But Smith hadn’t forgotten or forgiven.
One thing he’d learned about Smith in the six years they’d worked together, the woman could hold a serious grudge.
Smith grunted and looked at Emily. “You handled yourself pretty well. Glad you didn’t let ’em push you in the corner about the killer being all crazy.”
Emily blinked. “Uh, thanks.” Her voice sounded a little absent, and Colin realized she wasn’t looking at Smith. Or at him. Her focus was on the “cold chamber,” the vaults near the back of the lab that were used to store the bodies.
She even started walking toward them, her eyes narrowed, her right lifted as if she’d touch the metal doors.
Smith snagged her hand. “Goin’ somewhere, Dr. Drake?”
Colin knew Smith was very particular about her lab. Particular, or possessive as hell.
“Umm, sorry.” But Emily was still gazing at the vaults. “I just…umm…what did you want to show us? And shouldn’t McNeal be here?” Tension was back in her voice.
Now Smith was the one to stiffen. “He doesn’t need to be here.”
Oh, yeah. He’d forgotten about that, Colin realized. Word around the precinct was that Smith and McNeal had dated. Very briefly.
Emily finally looked back at him. “I think he should be here.” There was a note in her voice, a glint in her eye that finally made him realize—
The doc is sensing something.
His own gaze drifted to the vaults that seemed to hold her so spellbound.
What had she said when she’d first examined Preston’s body? The captain had wanted to know if she could tell whether the guy had been Other, and Emily had said, “If the death is recent, some of the spirit will still be there.”
Anybody in the vaults, well, they wouldn’t exactly be “recent,” but Emily was sure acting odd. Acting like she knew something he didn’t.
Yeah, big surprise there.
Colin jerked his thumb toward Smith’s desk. “Maybe you should page the captain.”
“What?” Smith dropped Emily’s hand. “You guys don’t even know what I want to show you.” She spun on her heel, hurrying toward the vaults. “And it could be nothing, but, well, the other night, I was listening to the police radio when the APB was sent out on those guys who jumped you.” She swung the lock on the middle vault, pulled open the door.
Colin urged Emily forward. Cold air hit him, followed closely by the thick stench of death.
Damn but he hated that smell.
Emily twisted her hands together and grimaced.
Smith hummed along to the music as she pulled out a slab. A sheet-covered body appeared, and when Smith’s hip bumped the slab, a man’s hand slipped from under the cover.
Colin’s eyes immediately locked on the tattoo. A long, twisting black snake encircled the dead man’s left wrist.
Sonofabitch. His gaze flew to Emily. She gave a nearly imperceptible nod. And the light of understanding finally dawned.
The dead man on the slab, he wasn’t a man at all. He was one of the demons who’d attacked them last night. Emily had known, had sensed the truth when she’d come into the room.
Hell, no wonder she’d been trying to get them to call for McNeal.
“The tat’s a match for the description you gave.” Smith pulled back the sheet, revealing the white face of a young guy; he looked barely twenty, with a shaved head and a glinting nose ring. “Cops found his body downtown. He was in an alley.”
Colin stared at the guy’s still features. “We didn’t see his face. He—they had masks on the whole time.” But this was one of their attackers, he’d bet his life on it.
And the fact that Emily’s psychic radar was going off just made him all the more certain.
You couldn’t go wrong with a psychic.
Smith pulled the sheet down a few more inches, revealing a clear bullet hole right over the man’s heart. “Close range,” she murmured. “I found powder burns on his chest.”
His hands clenched. He’d hoped to question the bastard. Hoped to find out who’d sent him.
A kid. The guy’s just a kid. His gut tightened. What a damn waste.
“Three others were found with him.” Smith stepped back and tapped the vault door near her. “Same MO. One shot, straight through the heart. The uniforms on scene thought it was a gang hit.”
No, not a gang hit.
“W-were they all young? Like him?” Emily asked softly.
Smith nodded. Her eyes were narrowed as she appraised him. “Four attackers, right? That’s what they said on the radio.”
“Yeah.” His mind was racing. If the men who’d attacked them were all dead…damn, that was no coincidence. The guy who’d hired them, the sonofabitch who’d sent those kids after them, had tied up his loose ends.
Probably afraid the kids would cave and reveal his identity if the cops caught them.
“Kind of a strange coincidence, isn’t it?” Smith drawled. “You two getting attacked like that, and these poor guys getting killed? All within forty-eight hours.”
“Very strange,” Emily said, and she lifted her hand toward the dead man. Her fingers hovered in the air over his chest, not quite touching him. Her hand was a soft, light gold above the stark white body. “So much pain…” she whispered. “For so long…”
“What?” Smith shook her head. “No, Dr. Drake, didn’t you hear me? The guy was shot in the heart. He died instantly. He didn’t suffer, I guarantee you that.”
Emily blinked and shook her head. “Uh, right. Sorry. I was”—a barely perceptible pause—“confused.” Her hand balled into a fist.
“You haven’t done an autopsy yet.”
“No, he was brought in just a few hours ago.”
“McNeal needs to be notified before you cut into him.” Colin made the words an order. “He should see the bodies first.”
“See the bodies?” Smith’s brows scrunched together. “Why would he need to see them?”
Because these guys are demons and he might not want you cutting inside them. Hmm. Better go with option B, instead.
“Because there’s a chance these guys are linked to the Night Butcher.”
“This isn’t his MO.” Smith was definite. “A professional did these guys. Swift, clean.”
The jazz music faded into silence.
Emily stared at him for a moment, then inclined her head slightly toward the door.