Michael.
It was a black-and-white shot of him. Shoulders, neck, and head. His eyes were closed. His face devoid of all expression. For a second, one wild second, she thought he might be sleeping.
But the hope died immediately as the truth hit her hard, making her stomach knot and her lips tremble. “He’s…dead.” She bit her bottom lip, trying to stop the tremble. She didn’t want Brooks to see her weakness.
She’d been afraid he was dead, from the moment they’d mentioned his name—
Michael. He’d been the first to make her want more than just fleeting pleasure.
“What happened to him?” Cara was proud of the fact that her voice didn’t quaver. The words were stilted, a bit cold. But she was cold. Ice cold, all the way to her soul.
“Don’t you know?” Brooks asked softly.
A shiver worked over her body. “I didn’t have anything to do with this!” She’d never hurt Michael.
“Didn’t you?” Brooks leaned forward. “Earlier you told me that you didn’t even know the guy.”
“No, I didn’t.” She’d never denied knowing Michael. “I just asked you if his name should mean something to me.” Not a lie.
His lips thinned. “Why didn’t you just tell me you knew who the guy was?”
Good question. Not so easy to answer, but she tried, saying, “I was scared, all right? I didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what you wanted from me—”
“So you decided to lie to me.” Turning slightly, his gaze met the shifter’s, for just a moment. “The innocent always lie, don’t they, Gyth?”
A growl was the shifter’s only answer as Gyth crossed his arms over his powerful chest.
Her hands slammed into the top of the table. “I didn’t kill him!” Then she shoved her chair back, needing more space. She didn’t want to look at that picture anymore. Didn’t want to think about Michael. If she did, Cara was very afraid that she’d break apart.
It was obvious the detective was out for blood, but she’d be damned if she’d give him any of hers.
“You can have a lawyer, you know.” Gyth spoke softly from his watchful position.
Yeah, she knew she could. They’d told her in the car. Said she could get an attorney if she wanted.
But Michael had been the only lawyer she knew. “I don’t need a lawyer. I haven’t done anything wrong!” This was an absolute nightmare. Cara squeezed her eyes shut, hoping she was just dreaming. Her kind dreamed, too—just like humans. Powerful, dizzying dreams.
But never a dream like this one.
Her dreams were sexy, often wild—but they were not nightmares.
“You got him naked,” Brooks said, his voice driving into her mind and causing her eyelids to snap open. “You tied him to the bed.”
She shook her head. “I was home. By myself.”
“Then what did you do? Drug him? Inject him with something?”
Her lips parted in confusion. “What are talking about?”
“How did you do it?” He rose, stalked around the table and loomed over her. “How did you kill him, without leaving a mark on his body?”
No! A sudden, terrifying knowledge swept through her, and for an instant, Cara was actually afraid that she might pass out. Her body began to sway.
In a flash, Brooks grabbed her arms and pulled her up, holding her tightly against him. “Cara?”
She shook her head, unable to speak. No, no, she had to be wrong. They had to be wrong.
“Damn it, she’s ice cold!” His voice exploded like a shot.
His hands ran up and down her arms, soothing her, warming her, and she wanted to lean into him. To follow that warm scent and put her head on his shoulder, or against the crook of his neck. The temptation was strong. So strong.
But he was just playing a game. She had to remember that. He was trying to confuse her. Pretending to be the good cop one instant, and the bad guy the next. He wanted to trip her up, and she’d already made one mistake with the detective.
She wouldn’t be making another.
Gathering her strength, Cara pulled away from him. “Don’t touch me.”
His gaze held hers. Emotion burned in that dark stare. Anger. Worry. Lust.
Swallowing, she lifted her chin. “I’m done here.” And she was. She’d played the good citizen. Let them haul her to this crappy station. Sat and waited on their slow asses. Then she’d let them accuse her.
No more.
Brooks stepped away from her.
“I think the two of you”—her disgusted gaze flew from one man to the other—“have more than ruined my night. For the record, let me tell you a few things—and I’d suggest that you both listen very, very well.” Cause she sure as hell wasn’t going to repeat herself.
“I kn-knew—” She stammered just a bit, managed to collect herself, and continued, “Michael House. But I haven’t seen him in several months. I didn’t have anything to do with his death, and like I’ve told you twice already, I was home, alone, earlier tonight.”
“Then how’d your bag wind up at the crime scene?”
Her lips twisted. “Hell if I know.” But that fact worried her. “Someone took the bag in the park almost two weeks ago. I’ve already got new ID. No, I didn’t report the theft, there wasn’t anything of enough value to worry about in the purse.” She pointed her finger at the infuriating human’s chest. “You’re the cop. Run a check with the DMV—or whoever those people are—you’ll see that I got a new driver’s license last Monday.”
“Oh, baby, you can count on me running the check.”
His voice had dropped when he called her “baby.” Gotten husky, intimate.
Cara balled her hands into fists. Her heart thundered like crazy, and she knew that her pheromones were about to fill the room. She fought to hold the scent in check—she’d learned how to control the fragrance when she’d been a teen. She’d momentarily lost control back at her home, and if she didn’t hurry up and get the hell out of the station, she’d do it again.
“If you’re not charging me with something,” she snapped, “then I’m leaving.”
She waited. Held Brooks’s stare, and tried to hold back the growing tide of hunger that rose in her body.
Damn it—why him? Why did she feel this attraction for a man who obviously thought she was a criminal—a murderer? Why did her body tighten and need quicken her blood?
“I hope you’re not planning on going too far,” he said, the words a threat.
Her gaze narrowed. “I’ll go as fucking far as I want.” No, she didn’t have any plans to leave town, but she wasn’t about to tell the too-handsome and too-damn-annoying detective that fact. “I didn’t kill Michael, and the way I figure it, if you actually had any kind of real evidence that linked me to the crime, you would have booked me by now.” Instead of making her play the waiting game.
His jaw clenched and she knew she’d scored a hit with her last words. Giving a hard nod in the direction of the shifter, Cara headed for the door.
“You didn’t look at all the pictures…” Brooks said softly.
His words froze her. “I saw all I needed to see.”
“Did you?” This came from the shifter. He’d sidled around, came to stand right next to the still-closed door.
She shot him a fuming glare, then glanced back over her shoulder at Brooks. “Look, Detective, I don’t exactly know what gets you off.” But you’d like to know, wouldn’t you? A sly voice whispered in her mind. Deliberately, she ignored the voice and the hunger that seemed to flare in tandem with her anger. “But I don’t particularly enjoy staring at pictures of dead friends.”
His brows rose. “Oh? So the other men were your friends, too?”
“What other men?”
His nostrils flared as he stepped toward her, that damn manila file in his hands. She could see the pulse point on his neck beating furiously. Her pheromones were in the air.
He licked his lips. “The ones we found in the other hotel rooms, tied to the beds, just like Michael House.” Then he lifted a glossy photo sheet, showing her the picture of another man—shoulders, neck, and head, eyes closed, lips parted.