Midnight Sins

Chapter 2

She didn’t look like a killer. Her blue eyes were too clear. Her skin too soft.

She smelled of sex and embodied the best wet dream of his life.

But she didn’t look like a killer.

Which meant she probably was.

Brooks watched Cara through the two-way mirror. She sat in the interrogation room, legs crossed, fingers idly tapping on the wooden table. She’d been in there for over thirty minutes now. Alone. Every few moments, a ripple of anger or impatience would appear on her face, then disappear seconds later as her cool mask slipped seamlessly back into place.

Cara Maloan was even better looking than her picture had suggested. In fact, the woman was truly damn near perfect. Hell, yes, he could all too easily imagine her being able to lure those poor assholes to their deaths.

He’d never seen a woman more sexual. Even in the loose jogging pants and tank top she wore, there was no disguising her appeal.

The minute the door of her house had swung open, he’d realized an important fact. He wanted her.

Then he’d caught a whiff of her scent. Jesus Christ. He’d never smelled anything so good. Rich, like a woman’s sensual cream, but sweet, like flowers or champagne. A combination that had blasted straight to his cock.

He hadn’t just wanted her then. He’d hungered for her.

And the lady was probably a killer.

Damn if he didn’t just have the shit-poorest luck in the world. Or at least, that was what his father would have told him, rest the old bastard’s soul.

Todd exhaled and wondered for a minute what his dad would have thought of this case. Of Cara.

His dad. Tough and twisted sonofabitch that he’d been.

Todd had never meant to follow in his footsteps, but fate sometimes had a way of screwing up the best plans that a guy could make.

The door behind him opened with a squeak. He glanced over his shoulder, found his partner watching him with an inscrutable stare.

“You got the photos?” Todd asked.

Colin lifted the manila file.

Todd turned back to the glass, gazed once more at Cara. “It’s a real crying shame that a woman like her is a murderer.” Because he was still hard for her. Could still smell her.

“We…should be very careful with her.”

There was a hesitancy in Colin’s voice that made the hair on Todd’s neck rise. Stepping away from the observation window, he turned to fully face his partner. “What do you know?” Colin had held out on him during their last major case. The knowledge still stuck in Todd’s throat, and he wasn’t going to sit around and let the same shit happen again.

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—

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.

“I have no idea who that is.” And she didn’t. The man had been good-looking, was still handsome, even in death. Strong bones. Sensuous lips. But she’d never seen him before.

“And him?” Another photo. Another guy with good looks and death’s kiss on his lips.

“Never. Seen. Him.” She jerked her gaze away as fast as she could.

“All three men were killed in the same way. All three were stripped. Bound. Then, their hearts…stopped.”

But that didn’t make any sense. Her kind had never needed to bind prey. The seduction was bind enough. “When?” She didn’t have an alibi for Michael. Damn, but just thinking about him hurt. She blinked quickly, trying to fight the tears. “When were these men killed?” Please, please let it be a time she could account for—

“Travis Walters,” he lifted the second photo he’d shown her. She refused to glance at it again. “Killed last Friday night. Just like Michael, it was between eight and ten, and—”

Relief swept through her, nearly making Cara dizzy. “I was singing,” she whispered.

“What?”

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated, tired. What time was it anyway? “I’m a singer. Last Friday, I was working at Paradise Found. Go ask the bartenders, the waitresses,” she told him, her voice soft but underlined with steel. “I was on stage all night, so I couldn’t have killed that man.”

“And where were you on the eighth?” This came from Gyth. “It was a Thursday night and—”

“Singing.” The reply was automatic. She usually performed at night, Wednesday through Saturday, at the club. She’d started working there only a little over two months ago, but she loved the release of singing. The pleasure of the stage. It was almost as good as sex. Almost. “Go to the bar, it’s on Tyners Ave—”

“We know the place,” Gyth cut in, sounding less than thrilled.

Well, good. Then they could confirm her alibi and this whole terrible mess would be over. “I hope you find the person who did this,” she told Brooks, and meant the words with every ounce of her being. “But you need to stop looking at me, because I didn’t kill those men.” There was really nothing left to say. The closed door waited before her. She reached out and yanked the knob to the left.

A few uniformed cops milled around in the small hallway. They stepped forward when they saw her. She knew the move wasn’t because she was a threat to them. No, all the uniforms were males, and her scent drew them to her like a homing device.

“Exit,” she snapped, and they all pointed to the right. She brushed by them, wanting to get away and get her scent under control as quickly as possible.

Cara didn’t look back as she fled. She didn’t want to see Detective Brooks again. The way she figured it, he’d already done enough damage to her for one night.

No, she didn’t look back, though a part of her wanted to.

Beneath the rage he’d stirred, the greedy lust still burned. Sometimes it was like that for a succubus. Sometimes, she would stumble onto the perfect prey. A man who could make her want with just a look and who promised a pleasure so powerful it was a temptation to the very soul.

But she could control her needs. She’d vowed hours before to give up sex, and though the lust had caught her off guard, she’d regain her balance. As soon as she was away from the arrogant cop, the heat would lessen.

So she didn’t look back. Not once, not even when she heard him softly call her name.

He wanted to stop her. To run after her and catch her and stop her from leaving him.

He wanted to berate the others, who watched her with hungry eyes and lustful faces, even as he knew his eyes matched theirs and his face mirrored the same need.

Damn it, what was the woman doing to him? His guts were tied in knots, his hands actually shaking, and with every breath he took, he tasted her.

Shit. He was in trouble.

He called her name, an instinctual response. She didn’t stop. Never glanced back. Just kept moving that shapely ass of hers and walking as fast as she could.

As she fled.

Well, hell, he didn’t really blame the woman. If the lady was innocent, and he had to admit that he was starting to think she was, then he’d just come across as a major asshole.

“Shit.” This time, his disgust was voiced aloud. He slanted a glance at Colin. “Think the alibi will hold up?”

A grim nod. “She wouldn’t have said it unless she could prove it. The facts are too easy to check, and she has to know that.”

Yeah, that was what his instincts were telling him, too. So why had her bag been dumped at the site? What was going on?

A setup?

Or was the lady dead guilty and just jerking him around?

Either way, he had to know.

Glancing down, he realized it was edging close to 4 A.M. And Cara didn’t have a way home.

Perfect.

He hadn’t really planned to let her out of his sight. Not yet, anyway. Not until his questions were answered—fully.

He stepped forward, intent on catching her.

And was brought up short by Colin’s steely grip on his arm. “It’s not a good idea, Brooks.”

He fought the fierce need to shove the guy off him. He didn’t have time for this crap. Cara was getting away. “Why not? She’s a suspect, I’m not just going to let her walk—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Colin snapped. “You’re hot for the woman. You have been from the moment you saw her.”

His temper began to spike. “Get your hand off me, partner.” His gaze held Colin’s glittering stare. One moment, two.

Colin dropped his hold.

Todd’s jaw clenched and he gritted, “I can want a woman and still do my damn job.” He’d always managed to get the job done, no matter what the hell was happening in his personal life.

“Just don’t think with your dick around her.” Colin’s face was rock hard. “That woman’s dangerous. Hell, she could be fucking deadly.”

Yeah, he knew that. He also knew that her lips had quivered when she first saw Michael House’s photo, that her hands had trembled—and that she’d tried to hide both responses.

When she’d attempted to leave and he’d stopped her with more photos, there had been tears in her bright eyes. Tears that she refused to shed.

The woman didn’t act like a killer. There had been genuine shock and sorrow on her face when she’d learned of House’s death.

There were some reactions that couldn’t be faked, no matter how good the actress.

“I’ll go to Paradise Found and check her alibi,” Todd said, determination filling him. After he got a few hours of sleep, he’d head out and make absolutely certain her alibis held. But, right now, there wasn’t much time to spare. The uniforms had almost been salivating over Cara. If he didn’t hurry, she’d probably crook her finger and have one of them volunteering to give her a ride home.

And that outcome just wasn’t part of his plans for the few remaining hours before dawn.

“Uh, maybe you should let me check at Paradise,” Colin told him, and the hard edge had lessened in his voice. “You and Niol don’t exactly have a good track record.”

Niol was the annoying bastard who owned Paradise Found. The last time Todd had been near him, the guy had attacked him. Sort of. Todd still wasn’t exactly certain how he’d flown ten feet across the bar when he couldn’t actually remember Niol ever touching him.

No question, the man was weird as hell.

And he really was a bastard.

But Todd didn’t have time to waste talking about Niol then. “I’m going after her,” he muttered, and figured that was really all he needed to say to Colin.

His job was now very simple. Either he proved Cara’s innocence and got to looking for the real killer…or he proved the beautiful lady’s guilt.

He hurried from the station, her sweet scent still filling his nostrils and a helpless need tightening his gut.

Colin Gyth watched his partner disappear, shaking his head. This wasn’t going to end well. Not. At. All.

He thought about calling in the captain. Giving him a heads-up on the situation.

But then Colin dismissed the idea almost immediately. He didn’t know enough about Ms. Maloan to go to the captain, not yet.

And if her alibis checked out, well, then he might never have to tell Captain Danny McNeal that their suspect wasn’t human.

“Be careful,” he whispered the words too late, because Brooks was already gone. But his partner had no idea what hell a woman like Cara could wreak.

Luckily for Brooks, he did—and Colin wasn’t about to turn his back and let his partner go down in flames.

Todd caught Cara’s arm just as she started to climb down the narrow steps leading to the street.

She turned on him, her face furious, “Damn it, enough, just let—”

“I’m sorry.” The words seemed torn from him. Yet he was sorry. He’d been doing his job, but sometimes, well, sometimes he didn’t like the man he became when he was with suspects.

You have to be willing to fight dirty to take down the devil. His father’s words. He’d always hated the truth in those words.

“Ms. Maloan…” No, he didn’t like that. Too formal, and they weren’t going to be formal. No, they were going to be damn intimate. He knew it. “Cara, I was doing my job.”

The street in front of the precinct was deserted and slick from the light rain that had fallen during the night. The street-lights glared down on the area, sending pools of light shining onto the gleaming black surface of the road.

“You’re still doing your job,” she charged, pulling her arm free. Her hair was wild around her face and he wanted to touch it so badly that his fingers shook. “You’re just playing the good cop now, trying to gain my trust.”

She was right. He was still working the case, but there was more to it than that. More that he didn’t understand. “Let me take you home.”

Her glare would probably have frozen a lesser man. “I think I’d rather walk.”

Todd doubted that. “It’s at least twenty miles, Cara, and it’s not like you’d be going through the safest neighborhoods.”

She huffed out a breath. “Don’t expect me to believe you’re worried about me. I’m a killer, remember? I seduce men, then murder them. A walk on a seedy street should be nothing for me.”

Clamping down on his rising anger, Todd tightened his grip on her. “I was following the evidence,” he said, “and if I hadn’t brought you in for questioning, I wouldn’t be a good cop, now would I?”

Her jaw remained stubbornly set.

“Look, I understand that you’re angry—”

One golden brow lifted. “I don’t think ‘angry’ really covers my feelings here, Detective.”

“Fine. Furious. Pissed. Whatever. But the fact remains that you need a ride home”—he dug into his pocket with his left hand, pulled out his keys—“and I’ve got a car ready.”

Her gaze dropped to his keys. Her lips thinned. “Fine, but you’d better not ask me another damn question about the case during the ride, got it?”

Oh, yeah, he “got it.” Todd smiled. “Come on, my car’s around back.”

She stepped closer to him

He released his hold on her arm, and his hand rose, brushed lightly across her cheek. Damn, but the woman’s skin was soft.

Cara stilled.

“And my name’s Todd,” he said quietly because she hadn’t said his first name yet, and he wanted her to say it.

Wanted to hear the name fall from those kiss-me lips.

Her lips firmed. “Good for you, Todd.” Then she stepped around him and marched toward the parking lot, giving him one stellar view of her firm ass.

Todd swallowed, then sent up a fast and furious prayer that he wasn’t about to fall for a killer.

Because he had very definite plans to get close to Cara. He wanted her in his bed. Had from the beginning. But he wasn’t going to be stupid enough to let down his guard with her.

He’d get her to trust him, to reveal all her secrets.

And if he had to do so, he’d use those secrets.

He just hoped he wouldn’t have to hurt her.

Or that he wouldn’t find out that her perfect bedroom eyes belonged to a soulless killer.

The cops were letting her go.

From the shadows, the killer watched Cara climb into the black Vette. Saw the detective stare down at her a minute too long.

The bastard was already falling into her web. Just like all the other idiots.

The plan was working perfectly. The body count was growing and the cops were fucking clueless.

Humans were so blind. Never seeing the reality around them until it was too late.

Soon, it would be too late for Detective Brooks. The poor human was on the list now.

But the cop wouldn’t die right away. No point in a kill this soon—and Todd Brooks deserved to get to play this wonderful game a bit longer.

Brooks would play, and so would that bitch Cara.

Then death would come, in its blinding glory.

The killer could almost taste the sweet release.

Soon.