“After reviewing the case files, I’ve come to the conclusion that the perpetrator did, indeed, know the victim. This wasn’t a random crime. Preston Myers was specifically targeted.”
“Dr. Drake!” A thin Asian man raised his hand. “Lee Nguyen of the Atlanta Metro Daily. ” He paused, apparently letting her absorb that little nugget of information. “Will the Night Butcher strike again? Are there others who will be ‘specifically targeted’?”
He stared up at her, his head cocked, his photographer snapping shots right beside him.
Emily slanted a quick glance at Danny. She’d told the captain her belief that the killer would, indeed, strike again, but he and the district attorney had told her not to share that information with the reporters.
“Don’t want folks to panic,” Ben Mitchell, the DA, had muttered at her news.
Ben stepped forward, offering a vague smile to Nguyen and the rest of the reporters who’d gathered in the press room. “It’s far too early to predict whether or not this disturbed individual will strike again.” His old, Southern boy accent played on the words.
“So you think the guy’s disturbed.” This came from Darla Mitchell who was looking TV perfect as she leaned forward with a hungry glint in her eye. Jake was behind her, a tense, slightly haggard expression on his face.
“Well…”
“Disturbed isn’t the right word for this man,” Emily cut him off, trying to keep her voice calm, professional.
“Then what’s the right word, Dr. Drake?” Darla was in the front row, easily seen as she stretched forward. “Psychotic? Deranged?
Or maybe just plain crazy?”
It was quite possible all those terms applied. “It’s difficult to say at this stage exactly what psychosis this individual has. I do know that this man is highly intelligent, organized, strong, and very, very dangerous.”
“Dr. Drake, do you intend to work with the police until the Night Butcher is caught?” This came from Nguyen.
“I intend to work with the Atlanta PD until they no longer need my services.” Time for her to step out of the limelight. “Thank you.”
Ben motioned Smith forward. “Our ME has some findings she’d like to share.”
Smith swallowed as she looked out at the sea of faces. She was looking even more gorgeous today. She’d ditched her white lab coat in favor of a simple black suit.
She pulled the microphone up, adjusting it slightly. “I’d like to clarify a few points that have previously been mentioned in the press.”
There was a brief of buzz of excitement at her announcement.
Her lips tightened. “First, despite the rumors, the victim was not ‘butchered.’ His body was intact. Preston Myers died because of severed jugular and carotid veins.”
“What weapon was used?” This question was fired from a middle-aged man in the back.
Dr. Smith shook her head. “I’m not at liberty to say at this point.”
Yes, Emily really didn’t think the DA wanted the press to know that the “weapon” used by the Night Butcher was his teeth.
“I would like the public to know that the suspect left several hairs behind.”
Wolf shifter hairs. Pretty hard to do a DNA analysis on those, Emily thought.
“And I am confident that the evidence will soon lead us to the killer.” Smith inclined her head like a queen dismissing servants.
“Thank you.”
Ben took over then, answering a few questions and ending the press conference with a promise to follow up as soon as more details became available.
Thank God.
Emily hurriedly exited the small stage area. She’d never liked talking in front of large groups. Always made her knees shake and caused a tight knot in her gut.
Classic anxiety disorder, of course. But knowing the clinical root of her condition didn’t really make it any easier to bear.
“You did a good job, Doc.” Colin stepped from the crowd, appearing at her side.
“I thought you’d be up there, too.” She glanced at him, feeling a blush stain her cheeks. When she’d woken that morning, he’d been awake, gazing at her with his solemn stare.
He’d left just after seven, given her a hard but too brief kiss, and gone to the station.
They hadn’t talked about last night. Hadn’t said a word about the mind-blowing sex.
“Brooks is the one who handles the reporters.” He jerked his thumb toward his partner who was just now leaving the staging area.
“He’s got the pretty-boy face that always looks good on camera.”
Well, she thought Colin would look pretty good on camera too. Emily tensed. Damn. They really needed to talk, to clear the air.
But now was hardly the time and—
“Dr. Drake!”
Emily turned at Darla’s call. Found the woman making a beeline straight for her. Jake tagged along in her wake.
Darla paused two feet away from her. A smug smile curved her lips. “I’ve got a few questions for you.”
Colin stepped forward. “She’s done talking about the case.”
“Umm, well, it’s not about the case. Not really.”
At her Cheshire cat look, Emily got a very, very bad feeling in her gut. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me, Doctor,” Darla paused, arched one perfectly plucked brow, “what do you know about a place called Serenity Woods?”
Her heart stopped. Then raced in a double-time rhythm. “Serenity Woods?” Her voice was clear, calm. And her palms were sweating. “Once, it was a psychiatric facility for children and teens in northern Georgia.” Emily shrugged. “I don’t think the place is still in business anymore.”
“No, it’s not.” Darla’s eyes were narrowed. “There was a fire at the hospital a few years ago, and after that, the place closed down.”
Emily stared back at the reporter, keeping her features carefully blank.
“Arson, according to the investigators.”
Colin took her arm. “We need to go, Dr. Drake. I think Smith wants to talk with us about the case.”
That was news to her. But Emily nodded, glad for an excuse to get away from Darla. Serenity Woods. She hadn’t heard that name in years.
Darla’s hand snaked out, snagging Emily’s just as she was turning away. “One more question.” The reporter’s hand felt like ice against her skin. Darla leaned forward, pitched her voice whisper low, as she asked, “Do you still see demons?”