“Who’s that?” Brooks asked, straightening to better study him.
“Darla’s cameraman.”
“Think he knows something?”
“One way to find out.” He shoved to his feet, stalked over to meet the demon.
“W-we need to talk.” Jake was sweating.
“Sure.” Colin stepped into the hallway. The area had cleared out a lot in the last hour. Even as he spoke, Darla’s body was wheeled out.
Jake looked at the body bag, gulped, then hurriedly glanced away.
“What do you know, Donnelley? Did you see something? The killer?” If only he could be that lucky.
Jake shook his head. “Didn’t see anything. But you need to know—” He broke off as a female cop passed them. Lowering his voice, he continued, “You need to know what Darla was working on.”
“Oh?” His interest was caught but he played it cool and easy. “And what story was she investigating?”
Jake met his gaze. “Dr. Drake.”
Do you still see demons? Colin kept his face expressionless. “What about her?”
“Darla found out that Dr. Drake was sent to one of them psych wards when she was a kid.”
I never said I worked there.
Shit. “She was going to run the story, wasn’t she?”
Jake nodded.
“And is this the only story Darla was working on?” Please, let there be something else.
“Other than the robbery at Southern Bank, yeah.”
Not good. “You told anybody else about this?”
Jake shook his head. “Not gonna either.” His face tightened. “We both know why the doctor got sent to that place. And we know she wasn’t seeing things.”
He could all too easily imagine Emily as a child, seeing demons and monsters wherever she turned. Yeah, he knew why she’d wound up at Serenity Woods.
“All right, Donnelley. Thanks for the tip.”
The cameraman shuffled off down the hallway.
Colin watched him for a moment, then turned back to the crime scene. He needed to find Emily. His gaze searched the room.
Where is she?
“Hey!” Brooks stepped forward. “What’d the guy have to say?”
Colin shrugged. “Nothing really.” He met his partner’s stare straight on. Lying wasn’t hard for him. He’d been doing it his whole life. “Just that Darla was working on a bank robbery story before she was killed.”
“Really?” Brooks’s eyes narrowed. “That was all he said?”
“Yeah.” Emily wasn’t in the room. “Where’s Dr. Drake?”
Smith brushed by him, paused. “She left about twenty minutes ago. Said she’d check in at the station tomorrow.”
His stomach clenched. It was okay. The doc knew how to take care of herself. So she’d gone home alone. No big deal.
Except he was sure someone had been watching her house. Watching her.
And she’d just tapped into a killer’s mind.
Probably no need to worry— ah, bullshit. “Can you finish things here?” he asked Brooks.
“Uh, yeah. There are just a few more interviews—”
“Good.” The word had barely passed his lips before he marched out of the room, moving faster, faster with each step.
His gut was tight, and his instincts were screaming at him.
Something was wrong. He had to get to Emily.
All of the lights were out. Emily sat in her car, staring up at her house. She’d left the light in the den on; she always did. But the house was dark. Too dark.
The bulb could have blown. She hadn’t changed it in a few weeks—or, hell, she really couldn’t remember the last time she’d changed it.
Emily climbed slowly out of the car. Just because the house was dark, it didn’t mean anything. She was jumpy because of the crime scene. Seeing a woman with her throat ripped out would make anyone a bit uncertain.
She pulled out her cell phone as she walked up the steps. Gripped her keys in her right hand. Her heart was racing, the drumming shaking her chest all because her light was out.
The porch light should have been on, too, Emily realized. It was night, so the light should have come on automatically.
Her shoes crunched against something hard. Sharp. Emily glanced down. It looked like…white glass. Her gaze darted up to the porch light. The bulb was broken.
Her breath caught. Two lights—that was too big of a coincidence for her. Her thumb pushed the call button on her phone. She’d programmed Colin’s cell in yesterday. Emily started to back up.
“Gyth.”
“I-I think someone’s been in my house.” Her voice was hushed as she retreated another slow step.
“Emily? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“What’s wrong? I can barely hear you—”
Cause she didn’t want to raise her voice and alert whoever might be inside. “Someone’s been in my house,” she repeated quietly.
“Shit.” Good, he’d heard her. “I’m on my way, baby. Get in your car and stay there until—”
The wooden step behind her creaked. Her blood seemed to freeze.
He wasn’t in the house. He was out there, with her.
Her fingers tightened around the keys. They were the only weapon she had. Drawing in a deep breath, Emily spun around, raising the keys and screaming.
He was ready for her. The guy punched out with his hand, catching her in the cheek and sending her sprawling back against the porch.
The cell phone fell from her fingers, crashed onto the wood.
And Emily realized that Colin wouldn’t arrive soon enough.
She was on her own.
Just as she’d always been.
“Emily? Emily! Fuck! ” The line was dead. He punched in a call to 911. “This is Detective Colin Gyth. Badge number 2517. I’ve got an assault in progress.” Shit, he hoped he didn’t. If anyone so much as touched Emily, the guy would find out just how much of an animal he could be. “Send patrols out now to 602 Lyons Lane.”
He slammed the gas pedal down to the floor of the Jeep.
Hold on, baby, I’m coming.
The fight was short and brutal. Emily crouched on the porch, her cheek burning. The guy lunged for her, but she was ready. She couldn’t see much in the dark, so she kicked out, aiming for what she sure as hell hoped was his groin.
He grunted, fell back. “Bitch!”
Yeah, she was. Emily leaped up, drove the keys down into his arm as hard as she could.
He grabbed her wrist, grinding bones together until she gasped and dropped the keys.