Did the man think she’d made up the story about hearing the killer?
Hell, she really did need to get out of there. Needed to clear her head.
And try to stop hearing the killer’s voice replaying in her mind.
Maybe next time I’ll try a cop.
Her hands fisted. Maybe next time I’ll catch you first, you sonofabitch.
“Hey, Gyth! There’s a guy here who says he has to talk to you.”
Colin glanced up from Darla’s desk. Saw Jake Donnelley peering over a uniform’s shoulder.
“Who’s that?” Brooks asked, straightening to better study him.
“Darla’s cameraman.”
“Think he knows something?”
“One way to find out.” He shoved to his feet, stalked over to meet the demon.
“W-we need to talk.” Jake was sweating.
“Sure.” Colin stepped into the hallway. The area had cleared out a lot in the last hour. Even as he spoke, Darla’s body was wheeled out.
Jake looked at the body bag, gulped, then hurriedly glanced away.
“What do you know, Donnelley? Did you see something? The killer?” If only he could be that lucky.
Jake shook his head. “Didn’t see anything. But you need to know—” He broke off as a female cop passed them. Lowering his voice, he continued, “You need to know what Darla was working on.”
“Oh?” His interest was caught but he played it cool and easy. “And what story was she investigating?”
Jake met his gaze. “Dr. Drake.”
Do you still see demons? Colin kept his face expressionless. “What about her?”
“Darla found out that Dr. Drake was sent to one of them psych wards when she was a kid.”
I never said I worked there.
Shit. “She was going to run the story, wasn’t she?”
Jake nodded.
“And is this the only story Darla was working on?” Please, let there be something else.
“Other than the robbery at Southern Bank, yeah.”
Not good. “You told anybody else about this?”
Jake shook his head. “Not gonna either.” His face tightened. “We both know why the doctor got sent to that place. And we know she wasn’t seeing things.”
He could all too easily imagine Emily as a child, seeing demons and monsters wherever she turned. Yeah, he knew why she’d wound up at Serenity Woods.
“All right, Donnelley. Thanks for the tip.”
The cameraman shuffled off down the hallway.
Colin watched him for a moment, then turned back to the crime scene. He needed to find Emily. His gaze searched the room.
Where is she?
“Hey!” Brooks stepped forward. “What’d the guy have to say?”
Colin shrugged. “Nothing really.” He met his partner’s stare straight on. Lying wasn’t hard for him. He’d been doing it his whole life. “Just that Darla was working on a bank robbery story before she was killed.”
“Really?” Brooks’s eyes narrowed. “That was all he said?”
“Yeah.” Emily wasn’t in the room. “Where’s Dr. Drake?”
Smith brushed by him, paused. “She left about twenty minutes ago. Said she’d check in at the station tomorrow.”
His stomach clenched. It was okay. The doc knew how to take care of herself. So she’d gone home alone. No big deal.
Except he was sure someone had been watching her house. Watching her.
And she’d just tapped into a killer’s mind.
Probably no need to worry— ah, bullshit. “Can you finish things here?” he asked Brooks.
“Uh, yeah. There are just a few more interviews—”
“Good.” The word had barely passed his lips before he marched out of the room, moving faster, faster with each step.
His gut was tight, and his instincts were screaming at him.
Something was wrong. He had to get to Emily.
All of the lights were out. Emily sat in her car, staring up at her house. She’d left the light in the den on; she always did. But the house was dark. Too dark.
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.
Chapter 12
He 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.