Midnight Sins, Page 3

  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.

  Sw
allowing, 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.