“He’s getting the lineup ready. Come on.” He took her arm, led her to the elevator. “He should be ready for you by now.”
Within minutes, Emily found herself behind a large, tinted pane of glass. Colin stood behind her, Brooks at his side. A woman was there too, the DA, and another man—he’d identified himself as James Tyler, another lawyer, presumably for the guy she was hoping to identify.
There was a faint click behind her, then Colin ordered, “Bring ’em in.”
A door opened on the other side of the glass. A line of men walked out, all holding white signs with black numbers on them.
“Face forward,” Colin said into the intercom.
The men stared back at her. Emily swallowed. Lifted her hand to touch the cheek that still ached. She’d managed to cover the bruise with some makeup she’d bought at the drugstore that morning.
Her eyes scanned over the men. Not number one. Or two. Number three had the right hair, but—
“Number four.” She met his stare through the mirror. Same wide eyes. A face that was pale, hair too long.
“Are you sure?” Brooks asked softly. “Take your time, you don’t—”
“It’s number four.” She was absolutely certain.
“Well,” Colin drawled as he fixed the public defender with a hard look. “Guess that means in addition to the shoplifting charges, your client is about to be booked with assault, breaking and entering, and vandalism. And just so we’re clear, he’s eighteen. No juvie charges.”
James shook his head, his expression disgusted, as he reached for the door. “And here I was thinking I’d be home before seven.”
With a polite “Thank you for your cooperation,” the DA followed him out.
Emily rounded on Colin. “I want to talk to him.” I want to find out why the kid thinks I’m a demon.
Brooks whistled softly. “Figured you’d ask for something like that. I’d be pissed as hell if the punk had broken into my place.”
Colin shook his head. “Not gonna happen, Doc. That’s not the way it works—”
“Don’t make me go over your head.” Lover or not, he wasn’t going to keep her away from that boy. And if she had to go to McNeal, she would.
His blue eyes hardened. “You’re a witness here. Nothing more.”
Ouch. Emily lifted her chin. “I’m a victim here, and victims have rights.” Screw it. Colin was in his overprotective mode and she didn’t feel like wasting her time arguing with him. She’d talk to McNeal; she needed to update him and Colin on her profile anyway.
Emily marched to the door, yanked it open. She took three steps and came face-to-face with the boy who’d attacked her. His hands were cuffed and a uniformed officer stood on his right.
Her eyes widened in surprise. Perfect opportunity. She would—
“Demon! She’s a f**king demon! ” The kid started screaming at the top of his lungs, shaking.
He sounded so absolutely certain that he was seeing a demon that Emily actually turned and glanced behind her just to make sure one hadn’t arrived. But no. It was just her.
“Look, kid, I’m not—”
“Kill the demon! Have to kill her!” He lunged forward in a blur of motion, his arms raised.
Emily heard a guttural shout from behind her. And then the boy barreled into her, sending her flying to the ground. He landed on top of her, and his fingers locked around her throat. Hell, not again.
“Have to destroy the demon. She’s evil. Destroy—”
Colin grabbed the kid and jerked him off her, shoving him back up against the wall. “You just made a serious f**king mistake.”
The kid raised his arms, tried to use his cuffs to hit Colin. Colin growled and hit him in the stomach, driving the air from the boy’s lungs in a loud whoosh. Then he pulled back his fist and drove it into the boy’s nose. Bones cracked. Blood shot down the perp’s face.
Colin raised his fist back, bared his teeth.
The boy began to whimper. His body slid down to the floor and he wrapped his arms around his stomach, rocking back and forth.
Colin grabbed him by the collar and—
“Stop!” Emily ordered, pushing to her knees. Something about that kid—something was very, very wrong. “He’s not going to attack again.”
“Damn right he’s not.” Colin turned his furious stare onto the uniform. “What the f**k were you doing? Don’t you know how to secure a perp?”
The cop gulped, muttering apologies as he reached for the boy.
“Get him out of here, now! ”
Emily stared down at the boy. “What’s your name?”
He shook his head, whispered, “Demon.”
The uniform pulled him to his feet. “Come on, Trace. Fun’s over.”
The boy went forward obediently, but he kept looking back at Emily, a frightened, lost look on his face.
“Well…” Brooks murmured, eyeing Emily with a hint of wariness. “Guess you aren’t the only one preoccupied with demons, huh?”
“The killer wants the world to know what he is.” Emily sat in the chair across from McNeal’s desk. Colin sat beside her, and she could feel his intent stare on her.
He hadn’t spoken with her since the attack. But if looks could kill…
Damn. She’d been the one to get choked. She would have thought the guy could have shown more sympathy.
Colin wasn’t feeling particularly sympathetic. She knew that. Could feel that. His rage practically filled the room.
She’d taken a few minutes to regain her composure after the attack. She’d retreated to the restroom. Discovered that she had red fingerprints on her neck. Her voice was scratchy, and the new suit jacket she’d purchased that morning had been ripped.
Actually, she’d had to buy a whole new wardrobe that morning. Thanks to the boy, Trace, all of her old clothes had been slashed.
And so far, things weren’t looking up for her new items.
“Are you saying the Night Bastard wants to get caught?” McNeal asked, leaning forward.
His question jerked Emily back to the matter at hand. The Night Butcher, or, as McNeal liked to call him, the Night Bastard.
She’d been working on his profile, updating it with information she’d garnered at the crime scene last night. “No, I didn’t say he wants to get caught. I said he wants people to find out what he is. He wants the humans to know about him, and to fear him.”