Hotter After Midnight (23 page)

The bulb could have blown. She hadn’t changed it in a few weeks—or, hell, she really couldn’t remember the last time she’d changed it.

Emily climbed slowly out of the car. Just because the house was dark, it didn’t mean anything. She was jumpy because of the crime scene. Seeing a woman with her throat ripped out would make anyone a bit uncertain.

She pulled out her cell phone as she walked up the steps. Gripped her keys in her right hand. Her heart was racing, the drumming shaking her chest
all because her light was out.

The porch light should have been on, too, Emily realized. It was night, so the light should have come on automatically.

Her shoes crunched against something hard. Sharp. Emily glanced down. It looked like…white glass. Her gaze darted up to the porch light. The bulb was broken.

Her breath caught. Two lights—that was too big of a coincidence for her. Her thumb pushed the call button on her phone. She’d programmed Colin’s cell in yesterday. Emily started to back up.

“Gyth.”

“I-I think someone’s been in my house.” Her voice was hushed as she retreated another slow step.

“Emily? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong? I can barely hear you—”

Cause she didn’t want to raise her voice and alert whoever might be inside. “Someone’s been in my house,” she repeated quietly.

“Shit.” Good, he’d heard her. “I’m on my way, baby. Get in your car and stay there until—”

The wooden step behind her creaked. Her blood seemed to freeze.

He wasn’t in the house. He was out there,
with her.

Her fingers tightened around the keys. They were the only weapon she had. Drawing in a deep breath, Emily spun around, raising the keys and screaming.

He was ready for her. The guy punched out with his hand, catching her in the cheek and sending her sprawling back against the porch.

The cell phone fell from her fingers, crashed onto the wood.

And Emily realized that Colin wouldn’t arrive soon enough.

She was on her own.

Just as she’d always been.

“Emily?
Emily! Fuck!
” The line was dead. He punched in a call to 911. “This is Detective Colin Gyth. Badge number 2517. I’ve got an assault in progress.” Shit, he hoped he didn’t. If anyone so much as touched Emily, the guy would find out just how much of an animal he could be. “Send patrols out
now
to 602 Lyons Lane.”

He slammed the gas pedal down to the floor of the Jeep.

Hold on, baby, I’m coming.

The fight was short and brutal. Emily crouched on the porch, her cheek burning. The guy lunged for her, but she was ready. She couldn’t see much in the dark, so she kicked out, aiming for what she sure as hell hoped was his groin.

He grunted, fell back. “Bitch!”

Yeah, she was. Emily leaped up, drove the keys down into his arm as hard as she could.

He grabbed her wrist, grinding bones together until she gasped and dropped the keys.

“Fucking demon. You’re gonna pay.” His voice was a high-pitched whisper, the whisper of…a boy?

And had he just called her a demon?

She twisted her hand, trying to break free. God, hadn’t someone heard her scream? The Grantons had come back from Disney World two days ago—they should have heard her.

Emily opened her mouth, ready to scream so loud the dead would hear her, but her attacker slapped a thin, sweaty hand over her lips.

“Private party, demon. No one else is invited.”

She bit him. As hard as she could. Until she tasted blood.

He howled and jerked his hand back. And she screamed. And screamed.

A light flashed on at the Grantons.

Finally.

Her attacker swore, stumbled back. “I’ll be back for you, bitch.”

Bitch or demon. Make up your mind, asshole.

Adrenaline pumped through her, and as he fled, for one mad moment, she actually thought about running after him.

Then she realized her hands were shaking. Her legs, hell, everything shook, and she didn’t think that she could have made it four steps, much less all the way across the yard.

Her attacker ran to the wooded lot. For just an instant, the glow of a streetlight fell over him. He glanced back at her—

Just a kid.
A kid with hair too long, a face too thin, and eyes too big.

Then he was gone. Disappearing into the night.

“Emily!” Mark pounded up the steps, grabbed her, and pulled her to her feet.

Damn. When had she fallen again?

“What happened?”

“Call the police…” She swallowed, realized her throat was desert dry.
Fear will do that to you.

She’d been more scared of that kid than she had been tracking a killer through the News Flash Five station.

But Colin had been with her then. And she’d known he’d keep her safe.

She’d trusted him.

Her knees began to shake again.

“I thought I saw someone running—” Mark glanced toward the lot.

“Some kid. He hit me.”
Called me a demon, said he’d be back for me.

“Jesus.” Mark wrapped his arm around her. “Let’s get inside and we’ll call the cops.”

They stepped forward, and Emily saw that her door was ajar.
Oh, no, not a good sign.

She pushed the door all the way open. Stepped inside the small foyer. Turned on the light.

“What in the hell…” Mark’s voice trailed off.

Emily crept forward. Hit the light switch for the den.

Destroyed.
Her furniture had been smashed, her couch and love seat ripped apart. The TV was on the floor, the screen in pieces.

Papers, magazines, books littered the floor.

“Let’s get out of here.” Mark took her hand. “Go back to my place and call—”

“Step away from the woman, now!”
Colin’s voice snarled from directly behind them.

Emily whirled around and heard Mark gasp in surprise. Colin stood in the doorway, his gun drawn, his face tight with fury.

Mark made the mistake of tightening his hold. “You don’t understand, I’m her neigh—”

“Get your fucking hands off her or I’ll shoot.”
His stare was intense. A turbulent blue that was, oh, shit, beginning to glow.

No, no, he couldn’t shift. Not in front of Mark.
She’d never be able to explain that.

Emily stepped forward, pulling away from Mark’s suddenly sweaty touch. “It’s all right, Colin. Mark’s my neighbor and—”

His gaze flashed to her face. Narrowed. The gun never wavered. “What the hell happened to your cheek?”

Emily lifted her hand to her right cheek. She could only imagine how the mark must look in the harsh light. “Someone was here when I arrived.”
A punk kid who thinks I’m a demon.
“He was waiting on the porch.”

“Fuck.”

Yeah, that pretty much summed it up.

“Umm…are you a policeman?” Mark sounded like he very much hoped that was the case.

Colin grunted. Dropped his gun and grabbed Emily. He pulled her against his chest, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and just held her.

Emily squeezed her eyes shut to stop the stupid tears she could feel welling. Aftereffects, she was sure. But, oh, it sure felt good to be in his arms.

The edge of his fingers dug into her skin. He pulled back slowly, stared down at her. Then he kissed her. A hard, hot, open-mouthed kiss that stole her breath.

“I guess you two know each other.”

Sirens blared in the distance. Grew closer.

Emily wrapped her hands around Colin’s shoulders, held him tighter.

God, but she loved the way the man kissed. Loved the smooth, sensual thrust of his tongue. Loved the faint bite of his teeth as he nibbled on her mouth.

His mouth lifted, just an inch. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

A choked laugh slipped past her lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bright blue lights filled her yard, spilled through the open door.

The cavalry had arrived.

But too late to catch the bad guy.

H
e took her back to his place. She’d argued at first, saying she should stay at her house, try to clean, but the crime scene guys had nixed that idea.

They’d left a team at her home, searching for fingerprints. Hairs. Anything that might give them a clue to the identity of the guy who’d broken in.

A kid. Emily had given him a description of the boy. Pegged him for being around sixteen.

Colin didn’t give a damn how old the guy was. He just wanted to find him, make him pay.

The punk had hit Emily. The red stain on her cheek had already turned into a faint brown bruise.

And her house—
sonofabitch.
All her clothes had been destroyed. Her bed. The dresser. Her books. Even her food—the guy had dumped it all over the kitchen floor.

Emily’s house had looked far too similar to Gillian Nemont’s place, and Colin couldn’t ignore the link. Hell, even the slash marks in the couch cushions had looked the same. Both were hard, long slashes from left to right.

Had the kid done both jobs? He’d find out, when he found the boy.

And the fact that Gillian Nemont still hadn’t turned up worried him. A lot. People didn’t just disappear. Not without a damn good reason. Or help.

Initially, he’d thought that Gillian had fled on her own. But now, now he was very much afraid that she’d had help. The unfriendly kind.

“I-I could have stayed in a hotel, you know.” Emily stood beside the couch, looking tired, disheveled, and so beautiful she made him ache.

“I wanted you to stay here.” With him. Where he could keep an eye on her.

Colin stalked toward her. The woman had scared a good ten years off his life. He’d heard her scream, then the phone had disconnected.

He’d thought the Night Butcher had her.

He caught her chin in his hand. Forced her to look up, to meet his stare. “I meant what I said before, Em. Don’t scare me like that again.” Because the beast had come too close to the surface. It had taken every ounce of his control to fight the change.

And when he’d gone into her house, seen that guy with his hands on her—

The change had started. His bones had begun to snap. His claws to lengthen.

It had only been when he’d taken Emily into his arms that the beast had calmed. When he kissed her, held her, he’d regained his control.

Lucky for her neighbor. Otherwise, the guy would have found out what it was like to have an angry shifter attack.

“It’s not like I did it deliberately, you know,” Emily told him, and there was a faint bite to her tone. “I didn’t go out looking for some junior asshole to jump me.”

No, she hadn’t. But she had gone searching for a killer at the station without telling him. Which was about, oh, ten times worse in his book.

If he hadn’t glanced up as she ran from the room, Emily would have gone off alone.

And what would she have done if she’d actually managed to track the killer?

A cold fist seemed to squeeze his heart. Emily wasn’t like him. She didn’t have a shifter’s strength or a demon’s power.

She was human. Vulnerable. Weak. And right then, her vulnerability pissed him off.

“You have to be more careful.” He dropped his hand but couldn’t force himself to move back. Her scent was in the air, in his nostrils.

Emily arched a brow. “I’m not the cop. You’re the one who likes to play with danger every day, not me.” She sighed. “Damn.

Look, I don’t want to have this conversation right now, okay? I’m tired, my face hurts, and I just want to crawl into bed.” Emily turned away from him. Started to walk down the hall.

“Tell me about Serenity Woods.” He hadn’t meant to ask, not then, but the words just slipped out.

Emily stiffened. “We already talked about that.”

“Not enough we didn’t. Darla Mitchell was planning to do a story on you. On Serenity Woods. An exposé.”

She glanced back at him. “She wouldn’t have had any real proof. The story never would’ve aired.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she had an informer who fed her details about me, sure, but that person wouldn’t have gone public.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I visited my dear mother earlier today and warned her to stop talking to reporters.” One shoulder lifted, fell. “My mom’s a bit naive. She didn’t understand what she was doing when she spoke with Darla.”

She didn’t understand she was selling out her daughter?
He didn’t press on that issue. Better save it for later. “So Darla didn’t have any other evidence?”

Emily turned to fully face him. “I had my little stay at Serenity Woods more than twenty years ago. The records room burned down about five years after I was released.”

“So no staff members could come forward and talk?” The cop in him just couldn’t shut off.

“There is such a thing as patient confidentiality, you know.”

“And I know that rule doesn’t apply to orderlies or janitors or secretaries or—”

Her hand lifted. “No one would talk.”

“You sure seem damn sure of that.”

“I am.” Her lips tightened. “The humans there were made to…forget my stay.”

Alarm bells rang in his head. “And just how did that nice trick happen?”

“The psychiatrist in charge of the facility, Dr. Catcherly, he wasn’t human. He was a level-six demon, strong enough to plant suggestions in people’s minds.”

“And he made the staff forget about you.”

“Yes.” Emily swallowed, balled her hands into fists. “I wasn’t crazy, you know. I just didn’t understand what was happening to me.

I tried to tell my mother, but she didn’t believe me. She thought I was having some kind of breakdown, like my dad.”

“Your dad?”

Emily shook her head. “His obituary in the paper said that he’d died in a hunting accident.” A short, bitter laugh tumbled past her lips. “But there was no accident. He picked up a gun, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.”

Jesus.
That detail sure hadn’t been in her background check.

“I was seven when I found him.” She swallowed. “I’d already started seeing things by then. And when my dad killed himself, my mom just…she didn’t want to hear that I was seeing things. She didn’t want me to be…like he was.”