The good doctor had never been in trouble with the law. She paid her taxes, owned a house in one of the historic suburbs, and was single.
She had long, midnight black hair—hair that was currently pulled back in a rather painful-looking bun. She wore black-rimmed glasses that made her wide, green eyes look even bigger.
Yeah, he knew the basic facts about her, but he hadn’t known how…pretty she actually was. And pretty was a good word for her.
The woman wasn’t cute, she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she was pretty. Nice heart-shaped face, a chin that was a little too pointed, high cheekbones and perfect bow red lips.
And her body. Very, very nice. Round, firm br**sts. Long, shapely legs. When she’d climbed into his Jeep, her black skirt had hiked up two inches and he’d been given a glorious glimpse of her thighs. The woman had a killer pair of legs.
And he’d always been a sucker for great legs.
“I-is this the place?”
He stiffened at the sound of her voice. That warm, husky Southern drawl. He could imagine hearing that voice late at night, when they were in bed.
What the hell? Colin shook his head. Now was not the time to start fantasizing about the doctor. He was on a case. And really, the lady wasn’t his type. He’d never gone for the brainy broads. He liked the party girls. The here-today-gone-tomorrow-no-questions-asked girls.
And as for the doc, well, damn, she asked questions for a living.
Definitely not his type.
He cleared his throat, dragged his gaze from her legs, and glanced at the brightly lit house. Teams of cops were scouring the yard, shining flashlights, interviewing neighbors. “Yeah, this is it.”
He wasn’t sure why McNeal had ordered him to pick her up. But, hey, he’d been around long enough to learn that when the captain gave an order, you followed it.
He shoved open his door, started to walk around and let the doc out, but she jumped from the vehicle and headed for the house.
A uniformed cop stepped in front of her, holding up his hand as she approached the house’s open front door. “Hey, lady, you can’t go in there—”
“Yes, she can.” McNeal’s gravelly voice. The captain tapped the cop on the shoulder as he appeared directly behind the young guy in the entranceway.
The patrol cop gulped, mumbled an apology, and seemed to slink away.
“Hi, Danny.” A hint of warmth crept into Emily’s voice.
Colin’s eyes narrowed as he stalked behind her. Just what was her relationship with the captain?
Danny McNeal was one of the toughest sonofabitches he’d ever met. The guy was in his early forties, completely bald, and built like a linebacker.
And, as far as Colin knew, the guy wasn’t a shifter, a demon, or any other sort of monster.
Just your average bad-ass human.
So how did the guy know the Monster Doctor?
When McNeal hugged Emily, Colin stiffened and a hot lick of something that sure as hell couldn’t be jealousy ripped through him.
No, it couldn’t be jealousy. He’d just met the woman less than thirty minutes ago. He didn’t have a claim on her.
The captain’s hands seemed to linger around Emily, and Colin got the impression that there was some genuine affection between the two. Were they lovers?
McNeal’s gunmetal gray eyes met his. “Colin, give us a minute.”
His jaw clenched as he nodded, then he stepped back a few feet. He could have stepped back twenty feet, it wouldn’t have made any difference. McNeal might think he was getting some privacy, but thanks to his enhancements, Colin had hypersensitive hearing.
“I need your help,” McNeal murmured.
Colin turned his back on them, watched the cops searching the area.
“There’s a body inside,” his captain continued, his voice little more than a whisper of sound. “I need to know if he’s human or…”
He let his sentence trail off. There was a moment of silence, then he said, “I know you can tell if someone’s Other just by being near if the subject is alive, but will you be able to tell when he’s dead?”
Oh shit. Every muscle in Colin’s body tightened. Other was the general term for any magical being, a catch-all phrase that had evolved years ago.
His eyes squeezed closed and he began to sweat. The doc could tell if you were Other just be being near you? If that were true, then he was seriously screwed.
No one on the force knew about him. And if anyone found out, if the captain were to learn—
“I can tell,” Emily finally spoke, and her voice was just as quiet as McNeal’s. “If the death is recent, some of the spirit will still be there.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. His eyes snapped open. The woman could tell if a dead guy was human or Other. Then she had to know about him.
But why hadn’t she said anything? She’d gotten into his Jeep, as calm as you please, driven for miles, and never said a word about him being—
“The guy died less than two hours ago.”
“Then I can tell.”
“I’m also gonna need an idea of what did this.”
What, not who, Colin noticed. He’d seen the body earlier, and he knew exactly why his captain was suspecting that the killer hadn’t necessarily been human.
“I’ll do my best,” Emily promised.
McNeal grunted. Then, “Colin, come here!”
Colin glanced back over his shoulder, carefully avoiding Emily’s stare. He’d deal with her later.
McNeal motioned toward the door. “Show her the vic.”
He sauntered up the steps, brushed his body lightly against hers as he passed. “Hope you’ve got a strong stomach.” It was all the warning he’d give her. He didn’t think she’d be able to handle the body inside too well. Colin could still smell the stench of vomit from the first two green cops who’d found the victim.
He led her inside, past the gleaming parquet flooring in the foyer, past the spiral staircase, and straight to the body.
Or what was left of it.
“Oh my God! ” She sucked in a sharp breath. Stumbled to a stop near the puddle of congealed blood.
He glanced at her face then. The color had bleached away. And her eyes, so big, so wide, were full of horror.
The impulse to touch her, to comfort her, rushed through him. His hand lifted.
She fell to her knees beside the body.
His fingers balled into a fist, dropped to his side.
A faint tremble shook her. She stared at the man’s body. Gazed at his face, at the eyes that were wide open, staring at the ceiling in abject terror, at the mouth that was contorted in a final, silent scream.