Hotter After Midnight

by Cynthia Eden

  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.”

  The tissue fell from Cara’s fingers. “But men don’t love women like me.”

  Cara had been coming to see her for nearly a month now. In that time, Emily had discovered that beneath the succubus’s perfect exterior, there was a smart, kind, caring woman. A woman who’d been born into a life that didn’t necessarily match up with the person she was. And it was time Cara changed that life.

  Men don’t love women like me. Gazing straight into Cara’s glistening blue eyes, Emily softly asked, “Don’t they?”

  Emily had just shown Cara Maloan out when her intercom beeped.

  “Hey, boss, you got a call on line one.” Vanessa whistled softly. “A guy by the name of Colin Gyth. Very sexy voice.”

  Colin Gyth. Emily hurried around her desk. “Ah, okay.” It’d been nearly three days since she’d heard from Colin. Not that she’d been counting or anything. “Put him through.”

  Inhaling deeply, she waited a moment for the telltale click that signaled the call transfer. Then she picked up the handset. “Emily Drake.”

  “Hi, Doc.”

  Heat bloomed between her thighs. Vanessa was right, the guy did have a sexy-as-sin voice. She’d forgotten the deep timbre of his speech.

  Damn. What was wrong with her? Was she honestly getting turned on just by Colin’s voice?

  Cara’s problem is that she has too much sex in her life. Maybe my problem is that I don’t have enough.

  Maybe she’d just been alone too long. What had it been? Five, six months since she’d broken up with Travis? Or rather, since Travis had broken up with her.

  I don’t know you, Emily. You won’t let me know you. And I’m tired of ramming my head into a wall just because I want to get close to you.

  She jerked off her glasses. That had been bad, very, very—

  “Uh, Doc? You there?”

  “Ah, sorry, yes.” Emily coughed. “What can I do for you, Detective?” She really, really hoped he hadn’t just heard that little quiver of excitement in her voice. In talking with the guy for less than two minutes, she’d gone from professional psychologist to needy woman.

  Maybe she could use some therapy of her own.

  There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, then Gyth’s deep voice announced, “You can tell me that you meant it when you said you’d help out on this case.”

  Now that got her attention. Her back snapped straight. “Yes, yes, of course, I meant it.” He was calling about business. Time for the professional psychologist to get her ass in gear.

  “Good, cause the big boys just gave me the go-ahead to bring you in as a profiler.”

  A profiler. Her fingers tightened around the phone. Working a murder investigation.

  “The press is already crawling all over this case. Once you’re officially in, they’ll get your name.” He sighed, then said, “So prepare to start seeing a lot of yourself on the six o’clock news.”

  For a moment, she hesitated. She hadn’t given a thought to the press. Hadn’t even considered that they’d learn of her. “Can’t we keep my involvement quiet for now?”

  “The DA wants to make sure the public feels like we’re doing everything possible to catch this guy. He wants to release data about our profiler to make everyone feel better.”

  “O-okay.” Surely there was no way that anyone would discover her past. It had been so many years since—

  “Relax, Doc, dealing with the press will be the easy part. Catching the killer, that’s the challenge.” There was a rumble of voices in the background, then he asked, “Hey, when are you gonna be free this afternoon?”

  “I’m free now.” Maloan had been her last patient of the day. No night clients were scheduled.

  “Good. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes? But—”

  “You need to start on the profile, right? Well, I’ll take you back to the crime scene, then you can come meet Smith.”

  “Smith?”

  “The medical examiner.”

  Oh. Her stomach tightened. She didn’t have a good track record with MEs.

  He laughed softly. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Not exactly reassuring.

  A thin line of yellow police tape blocked the door at 208 Byron Street.
Colin pulled out a knife, slashed through it, and opened the door.

  The smell hit her when she stepped inside. The stale, cold odor of death. The coppery scent of blood.

  Emily swallowed. The house was dark. Shadows loomed across the floor. “Can you do something about the lights?”

  He tapped a button on the wall. Light flooded the foyer and the den.

  She inched forward, keeping her attention on the ground. Colin had told her that the killer had entered through the front door. So he’d come this way, walking slowly, carefully into the house.

  The thick carpet swallowed her footsteps as she entered the den. The killer had crept into this room, found Preston Myers. And attacked him.

  The stark outline of Preston’s body still marked the floor. The stain of his blood covered the brown carpet.

  Her gaze rose to the nearby wall. Dried blood marred the surface. So much blood.

  “This guy was in a fury,” she murmured, bending to inspect the carpet. Her hand lifted over the outline, hesitated.

  “Is this your first murder, Doc?”

  She hadn’t heard his approach but wasn’t really surprised to hear his voice sounded from right behind her. Shifters often made no sound when they moved.

  Her fingers were trembling. She balled her hand into a fist and glanced back at him. “Yes.” But not her first blood soaked scene.

  For an instant, her mind flashed back to that last bloody room. She saw the man’s body, slumped on the floor. His brains and tissue were on the wall, blood surrounding him.

  Her father’s death hadn’t been pretty, and sometimes, late at night, she still woke up screaming.

  Emily drew in a deep breath. She had to focus on Preston, not the past.

  Standing, her stare swept the room, lingered on the pictures decorating the mantel, on the chess set in the corner, on the books lining the built-in shelves near the doorway.

  From all appearances, Preston Myers had been a normal guy. Completely human.

  So why had he been attacked? Why had the killer chosen him?

  “It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. “SBs stick to their own kind.”

  “Uh…SBs?”

  “Supernatural beings.” In her experience, SBs always stayed with their own for mating, for fun, and for killing.

  To cross over like this and to murder a human, to so blatantly attack—

  Her gaze narrowed as she glimpsed a familiar face in one of the photos.

  Hell.

  She marched closer to the mantel. Snatched up the picture.

  “Hey, Doc, what’s—”

  Her fingers tightened around the small frame. “Have you run a background check on Preston yet?”

  “My partner’s working on it.” His eyes narrowed. “Why, Doc? What do you know?”

  She held up the picture. “I know that one of the guys in this picture is a demon.”

  One black brow shot up. “A patient?”

  “No.” She would never have agreed to treat Niol. The guy gave off black waves of energy that made her far, far too nervous. Her nail tapped just over Niol’s unsmiling face. “But I’ve met him a few times. He owns a bar near here, a place called Paradise Found.”

  “Then I guess I’ll be paying him a visit.” He smiled at her. “Good thing I brought you over. You might not have gotten any more details about the killer, but you sure did just speed up the—”

  “Oh, I know more about the killer,” she interrupted, frowning at him, feeling slightly insulted. What did he think she’d been doing? Daydreaming over a dead body?

  He pulled out his notebook. “Then tell me.”

  Emily licked her lips. “This wasn’t an impulse kill. Nothing’s disturbed. Nothing’s taken. The guy came to the house with the attack already planned out. He knew where the security cameras were, and he knew how to hide from them. That probably means he’s been here before, that he knew the victim.”

  She pointed to the blood on the wall. “When there is this much violence, this much rage, it’s usually very, very personal.”

  “Yeah, I figured that.” So far, Colin wasn’t sounding particularly impressed.

  She dropped her hand, squared her shoulders as she faced him. “The killer had to be strong to overpower Preston. The victim was what, six foot two? One hundred eighty pounds? He would have fought back, would have fought as hard as he could.” Her lips tightened for a moment. “But then, supernaturals are always stronger than humans, aren’t they? Preston never had a chance.”

  “No,” Colin agreed, his voice quiet. “He didn’t.”

  When they left the house, they found a reporter waiting for them. A blond woman with close-cropped hair stood on the walkway, a black microphone clutched in her hands. A cameraman stood behind her, his face partially obscured by the bulk of his equipment.

  “Detective Gyth!” The woman’s face lit with hungry enthusiasm. “Darla Mitchell, News Flash Five. I have a few questions for you.”

  “Shit.” The word was a bare breath of sound, but it reached Emily’s ears, and for a second, she almost smiled at the disgust she heard.

  But then Darla shoved the microphone into her face. “Dr. Drake, my sources say that you’ve joined this case as a profiler.”

  “Ah…” Her sources? She’d been on the case for less than an hour. How had the woman already found out about her?

  Colin stepped in front of Emily. “The Atlanta PD has no comment at this time.”

  Darla tried to squirm around him. “But what about Dr. Drake? Does she have—”

  Colin grabbed the bobbing microphone, leaned close, and snapped, “No comment.”

  “Fine!” Darla snarled. “Cut it, Jake!”

  Emily stepped to Colin’s side just as Jake lowered the camera.

  A hard glare twisted Darla’s pretty face. “You can’t keep information from the public forever, you know, Gyth!”

  “When I have information, I’ll give it to you.” He smiled. Okay, well, he flashed a lot of teeth. Not really a smile so much as a baring of fangs.

  Darla growled at him, then spun on her two-inch heels and stomped back to the News Flash Five van.

  The cameraman studied Gyth and Emily. Then he sighed. “She’s been pissed since Channel Three scooped her on the Butcher story.” His eyes narrowed on Emily. “Dr. Drake…I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  A tingle of awareness skated down her spine as she stared into his golden eyes.

  He was Other.

  He smiled at her, and for just a second, his eyes shifted, the gold changed into a midnight black.

  Demon eyes.

  She felt his power in the air then. Weak, low-level power, maybe a two or three on the demon scale.

  “If there’s anything I can do for you, Doctor, or if you decide that you want to talk to News Flash Five, give me a call.” He handed her his card.

  “Jake!”

  Sighing, he glanced back over his shoulder. Darla stood beside the van, arms crossed, eyes glittering.

  “Well, guess I’ll talk to you both another time.” With a little salute, he hoisted the camera and hurried toward the van.

  “Looks like the vultures have already started circling.” Colin shook his head and marched down the sidewalk.

  She followed on his heels. “Gyth, did you know they were going to be here?”

  He jerked open her door, narrowing his eyes. “No.” Then comprehension lit his face. “What, you think I brought you here as some kind of setup?”

  Well, the thought had crossed her mind. “You said I’d be on the six o’clock news soon. Looks like you were right.”

  His fingers tightened around the metal door. “I said you’d be on the news because the DA is going to hold a press conference about the case in the next few days. You’ll be at the conference.”

  Emily climbed into the Jeep. “So, for the record, you didn’t know Darla was going to be here?”

  He slammed the door. “No, I sure as hell didn’t.”

  She blew
out a hard breath as he circled the Jeep and jumped into the driver’s seat.

  “And just so you know, Doc, you aren’t to talk to reporters alone, ever.” He slanted her a simmering glare. “So you might as well just throw away the card that slick passed you.”

  “I think I’ll just hold on to it.” It wasn’t the first time that one of the Other had passed a card to her as a signal that he wanted something.

  “Fine.” He cranked the engine, sending the vehicle roaring to life.

  Emily glanced down at the card in her hands. JAKE DONNELLEY, CAMERAMAN, NEWS FLASH FIVE. His contact information was in clear, bold letters at the bottom.

  She flipped the card over.

  Have information on the case. Meet me at Paradise Found. 10 P.M.

  “Ah, Gyth?”

  “What?” He braked at a traffic light and glanced her way.

  “I don’t think that guy wants to ask me questions.” Holding up the card, she showed him the note.

  His brows snapped together. “What in the hell?”

  A horn blared behind them. Colin swore and stomped on the gas.

  No, Jake doesn’t want to ask her questions. But it sure looks like he might have a few things to tell her.

  Colin turned into the parking lot of an old convenience store, braked, and spun to confront her. “Let me see that card.”

  This time, she handed it over.

  He whistled soundlessly. “Sonofabitch.” His gaze rose to capture hers. “Why’d he give this to you?” Suspicion laced his words.

  She glanced away, shrugged.

  “Emily…”

  She jerked. He’d never called her Emily before. Usually, he just called her Doc in that slightly mocking drawl of his. Hearing her name on his lips now seemed strangely intimate.

  “Why’d the guy give you the card instead of me?”

  Her lips parted—

  “Shit.” His fist rapped against the steering wheel. “The guy’s Other, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” There didn’t seem to be much point in denying it.

  “So what is he? Shifter? Warlock? Psychic?”

  “He’s a demon.” Most people didn’t really understand demons. They thought demons were servants of the devil—evil, winged creatures with tails and talons. But the truth was that demons were a whole other race of humans, possibly descended from the original Fallen. On the outside, demons looked just like humans, except for one small detail: the eyes. All demons had completely black eyes. Cornea, lens, retina—everything was black.