Midnight Sins

A very sexy demon.



One who apparently had a very bad temper.



And gorgeous legs.



Ah, hell. “So what am I supposed to do now?” He really didn’t know.



No, actually, he did know one thing—with absolute certainly. He still wanted her.



“What do you want to do?” Was that hope flickering in her eyes?



He had to ask. “You feel, don’t you, Cara?”



She frowned.



“I mean, like me, like humans, you feel. Lust. Anger.” Oh, yes, he knew she felt anger. He had the burnt hair to prove it. “Love.”



A slow nod. “I can feel. Being a demon doesn’t mean I’m not a woman, Todd. I need. I hurt. I bleed. Just like anyone else.”



But with a few dangerous extras thrown in for spice. He rubbed his eyes. “Look, I’ve gotta have some time to think about this.” To figure out just what the hell was going to happen next.



Her face paled. “I see.”



That cold, stilted voice pissed him off. He dropped his hand and stalked toward her. Todd caught her arms and hauled her up against him. “No, I don’t think you see a damn thing.” She thought he was running, like those other fools she’d mentioned.



But he was no fool.



He kissed her, driving his tongue into her sweet mouth and growling his hunger.



Her fingers pressed against his shoulders.



He drank in her essence. Fought the growing hunger that roared inside him. “I have to get to the station,” he bit the words off against her lips. The tox screen was due in first thing this morning. He had a job to do and—



And he needed to think.



But he was not running.



He stepped away from her. “I’ll be back, Cara, tonight. We’ll finish this—” Whatever this was.



She just stared up at him, silent.



What was he supposed to say? The woman had just confessed that she was a demon, for Christ’s sake.



No wonder the sex had been so damn powerful with her. She wasn’t human.



Just like she’d told him in his dreams.



Oh, yeah, his dreams…they’d have to talk about those babies—and she would have to tell him just what the hell had really been happening when he touched her in his sleep.



Cara nodded. “I understand.” She shrugged, tried to look as if she didn’t care. Failed. “Do what you have to do.”



Damn if the stiffness in her shoulders didn’t make him feel guilty, when he was the wronged party. He hadn’t misled her about being human. “It’s the case, Cara. I have to check in by seven thirty. I’m supposed to be getting the tox screen in for House.” Okay, he probably shouldn’t have told her that. His big mouth was going to get him into trouble one of these days.



“Then you’d better hurry.”



No screaming. No yelling. No when-will-I-see-you again questions.



He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. Marched toward the gate on the side of the house. Hesitated. Shit—he had to go. He had to swing by his place, find a shirt with buttons. Then hurry his ass down to the station.



Todd pulled in a slow breath. “This isn’t finished.” He said the words without looking at her, because gazing at the woman was dangerous to his control.



“No.” The word drifted to him on the breath of the wind that feathered over his face. “It’s not.”



He’d be seeing his demon again, there was no question of that in his mind.



His right hand reached for the gate.



“It was real, you know.” Her voice stopped him cold. “Everything that happened between us was real. I wanted you, you wanted me. Just like humans. Only much better…”



Much better than anything he’d ever experienced before, that was certain.



“Remember that, when you’re away from me. Remember what we had when we were together, and stop thinking that you screwed a monster.”



His fury erupted. Todd spun around, hands fisted. “Damn it, I never—”



She was gone. Just the faintest trace of her soft lavender scent remained in the air.



“I never thought you were a monster,” he snarled, knowing that she couldn’t hear him. “That was your word, not mine.” He’d thought of her only as…



His.



Todd’s eyes squeezed shut. Hell, he’d known the woman was going to be trouble from that first glance, and he’d been so right about her.



Now what was he supposed to do?



Colin was bent over his desk, busily thumbing through files, when Todd walked into the bull pen. As usual, chaos reigned in the detectives’ world. Phones rang with shrill cries. Voices floated around the room as questions were tossed back and forth between the men and women who were guzzling black coffee and pushing the sleep from their eyes.



His home away from home.



Todd headed for this small desk, directly opposite his partner’s. He’d barely taken two steps when Colin’s head suddenly snapped up and his gaze zeroed in on him.



No damn way he heard me. Not with all this racket going on. Todd stared back at his partner, saw the slight flare of Colin’s nostrils, then the abrupt tightening of his jaw.



He knew what that telltale clenching signified. Colin was furious, and from the look on his face, that anger was directed straight at Todd.



A sigh broke from his lips. Okay. He was tired of the guy’s attitude. He’d put up with enough shit from Colin. It was time to clear the air once and for all—



“Have a good night, partner?” Colin murmured when Todd reached the desks.



His eyes narrowed. “Good enough.”



Colin glared at him. “You know you could be fucking up the case.”



He knew. Todd didn’t know how the cagey bastard knew, but Colin realized that Todd had spent the night with Cara. “She’s not a suspect anymore.”



Another flare of the guy’s nostrils. “You sure about that?”



Very deliberately, Todd placed his hands on top of the old, wooden desk and leaned in over Colin. “It wasn’t too long ago when you were screwing a suspect, too, buddy.”



“Emily was never a suspect! She was working with us and—”



“—and for a while she looked guilty as hell.” His hands shoved harder against the desktop.



“But she wasn’t!”



“Neither is Cara!” Not guilty of the murders, anyway, but—



“Gyth! Brooks!” The whiplash of Captain Danny McNeal’s voice cut through the fire of Todd’s anger. He glanced up, realizing too late that he and Colin hadn’t exactly been having a quiet conversation. Most of the eyes in the station were on them, particularly the glaring gray stare of the captain.



Shit.



“In my office,” McNeal growled, his completely bald scalp gleaming as he inclined his head toward the open door. “Now. ”



Todd straightened. This wasn’t going to be pretty.



The wheels of Colin’s chair rattled as he shot to his feet.



They didn’t speak as they crossed the room to the captain’s office. Not really much to say at that point.



McNeal slammed the door shut behind them. Marched to his desk. He didn’t sit down. Just glared at them, tension evident in the thick muscles of his body.



Todd knew that Captain Danny McNeal had been with the Atlanta PD for over twenty years. The guy was in his early forties and in better shape than most of the men in the precinct. He ran every day, and could be routinely found in the PD’s gym, tossing cops over his shoulder and onto the cushioned blue mats.



The guy was a real hardass. Smart as a whip. And known for his fiery temper.



According to the rumors, he’d also been heavily involved with Smith at one time.



But, of course, those were just rumors, and Todd had never really been able to imagine the gorgeous doctor pairing up with the asshole cop.



Just didn’t fit for him.



“Are you going to fucking stare at me all day, Brooks, or are you going to tell me why the hell my best two detectives were yelling at each other like two twelve-year-old girls in the middle of my bull pen?”



Oh, damn. Todd winced. The first time he’d ever been compared to a twelve-year-old girl. “I lost my temper, Captain. Sorry.” He wasn’t going to point any fingers at Colin. Not his style.



McNeal grunted. “Well, learn to keep your damn temper in check! Understand, Brooks?”



“Yes, sir.” Though McNeal really needed to learn the same coping skill.



“I got the shit-for-brains mayor and the dumbass DA breathing down my neck right now, yelling about another serial killer being on our streets—I don’t need this crap from you two!”



“Understood.”



Another growl from deep in McNeal’s chest. “Is this partnership working?” He asked bluntly. “Do I need to reassign—”



“No,” Todd answered immediately, and saw Colin stiffen slightly from the corner of his eye.



“Hmm.” McNeal’s gaze shot to Colin. “What do you say?”



“There’s no problem with us, sir.”



“Just stupidity,” McNeal snapped, then finally dropped into his chair. “All right, screw it. You’ve been warned. Stop acting like fucking idiots and tell me the status on these damn cases.”



Todd had to fight the curve of his lips. McNeal was a tough bastard, but he respected the guy, and in other circumstances, he would have even called him a friend.



Instead, he called him boss.



And asshole—behind his back, anyway.



Colin cleared his throat. “Smith put a rush order on House’s toxicology screen—”



“And?”



“I just got the results.” A pause. “Negative. The guy’s system was clean.”



“Shit.” McNeal’s bushy brows snapped together. “So what’s the cause of death, then? How’s Smith calling him?”



Now Colin looked real uncomfortable. “Uh, Smith actually said she’d be down for a briefing on this and—”



“How’s she calling it?”



A light tap sounded on the captain’s door. “I’m busy!” McNeal yelled instantly. “What the hell? Does a closed door look like I want company?”



The closed door opened. Smith poked her head in, frowning. “I know you did not just yell at me.”



McNeal jumped to his feet. “Smith, I-I didn’t know it was you.” His voice seemed to drop, just an octave, so that it was no longer a bear growl. Something softer. More intimate.



Well, I’ll be damned. Todd studied the captain with barely contained curiosity. Maybe there was a bit of truth to those rumors about the guy and the ME.



Smith’s dark stare flashed to Colin. Held for just a few seconds as she said, “I told you I needed to be here for this meeting. I’m not going to be cut out of another case.”



“Neither am I,” Todd added at once, memories of the last serial killer swirling through his mind. The captain had put Colin in charge and basically sidelined Todd while his partner worked day and night with Dr. Drake.



No. Definitely not happening again. This time, the killer was his.



McNeal’s chin lifted. “It’s not a matter of cutting you out—either of you. It’s a matter of doing what’s best for the department.”



Bullshit.



Smith closed the door behind her. The two chairs in front of McNeal’s desk were empty. Todd stood just to the left of the chairs, while Colin was positioned near the back of the captain’s office, right beside an oversized green plant. A plant Todd wasn’t entirely convinced was real.



Smith crossed the room. Sat in the chair next to Todd. “What did I miss?”



McNeal stared down at her. “You all right?” He asked suddenly.



Todd saw her shoulders tighten. “Fine.”



He almost snorted. He had no idea the lady was such a lousy liar.



He could tell by the doubt on McNeal’s face that the captain knew she was lying, too.



But he didn’t push her, just sat back down in his chair, and said, “You didn’t miss much. Just discussing the tox screen.”



The tension in her shoulders eased a bit as she said, “Michael House wasn’t given any drugs. At least, not as far as I can tell.” She held up one hand, the fingers steady. “Now, I didn’t screen for everything—would have been damn impossible to screen for every drug. But I hit the main boys, every mix that I thought could do something like this.” A shake of her head. “He was clean.”



“So what’s the cause of death going to be?”



Her hand dropped. “At this point, the COD is going down as undetermined.”



Todd swore. “Smith, if it goes down like that—”



“Then you’re off the case,” McNeal finished. “Because as far as the mayor and DA are concerned, there will be no case.”



“I didn’t say the victim died of natural causes,” Smith pointed out quickly, her voice rising a bit.



“You might as well have.” Damn it, the guy had been murdered. Todd knew it in his gut. “What about the hand, Smith? That print on his chest?”



McNeal’s fist slammed down on the desk, hard. “What print?”



“It’s not a print.” Smith turned her head and glowered at him. “It’s not like I can scan the thing and get fingerprints.” She looked back at McNeal. “It’s just…an outline. Of a hand.”



“Right in the middle of Michael House’s chest,” Colin said quietly.



“It’s a bruise,” McNeal dismissed, fingers tapping now on the desktop. “Has to be. The assailant applied pressure to his chest and—”