d noticed the heavy odor, too. “Right now, there’s not much choice for us.”
“I know.” Colin sounded as disgusted as he felt, and for a moment, it was almost like the old days, before the brutal case that had blasted them apart and sent Todd’s world spinning.
Todd’s fingers tightened around the folder. “The uniforms will still bring him in. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Maybe.”
In the meantime, “Let’s find out just what else our lady has to say about Michael House.” Because she knew the victim. He’d caught her slip, just as Colin had. Todd was going to make absolutely certain he learned all the secrets Cara was hiding.
A pretty face had never swayed him before. It sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him from doing his job now.
She was furious…and afraid. And the fear made her even angrier.
They’d left her in the ten-by-eight-foot room for half an hour. The minutes had crawled by as she’d sat and waited.
Something bad had happened to Michael. She knew it. Wasn’t going to be dumb enough to deny the obvious. She also knew that the cops thought she was involved.
Not an ideal situation.
Her fingers tapped against the wooden tabletop. She’d been isolated from the moment she entered the police station. If only she’d been allowed to see some of the other cops, she would have been able to use a bit of her power. She wasn’t gifted with the power of complete mind control—only level-ten demons could totally control the thoughts of humans—but she was still pretty damn good at planting hypnotic suggestions into the minds of susceptible humans, as were most of her kind. The hypnotic power was one of the succubi’s most coveted powers. Right then, she sure had a few suggestions dancing around in her head that she’d like to—
The door to the interrogation room was shoved open. It slammed back against the wall with a thud.
Cara sucked in a sharp breath, but instantly schooled her features. They wanted her afraid, so she’d be damned if she let them see her fear.
Deliberately, she leaned back in the chair. “What took you guys so long?” As if she didn’t know they’d been watching her through that ridiculous two-way mirror. Humans. They always thought they were so smart.
But she knew they’d been watching her. Well, no, not them exactly.
Just the first cop. The human. Brooks. He’d been watching her almost constantly. At first, she’d felt his stare. Heavy on her skin like a touch. Then she’d turned to the mirrored wall. She’d seen past the illusion—she was used to peering past the veil—and she’d seen him. Standing in the opposite room. Fists clenched. Eyes on her.
His attention had fueled her anger. Her fear. And added a spark to the desire she shouldn’t have been feeling.
The man is trying to lock you up. Focus! Oh, damn, but she’d always had a hard time not thinking about sex.
And the guy oozed sex. Rough, wild sex. The kind that made a woman scream as she came.
Cara cleared her throat, and realized that neither of the detectives had answered her question. No big surprise.
The shifter—she’d learned his name was Colin Gyth; he’d finally gotten around to introducing himself during the ride over—walked slowly across the room. He stopped at the edge of the mirrored wall. The perfect position to observe, while not blocking the view from the hidden room.
Brooks stalked slowly toward her. He pulled out one of the two remaining chairs at the table. The legs of the chair scraped against the floor, the sound almost like a shriek. He sat down, positioning himself directly across from her, and placed a folder on the table between them.
Her gaze dropped to the folder and her palms began to sweat.
“Sorry we were gone so long,” Brooks said, and his brown eyes seemed sincere.
Liar. She knew the guy wasn’t the least bit sorry. The waiting—that had been a deliberate police tactic. One she didn’t like.
“I wanted to gather some information to show you.” He smiled at her then, a warm, friendly smile.
Goose bumps rose on her arms. “Is this what you do?” She asked, the question slipping out without a second’s hesitation.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
Her fingers tapped against the table top. Her nails were bloodred and sharp, and she had to fight the urge to gouge them into the wood. “I asked if this”—she paused, gestured to him, the table, and the silent shifter—“was what you usually do.”
“This?”
“Yeah, this whole idiotic routine where you act like you’re the good one. Like you give a shit what I think or want.” Cara shook her head and her hair brushed across her shoulders. “Got to tell you, I’m really not buying it.” He was good at pretending, she’d give him that, and the bit probably worked great on humans. But for someone with her enhanced senses, it was an insulting waste of time.
She could smell the sweat on his skin. See the anger that tightened his eyes and mouth. Past the falsely warm gaze, she could see the core of power and the lurking fury.
Good cop? More like furious, hard-as-nails asshole.
Cara leaned forward, slapping her hands down on the table. “Why don’t we cut the games?” She asked. “Just get to the part where you tell me why the hell you drug me out of my house in the middle of the night.”
He stared back at her. One moment. Two. Then he pushed the file toward her. “I want you to take a look at the photos for me, okay? See if you recognize anyone.”
Gyth shifted slightly, a ripple of muscle and menace.
She didn’t want to look inside the file, but her fingers reached for it, anyway. Flipped it open and found—