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  Karen shook her head sadly. “Emily is very…different.”

  Different was too tame a word for the doc. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You don’t understand.” She leaned forward, staring straight into his eyes. “Emily is—”

  “Is there a problem?” Brooks called, moving back toward them.

  Emily’s mother straightened with a quick snap. Her lips firmed into a thin line.

  “No,” Colin told him, “I’ll be right there.” He was suddenly very eager to get away from the picturesque house on Terrace Lane.

  “She’s evil.” Karen breathed the words, and Colin saw a tear track from the corner of her eye. “Remember that, and don’t trust her.”

  Then she turned and fled back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter 13

  “We have a problem.” Smith was waiting for them when they returned to the station. She’d made herself comfortable at Brooks’s desk, and when they approached her, she swiveled around to face them, tapping a manila file against her desk.

  “Yeah, and how is that new?” Brooks reached for the file. “This the report on those hairs you found on Myers?”

  Colin glanced across the pen, saw McNeal making a beeline for them. “Has the captain read the file?”

  Her lips turned down. “Not yet. I’ll see him—”

  “Now,” McNeal finished, appearing at her side. “I told you, I wanted all data on this case given to me first.” His shoulders were stiff as he loomed over her.

  Smith didn’t look particularly intimidated. She shrugged. “Procedure is for me to report to the lead detectives.”

  McNeal wrapped his hands around the arms of the chair. Leaned in close. “I gave you an order, Smith. It’s not personal, but it sure as hell will be if you don’t start doing exactly what I say on this case.” He stared into her eyes a heartbeat of time, then softly said, “Are we clear now?”

  “Oh yeah, Captain, we’re clear.” The Arctic had to be warmer than she was right then.

  McNeal sighed and stepped back. “All of you, in my office, now.”

  Brooks and Smith looked surprised by the order as they moved to obey, but Colin knew what McNeal was thinking. If there was anything abnormal—as in Other abnormal—he didn’t want the rest of the station hearing about it then.

  A few moments later, McNeal closed the door behind them with a soft click. “I’ll take the file.”

  Brooks tossed it to him. McNeal flipped it open, read quickly, a furrow appearing between his eyes. “Unrecognizable? Not human? What the hell? Did the evidence get contaminated?”

  Smith stiffened. Her entire body seemed to turn to stone before Colin’s eyes. “My evidence is good.”

  Yeah, and he and McNeal both knew it.

  McNeal scanned the file again. “Canis lupus—what is that, some kind of dog?”

  “No,” Smith told him, biting out the word. “It’s a wolf, a gray wolf.”

  “You’re saying a gray wolf attacked Myers?” Brooks asked, peering over McNeal’s shoulder to get a better look at the file.

  “No, I’m not saying that.” She began to pace in front of them. “The analysis couldn’t match up the hair that I found on Myers, not completely.”

  Not completely. Colin knew what was coming, but he knew he had to play it clueless. “Look, either the hair is a wolf’s or it isn’t, what are you—”

  “It matches with part of a gray wolf’s DNA, but—” She licked her lips, glanced at each of them quickly. “It also has unknown DNA.”

  “Ah, unknown?” Brooks shook his head. “Unknown as in—”

  “Not human. Not animal. But some sort of really strange combination of both.”

  Shifter. Colin coughed delicately, caught McNeal’s eye. “Umm, Smith, are you telling us that a werewolf attacked Myers?” Cause, yeah, that was pretty much what had happened.

  She stopped pacing, stood in front of McNeal’s desk, lifted her hands, and said, “Honestly, Gyth, I don’t know what the hell I’m telling you. I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I just—I don’t have an answer for you.”

  “Maybe the hair was planted,” Brooks suggested, pursing his lips, “to throw us off.”

  “There were claw marks on the body. I called in an animal specialist. The marks match up with a wolf’s.”

  McNeal snapped the file closed. Tossed it onto his desk. “I’m not going to the DA and telling him that a werewolf killed Myers.”

  Smith opened her mouth, then shook her head.

  Uh-oh. “What is it, Smith?” She was holding back. He’d seen that expression on her face before.

  “Not just Myers,” she muttered. “The reporter too. I found more of the hairs on her.”

  “What in the hell is going on here?” Brooks demanded. “There is no way some rabid wolfman is going around the city killing people!”

  Actually, that was exactly what was happening. And now they had proof. Definitive proof.

  Unfortunately, it was proof that would never make it into a courtroom.

  “The evidence has to be compromised,” McNeal said flatly. “Either it was tampered with at the crime scene or it was exposed here—but it’s no good to us.”

  “No, my evidence is—”

  “Compromised. Now, we need to put a lid on this thing before word leaks to the press that our evidence in this case has been tainted.”

  Smith sucked in a sharp breath.

  McNeal stabbed a finger in the air. “Now I want you three to get to work and find me evidence that I can use.” He glared at them, then snarled, “Now! Go!”

  Smith threw him a look of disdain before she turned on her heel and marched out. Brooks followed her, and Colin trailed on their heels.

  “Gyth, wait.”

  Colin stopped at the door. His hand reached out, pushed the thin, wooden door shut. He glanced back. McNeal was feeding the file into his shredder. He arched a brow at the captain. “There are gonna be other copies of that, you know.”

  “I’ll take care of them.” He exhaled heavily and sank into his chair. “I need you to find this bastard, Detective. I can’t have him terrifying my city and leaving a trail of dead humans in his wake.”

  “Yes, sir.” But it was a hell of a lot easier said than done.

  “Find him, Gyth,” McNeal repeated, “and do whatever you have to do, but stop the bastard.”

  Just after five that evening, Emily arrived at the station, her palms damp with sweat and her heart racing.

  Gyth had called her twenty minutes ago. They had a suspect in custody for the break-in at her place. A kid who’d been busted for shoplifting and who just happened to have her address scribbled down in his wallet.

  Talk about your lucky breaks.

  Her gaze scanned the station. She didn’t see Colin. Where was—

  “Afternoon, Dr. Drake.”

  Brooks. Emily turned around, didn’t bother forcing a smile. “Brooks.” Her heart raced even faster. “Tell me, did you have a nice morning investigating me?”

  He met her stare levelly. “I’m working on a murder.”

  Like she didn’t know that.

  “I have to follow every lead. Check out all suspects.”

  “And is that what I am now? A suspect?”

  “Not anymore. Colin and I talked to your mother, her neighbors, they all backed up—”

  “C-Colin talked to my mother?” She’d known, of course, that he’d have to go with Brooks to follow up on her alibi. She understood that he was doing his job. Hell, if their positions were reversed, she’d have done the same thing. And she even understood why Brooks had originally suspected her. She hated the guy’s attitude, but she wasn’t stupid. She understood.

  But the sudden image of Colin talking to her mother. Oh no. That couldn’t have gone well.

  A faint smile curved his lips. “Don’t worry. They just talked about the case.”

  Too late. She was already worried. “Where is Colin? He called me
about a suspect in the break-in.”

  “He’s getting the lineup ready. Come on.” He took her arm, led her to the elevator. “He should be ready for you by now.”

  Within minutes, Emily found herself behind a large, tinted pane of glass. Colin stood behind her, Brooks at his side. A woman was there too, the DA, and another man—he’d identified himself as James Tyler, another lawyer, presumably for the guy she was hoping to identify.

  There was a faint click behind her, then Colin ordered, “Bring ’em in.”

  A door opened on the other side of the glass. A line of men walked out, all holding white signs with black numbers on them.

  “Face forward,” Colin said into the intercom.

  The men stared back at her. Emily swallowed. Lifted her hand to touch the cheek that still ached. She’d managed to cover the bruise with some makeup she’d bought at the drugstore that morning.

  Her eyes scanned over the men. Not number one. Or two. Number three had the right hair, but—

  “Number four.” She met his stare through the mirror. Same wide eyes. A face that was pale, hair too long.

  “Are you sure?” Brooks asked softly. “Take your time, you don’t—”

  “It’s number four.” She was absolutely certain.

  “Well,” Colin drawled as he fixed the public defender with a hard look. “Guess that means in addition to the shoplifting charges, your client is about to be booked with assault, breaking and entering, and vandalism. And just so we’re clear, he’s eighteen. No juvie charges.”

  James shook his head, his expression disgusted, as he reached for the door. “And here I was thinking I’d be home before seven.”

  With a polite “Thank you for your cooperation,” the DA followed him out.

  Emily rounded on Colin. “I want to talk to him.” I want to find out why the kid thinks I’m a demon.

  Brooks whistled softly. “Figured you’d ask for something like that. I’d be pissed as hell if the punk had broken into my place.”

  Colin shook his head. “Not gonna happen, Doc. That’s not the way it works—”

  “Don’t make me go over your head.” Lover or not, he wasn’t going to keep her away from that boy. And if she had to go to McNeal, she would.

  His blue eyes hardened. “You’re a witness here. Nothing more.”

  Ouch. Emily lifted her chin. “I’m a victim here, and victims have rights.” Screw it. Colin was in his overprotective mode and she didn’t feel like wasting her time arguing with him. She’d talk to McNeal; she needed to update him and Colin on her profile anyway.

  Emily marched to the door, yanked it open. She took three steps and came face-to-face with the boy who’d attacked her. His hands were cuffed and a uniformed officer stood on his right.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. Perfect opportunity. She would—

  “Demon! She’s a fucking demon!” The kid started screaming at the top of his lungs, shaking.

  He sounded so absolutely certain that he was seeing a demon that Emily actually turned and glanced behind her just to make sure one hadn’t arrived. But no. It was just her.

  “Look, kid, I’m not—”

  “Kill the demon! Have to kill her!” He lunged forward in a blur of motion, his arms raised.

  Emily heard a guttural shout from behind her. And then the boy barreled into her, sending her flying to the ground. He landed on top of her, and his fingers locked around her throat. Hell, not again.

  “Have to destroy the demon. She’s evil. Destroy—”

  Colin grabbed the kid and jerked him off her, shoving him back up against the wall. “You just made a serious fucking mistake.”

  The kid raised his arms, tried to use his cuffs to hit Colin. Colin growled and hit him in the stomach, driving the air from the boy’s lungs in a loud whoosh. Then he pulled back his fist and drove it into the boy’s nose. Bones cracked. Blood shot down the perp’s face.

  Colin raised his fist back, bared his teeth.

  The boy began to whimper. His body slid down to the floor and he wrapped his arms around his stomach, rocking back and forth.

  Colin grabbed him by the collar and—

  “Stop!” Emily ordered, pushing to her knees. Something about that kid—something was very, very wrong. “He’s not going to attack again.”

  “Damn right he’s not.” Colin turned his furious stare onto the uniform. “What the fuck were you doing? Don’t you know how to secure a perp?”

  The cop gulped, muttering apologies as he reached for the boy.

  “Get him out of here, now!”

  Emily stared down at the boy. “What’s your name?”

  He shook his head, whispered, “Demon.”

  The uniform pulled him to his feet. “Come on, Trace. Fun’s over.”

  The boy went forward obediently, but he kept looking back at Emily, a frightened, lost look on his face.

  “Well…” Brooks murmured, eyeing Emily with a hint of wariness. “Guess you aren’t the only one preoccupied with demons, huh?”

  “The killer wants the world to know what he is.” Emily sat in the chair across from McNeal’s desk. Colin sat beside her, and she could feel his intent stare on her.

  He hadn’t spoken with her since the attack. But if looks could kill…

  Damn. She’d been the one to get choked. She would have thought the guy could have shown more sympathy.

  Colin wasn’t feeling particularly sympathetic. She knew that. Could feel that. His rage practically filled the room.

  She’d taken a few minutes to regain her composure after the attack. She’d retreated to the restroom. Discovered that she had red fingerprints on her neck. Her voice was scratchy, and the new suit jacket she’d purchased that morning had been ripped.

  Actually, she’d had to buy a whole new wardrobe that morning. Thanks to the boy, Trace, all of her old clothes had been slashed. And so far, things weren’t looking up for her new items.

  “Are you saying the Night Bastard wants to get caught?” McNeal asked, leaning forward.

  His question jerked Emily back to the matter at hand. The Night Butcher, or, as McNeal liked to call him, the Night Bastard. She’d been working on his profile, updating it with information she’d garnered at the crime scene last night. “No, I didn’t say he wants to get caught. I said he wants people to find out what he is. He wants the humans to know about him, and to fear him.”

  “He wants them to know he’s a shifter,” Colin muttered. “And that’s why he’s killing in his animal form?”

  She nodded. “I think so. I also think he’s choosing human victims who are high profile to get more attention. Preston Myers was rich, high society. His murder was bound to go straight to the front page. Darla—”

  “Was a hotshot reporter,” Colin finished. “Course her killing would make every broadcast and paper in the state.”

  “This guy—he’s tired of hiding what he is. He wants the world to know about him. About all the Other. And I think he’ll kill as many humans as it takes to get his message out there.”

  “Shit.” McNeal’s gaze darted to his shredder. “He’s deliberately leaving evidence for us, isn’t he? Evidence that proves he’s not human.”

  “Yeah, I think he is.”

  “Why?” McNeal’s fist hit the desk. “Coming out like this will just make humans terrified. They’ll fear him, hate him, hate all of us.”

  “He doesn’t care,” she told him softly. “This guy—he thinks he’s all powerful. He’s gotten a taste for the killing.” Her blood tasted good. “There’s something else you should both know.” She took a deep breath. “I think the next victim—it’s going to be a cop.”

  “Fuck.” From Gyth.

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Because he told me.” Maybe I’ll do one of them next. Oh yeah, that’d be good. “He was at the television station last night. I-I felt him. Managed to get close enough to touch his thoughts.” But the killer had gotten away.

  S
o close.

  “A cop.” McNeal squeezed his eyes shut. “Christ. Yeah, that would definitely get the asshole more attention. He’d make the national news then. A fucking werewolf killing cops. Shit.”

  Would cops taste different? Would they try to fight more? “It’s going to be a woman,” Emily said, wanting to give them all the information she had. “He…ah…likes the way women taste better.”

  Colin tensed.

  “Shit!” McNeal lunged to his feet. “I want this bastard off the streets. I don’t want to play any more of his fucking games.”

  But there wasn’t much of a choice.

  McNeal frowned at Colin. “Put everyone on alert. Let ’em know this crazy SOB is out there, gunning for one of our own.”

  Colin nodded, rose from his seat.

  “I don’t want a bloodbath in my city,” McNeal snarled. “And I sure as hell don’t want to see a cop with her throat ripped out on the six o’clock news.”

  But if the Night Butcher wasn’t caught, Emily knew that was exactly what would happen.

  A hard knock sounded at the door. Brooks popped his head inside, not waiting for an invitation. “I’ve got some news you’ve all got to hear.” He stepped forward, gripping a white piece of paper in his hands. “Guess whose prints just matched up with the unknowns we found at Gillian Nemont’s?”

  Emily’s stomach knotted. Gillian was a demon. Have to destroy the demon. She’s evil.

  “Sonofabitch.” Colin shook his head slowly. “The kid.”

  Brooks handed him the printout. “Bryan Trace. Runaway. High school dropout. Demon hunter.” His lips twisted at the last. “That’s what he told me he was, by the way. When the doctor was patching up his nose, he told me he was used to pain. Demon hunters have to be, of course.”

  Emily rubbed her temple. “I don’t understand what’s going on! Why would this guy target me? It makes no sense!” Unless…Emily straightened her shoulders. Unless the guy knew that some of her patients were Other and he’d thought that she was too.

  “It gets better,” Brooks murmured. “I’ve got a security tape of the guy going into the News Flash Five station yesterday afternoon.”

  The kid was connected to all the murders. But…“He’s not the Butcher,” Emily said very definitely. Yes, the evidence was starting to mount, but it wasn’t Trace.