3
“You wanna do what?” Danny McNeal shot forward in his worn leather chair.
Colin stared levelly back at him. “Hey, you’re the one who brought her in.” He paused, then said, “Now that the doc’s in the game, I want to keep using her.”
McNeal rubbed his right hand over his gleaming head. “I don’t think you know what you’re dealing with here, Gyth.”
Oh, he had a pretty good idea.
“So what, one night you ran up on a vampire or a demon in the park? You saw they were real and now you think you’re some kind of hotshot who can go out and fight these things?”
Not exactly.
“Well, I’ve got news for you.” McNeal was glaring at him now, bushy brows lowered. “These things will eat you up and spit you out—literally.”
Not without a hell of a fight. “I know what I’m doing,” Colin told him, struggling to keep his voice level. He didn’t think the situation was a game, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to reveal his true nature to the captain.
Been there, done that, with shit for results.
McNeal grunted and spun his chair to face the small window in his office. The captain didn’t have much of a view. The window overlooked the back alley and two nearby buildings. But if you strained, you could just make out the green grass of the park in the distance.
“Have you got a report yet from Smith?”
He’d been in the medical examiner’s office all morning. “She’s not done with the autopsy yet, but her preliminary judgment is that Preston Myers was attacked by an animal.”
McNeal turned slowly back to face him. His fingers drummed on the arms of his chair. “We know that’s not the case.”
Yes, but proving it would be a whole different matter. “She thinks the vic was attacked by a dog or a wolf.” Colin tossed a manila envelope onto McNeal’s desk. “But judging by the bite radius, I’d say it could just as easily have been a vampire.”
“Shit.” McNeal squeezed his eyes shut. “Why couldn’t this asshole have stayed out of my town?” He huffed out a breath, cracked open his eyes, and studied Colin. “You think Dr. Drake was right? You think this bastard will kill again?”
Colin nodded. He had no doubt that the killer would strike again. The crime scene had been a bloodfest; that much rage, that much hate—no one could stay in control with that dangerous mix brewing inside.
Yeah, he’d kill again. Unless they stopped him.
“She’s got the credentials,” McNeal muttered. “The press will buy that we’re bringing her on as a profiler.” He leaned forward, grabbed a newspaper from the edge of his desk, and waved it in front of Colin. “Did you see what those idiots printed today? The guy’s had one kill and they’ve already given him a name.”
The black and white letters were stark: NIGHT BUTCHER CLAIMS VICTIM.
Oh Jesus. That was the last thing they needed. Night Butcher.
“No details of the body were released.” McNeal tossed the paper into the trash. “But some jerkoff managed to peer into the house with one of those high-powered lenses, and he caught a shot of all the blood.”
“He’s gonna like the name, you know,” Colin warned. He’d seen it before. Seen perps who got a high off the killing, but got an even bigger rush from the media attention that turned them into fucking celebrities.
“I know.” McNeal’s jaw clenched. “And I also know we’ve got jack for leads.”
It was time to seal the deal. Colin leaned forward. “That’s why we need the doc. She’s been treating guys like him for years; she knows how they think. She can help us, I know she can.”
The captain stiffened slightly. “I don’t think she’s been seeing guys quite like this one.” His lips thinned. “I don’t think the doctor makes a general practice of treating killers.”
“No, but we both know who she does treat.”
A reluctant nod. Then, “How do you know she’ll even agree to this? Emily doesn’t like attention, and when the press finds out, they’ll splash her name on every page of their rags.”
So she was Emily now. His eyes narrowed. There was familiarity there, a lot of it.
“Get her permission, and we’ll talk again—”
“I’ve already gotten it.”
“Do you now.” Not a question. McNeal narrowed his eyes, and Colin realized he’d just stepped on the captain’s toes.
Shit. He spoke slowly, carefully, as he said, “She agreed Friday night. Before I went to you with this plan, I needed to make sure the doc would be onboard.” And she’d agreed. Now it was just up to McNeal.
McNeal stared at him in silence a moment, two, then finally nodded. “Well, then I guess I’d better make a few phone calls and get her officially attached to the case.” He reached for his phone.
Colin took the hint. He rose, headed for the door, then paused, unable to contain his curiosity. “Captain, just how did you and Dr. Drake meet?”
The phone receiver was cradled at McNeal’s ear. For a moment, his lips curved in a somewhat taunting smile. “When you’re ready to tell me your secrets, Detective, I’ll tell you mine.”
“I want more than just sex.”
Emily lifted a brow as she studied the succubus stretched out on her couch. “And what exactly is it that you do want, Cara?”
Cara pounded her small fist against the leather cushions. “I want someone to want me, me! Not some hyped-up dream of a sex goddess!”
Ah, now here was the tricky part. “Well, umm, you know, you actually…are pretty close to being a sex goddess.” A succubus was created to entice men, born with a high level of pheromones. Just the scent from one of Cara’s kind had been known to drive mortal men wild with lust.
Of course, normally, the driving men wild with lust bit worked out well for the succubi. They derived a shot of magical power from the sex act. That power enabled them to alter their appearances, to live longer—heck, most succubi thought it was a pretty good deal all around.
Cara was definitely not like most succubi.
She sat up on the couch, pushing back her long, blond mane. “I’m tired of men looking at me and only wanting one thing.”
Emily didn’t speak. She’d learned it was best sometimes to just sit back and let the patient talk.
“I’m tired of random men, tired of guys who can’t remember my name a week after we’ve met.”
Her brows wrinkled at that. What kind of moron would forget a woman as gorgeous as Cara?
“I want someone who knows that I like sunsets, that I swim every morning before dawn, that I like damn blueberries on my pancakes—” Cara’s face was starting to redden. “Dammit, I want someone to know me!”
And not just the sex goddess.
“What’s wrong with me, Dr. Drake?” Cara’s hands balled into fists. “I’m not like the others, am I? They’re all happy. My friends love the power they have over mortal men. They laugh about it, but I—I—” She broke off, floundering. Then she swiped her hand under her left eye, rubbing away a lone tear that had fallen. “Shit, I guess I’m just a freak.”
Reaching for her tissue box, Emily said very softly, “No, you’re not.” She offered the tissue to Cara. “You just…” Now here was the hard part. Cara might not be ready to hear it, but she needed to realize, “You just want someone to love you.”