Not people. Other.
Sonofabitch. “Just how fast,” he asked quietly, too quietly for the other cops to hear, “do demons heal?”
“From wounds like this?” Colin exhaled, then said, “A couple of days. Unless it’s one of the level-tens—and even for one like that, healing would take some time—at least twenty-four hours.”
Then he’d better move, fast. “You got this scene secured?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got the scene. Smith’s on her way. So is the captain.” He whistled. “Bastard’s gonna bawl my ass out when he finds out you were here.” A wince. “What I deserve, though, man, I’m sorry, if it had been her—”
“It wasn’t.” He turned away from the body. The scene would be safe. He could trust Colin to handle this end for him.
Todd yanked off his gloves and began heading for his car, his long strides almost a run.
“Brooks! Damn it! Wait!”
He paused, but only for a moment. “If the killer can heal as fast as you say, then time’s running out, partner.” Every minute that passed was more time for the killer to heal. “You lead things here.”
“And where are you going?”
He turned his head and met Colin’s stare. His partner wasn’t going to like this. “I’m heading to Paradise.”
Colin started cursing. “No, wait, not without backup—”
“Take care of the body,” he said. “And this time, I’ll take care of Niol.”
The bastard really hadn’t been on his list of suspects, until that call came last night. After mentioning the demon’s name, the lady had met one hell of a violent end.
Coincidence? He didn’t buy those anymore.
Oh, yeah, it was past time for him to see the devil.
And to find out if he bled.
“I want to see your boss.” The two ass**les at the door just smirked at Todd when he gave his order.
I’m not in the damn mood for this. He brushed back the edge of his jacket, let his holster show. “I said I want to see your f**king boss.”
They stopped smirking. The big, bald one— Jesus, did that guy ever sleep? —stepped toward him, arms crossed over his barrel-like chest. “Niol’s busy now.”
Busy doing what? Trying to staunch the flow of blood from knife wounds? “Let me in.” No, he didn’t have a warrant, probably couldn’t even get one, but he wasn’t leaving until he talked to Niol.
He no longer even thought for a moment that Cara was a suspect in the Bondage case.
But she could very well be a victim.
God but that dead woman had looked so much like her…
“I’ve got another dead body, one that points to Niol, and unless you want every human cop in Atlanta stationed at this door, twenty-four-seven, you’ll let me inside.”
The bald bastard stared him down. Todd glared right back at him. Finally, the guy cursed and lifted his radio. Then he muttered,
“Tell Niol company’s coming.”
He stepped back, clearing the way.
Todd grunted as he brushed by him and the other bouncer, a tall, lanky fellow with beady eyes who glared daggers at him.
Inside, Paradise Found was quiet. Dead quiet. The last time he’d come during the day for a confrontation with Niol, the place had been exactly the same.
Apparently the local ghouls weren’t much for daytime partying.
Now if he could just find that ass—
A door marked ‘PRIVATE’ opened to the left. Niol stepped forward, carefully shutting the door behind him. He quirked a brow as his gaze met Todd’s. “Ah, Detective, I was wondering when I’d be seeing you again. From what my bartender Cameron tells me, you’ve become quite the addict here. But then, your kind tends to get addicted so easily.”
The bastard didn’t look injured. His dark hair was brushed back from his high forehead. His black eyes glinted as he stared at him.
“Cameron says that, huh?” Cameron talked too damn much. Todd’s gaze slanted toward the bar. No sign of the punk.
But he wasn’t there for Cameron, anyway. Another fight for another day.
Time to cut through the bullshit. “I’ve got a dead body—”
“Another one?” Niol drawled, breaking across his words. “You boys at the Atlanta PD sure do keep busy.”
“The victim looks a hell of a lot like one of your singers, Cara Maloan.”
Not so much as a flicker of his expression. “Really.”
“Yeah, really.” He clenched his hands. “I’ve got reason,” damn good reason, “to believe the victim managed to injure her attacker before he killed her.”
“He? You’re sure the killer is a man?”
No, he just had the damn strong suspicion that Niol was the killer in question. “This victim called me last night.” Hadn’t been completely proven yet since the woman who could prove the call was stone dead, but lying to Niol wasn’t a crime. It was perfect bait. “Told me that you’d been getting your workers to lie about Cara’s alibis.”
Now Niol frowned and took a few steps away from the closed door. “I haven’t told anyone to lie.”
“Then maybe you used some of that demon bullshit power of yours and made ’em think they were telling the truth.”
Niol tapped his chin. “Finally figured things out, have you, Detective? It certainly took you long enough.”
He hated this ass**le.
“But your education is still very much lacking.” Niol sauntered toward the bar. “Demon magic doesn’t generally work on other demons. And my staff here, well, aside from the occasional witch—who, by the way, would be immune to my power, too—well, they’re all pureblood demons.”
As if on cue, Cameron suddenly appeared behind the bar, looking a bit pale as he pushed a dark red liquid toward Niol and a whiskey toward Todd.
“I’m not here to drink,” Todd snapped. Not even 10 A.M. What was with these demons?
Niol took a slow sip from his glass. “No, of course not. Thanks, Cameron.” He glanced at Todd. “You’re here to find out if I’ve got some kind of wounds, right? From the attack?”
“Yes.”
Cameron headed toward the back of the bar, disappeared.
“I don’t think I have to show you anything. I mean, a demon’s body is his own, now, isn’t it?” A taunting smile curved his lips once again. “I think you’re playing out of your league, human. Way out. Perhaps you’d better leave and send the shifter back. At least he’s strong enough to handle all the players in the game.”