Midnight Sins

In a flash, Brooks grabbed her arms and pulled her up, holding her tightly against him. “Cara?”



She shook her head, unable to speak. No, no, she had to be wrong. They had to be wrong.



“Damn it, she’s ice cold!” His voice exploded like a shot.



His hands ran up and down her arms, soothing her, warming her, and she wanted to lean into him. To follow that warm scent and put her head on his shoulder, or against the crook of his neck. The temptation was strong. So strong.



But he was just playing a game. She had to remember that. He was trying to confuse her. Pretending to be the good cop one instant, and the bad guy the next. He wanted to trip her up, and she’d already made one mistake with the detective.



She wouldn’t be making another.



Gathering her strength, Cara pulled away from him. “Don’t touch me.”



His gaze held hers. Emotion burned in that dark stare. Anger. Worry. Lust.



Swallowing, she lifted her chin. “I’m done here.” And she was. She’d played the good citizen. Let them haul her to this crappy station. Sat and waited on their slow asses. Then she’d let them accuse her.



No more.



Brooks stepped away from her.



“I think the two of you”—her disgusted gaze flew from one man to the other—“have more than ruined my night. For the record, let me tell you a few things—and I’d suggest that you both listen very, very well.” Cause she sure as hell wasn’t going to repeat herself.



“I kn-knew—” She stammered just a bit, managed to collect herself, and continued, “Michael House. But I haven’t seen him in several months. I didn’t have anything to do with his death, and like I’ve told you twice already, I was home, alone, earlier tonight.”



“Then how’d your bag wind up at the crime scene?”



Her lips twisted. “Hell if I know.” But that fact worried her. “Someone took the bag in the park almost two weeks ago. I’ve already got new ID. No, I didn’t report the theft, there wasn’t anything of enough value to worry about in the purse.” She pointed her finger at the infuriating human’s chest. “You’re the cop. Run a check with the DMV—or whoever those people are—you’ll see that I got a new driver’s license last Monday.”



“Oh, baby, you can count on me running the check.”



His voice had dropped when he called her “baby.” Gotten husky, intimate.



Cara balled her hands into fists. Her heart thundered like crazy, and she knew that her pheromones were about to fill the room. She fought to hold the scent in check—she’d learned how to control the fragrance when she’d been a teen. She’d momentarily lost control back at her home, and if she didn’t hurry up and get the hell out of the station, she’d do it again.



“If you’re not charging me with something,” she snapped, “then I’m leaving.”



She waited. Held Brooks’s stare, and tried to hold back the growing tide of hunger that rose in her body.



Damn it—why him? Why did she feel this attraction for a man who obviously thought she was a criminal—a murderer? Why did her body tighten and need quicken her blood?



“I hope you’re not planning on going too far,” he said, the words a threat.



Her gaze narrowed. “I’ll go as fucking far as I want.” No, she didn’t have any plans to leave town, but she wasn’t about to tell the too-handsome and too-damn-annoying detective that fact. “I didn’t kill Michael, and the way I figure it, if you actually had any kind of real evidence that linked me to the crime, you would have booked me by now.” Instead of making her play the waiting game.



His jaw clenched and she knew she’d scored a hit with her last words. Giving a hard nod in the direction of the shifter, Cara headed for the door.



“You didn’t look at all the pictures…” Brooks said softly.



His words froze her. “I saw all I needed to see.”



“Did you?” This came from the shifter. He’d sidled around, came to stand right next to the still-closed door.



She shot him a fuming glare, then glanced back over her shoulder at Brooks. “Look, Detective, I don’t exactly know what gets you off.” But you’d like to know, wouldn’t you? A sly voice whispered in her mind. Deliberately, she ignored the voice and the hunger that seemed to flare in tandem with her anger. “But I don’t particularly enjoy staring at pictures of dead friends.”



His brows rose. “Oh? So the other men were your friends, too?”



“What other men?”



His nostrils flared as he stepped toward her, that damn manila file in his hands. She could see the pulse point on his neck beating furiously. Her pheromones were in the air.



He licked his lips. “The ones we found in the other hotel rooms, tied to the beds, just like Michael House.” Then he lifted a glossy photo sheet, showing her the picture of another man—shoulders, neck, and head, eyes closed, lips parted.



“I have no idea who that is.” And she didn’t. The man had been good-looking, was still handsome, even in death. Strong bones.



Sensuous lips. But she’d never seen him before.



“And him?” Another photo. Another guy with good looks and death’s kiss on his lips.



“Never. Seen. Him.” She jerked her gaze away as fast as she could.



“All three men were killed in the same way. All three were stripped. Bound. Then, their hearts…stopped.”



But that didn’t make any sense. Her kind had never needed to bind prey. The seduction was bind enough. “When?” She didn’t have an alibi for Michael. Damn, but just thinking about him hurt. She blinked quickly, trying to fight the tears. “When were these men killed?” Please, please let it be a time she could account for—



“Travis Walters,” he lifted the second photo he’d shown her. She refused to glance at it again. “Killed last Friday night. Just like Michael, it was between eight and ten, and—”



Relief swept through her, nearly making Cara dizzy. “I was singing,” she whispered.



“What?”



She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated, tired. What time was it anyway? “I’m a singer. Last Friday, I was working at Paradise Found. Go ask the bartenders, the waitresses,” she told him, her voice soft but underlined with steel. “I was on stage all night, so I couldn’t have killed that man. ”



“And where were you on the eighth?” This came from Gyth. “It was a Thursday night and—”



“Singing.” The reply was automatic. She usually performed at night, Wednesday through Saturday, at the club. She’d started working there only a little over two months ago, but she loved the release of singing. The pleasure of the stage. It was almost as good as sex. Almost. “Go to the bar, it’s on Tyners Ave—”



“We know the place,” Gyth cut in, sounding less than thrilled.



Well, good. Then they could confirm her alibi and this whole terrible mess would be over. “I hope you find the person who did this,” she told Brooks, and meant the words with every ounce of her being. “But you need to stop looking at me, because I didn’t kill those men. ” There was really nothing left to say. The closed door waited before her. She reached out and yanked the knob to the left.



A few uniformed cops milled around in the small hallway. They stepped forward when they saw her. She knew the move wasn’t because she was a threat to them. No, all the uniforms were males, and her scent drew them to her like a homing device.



“Exit,” she snapped, and they all pointed to the right. She brushed by them, wanting to get away and get her scent under control as quickly as possible.



Cara didn’t look back as she fled. She didn’t want to see Detective Brooks again. The way she figured it, he’d already done enough damage to her for one night.



No, she didn’t look back, though a part of her wanted to.



Beneath the rage he’d stirred, the greedy lust still burned. Sometimes it was like that for a succubus. Sometimes, she would stumble onto the perfect prey. A man who could make her want with just a look and who promised a pleasure so powerful it was a temptation to the very soul.



But she could control her needs. She’d vowed hours before to give up sex, and though the lust had caught her off guard, she’d regain her balance. As soon as she was away from the arrogant cop, the heat would lessen.



So she didn’t look back. Not once, not even when she heard him softly call her name.



He wanted to stop her. To run after her and catch her and stop her from leaving him.



He wanted to berate the others, who watched her with hungry eyes and lustful faces, even as he knew his eyes matched theirs and his face mirrored the same need.



Damn it, what was the woman doing to him? His guts were tied in knots, his hands actually shaking, and with every breath he took, he tasted her.



Shit. He was in trouble.



He called her name, an instinctual response. She didn’t stop. Never glanced back. Just kept moving that shapely ass of hers and walking as fast as she could.



As she fled.



Well, hell, he didn’t really blame the woman. If the lady was innocent, and he had to admit that he was starting to think she was, then he’d just come across as a major asshole.



“Shit.” This time, his disgust was voiced aloud. He slanted a glance at Colin. “Think the alibi will hold up?”



A grim nod. “She wouldn’t have said it unless she could prove it. The facts are too easy to check, and she has to know that.”



Yeah, that was what his instincts were telling him, too. So why had her bag been dumped at the site? What was going on?



A setup?



Or was the lady dead guilty and just jerking him around?



Either way, he had to know.



Glancing down, he realized it was edging close to 4 A.M. And Cara didn’t have a way home.



Perfect.



He hadn’t really planned to let her out of his sight. Not yet, anyway. Not until his questions were answered— fully.



He stepped forward, intent on catching her.



And was brought up short by Colin’s steely grip on his arm. “It’s not a good idea, Brooks.”



He fought the fierce need to shove the guy off him. He didn’t have time for this crap. Cara was getting away. “Why not? She’s a suspect, I’m not just going to let her walk—”



“Don’t bullshit me,” Colin snapped. “You’re hot for the woman. You have been from the moment you saw her.”



His temper began to spike. “Get your hand off me, partner. ” His gaze held Colin’s glittering stare. One moment, two.



Colin dropped his hold.



Todd’s jaw clenched and he gritted, “I can want a woman and still do my damn job.” He’d always managed to get the job done, no matter what the hell was happening in his personal life.



“Just don’t think with your dick around her.” Colin’s face was rock hard. “That woman’s dangerous. Hell, she could be fucking deadly.”



Yeah, he knew that. He also knew that her lips had quivered when she first saw Michael House’s photo, that her hands had trembled—and that she’d tried to hide both responses.



When she’d attempted to leave and he’d stopped her with more photos, there had been tears in her bright eyes. Tears that she refused to shed.



The woman didn’t act like a killer. There had been genuine shock and sorrow on her face when she’d learned of House’s death.



There were some reactions that couldn’t be faked, no matter how good the actress.



“I’ll go to Paradise Found and check her alibi,” Todd said, determination filling him. After he got a few hours of sleep, he’d head out and make absolutely certain her alibis held. But, right now, there wasn’t much time to spare. The uniforms had almost been salivating over Cara. If he didn’t hurry, she’d probably crook her finger and have one of them volunteering to give her a ride home.



And that outcome just wasn’t part of his plans for the few remaining hours before dawn.



“Uh, maybe you should let me check at Paradise,” Colin told him, and the hard edge had lessened in his voice. “You and Niol don’t exactly have a good track record.”



Niol was the annoying bastard who owned Paradise Found. The last time Todd had been near him, the guy had attacked him. Sort of. Todd still wasn’t exactly certain how he’d flown ten feet across the bar when he couldn’t actually remember Niol ever touching him.



No question, the man was weird as hell.



And he really was a bastard.



But Todd didn’t have time to waste talking about Niol then. “I’m going after her,” he muttered, and figured that was really all he needed to say to Colin.



His job was now very simple. Either he proved Cara’s innocence and got to looking for the real killer…or he proved the beautiful lady’s guilt.



He hurried from the station, her sweet scent still filling his nostrils and a helpless need tightening his gut.



Colin Gyth watched his partner disappear, shaking his head. This wasn’t going to end well. Not. At. All.



He thought about calling in the captain. Giving him a heads-up on the situation.



But then Colin dismissed the idea almost immediately. He didn’t know enough about Ms. Maloan to go to the captain, not yet.



And if her alibis checked out, well, then he might never have to tell Captain Danny McNeal that their suspect wasn’t human.



“Be careful,” he whispered the words too late, because Brooks was already gone. But his partner had no idea what hell a woman like Cara could wreak.