Hotter After Midnight (Midnight 1)

“Fucking demon. You’re gonna pay.” His voice was a high-pitched whisper, the whisper of…a boy?

And had he just called her a demon?

She twisted her hand, trying to break free. God, hadn’t someone heard her scream? The Grantons had come back from Disney World two days ago—they should have heard her.

Emily opened her mouth, ready to scream so loud the dead would hear her, but her attacker slapped a thin, sweaty hand over her lips.

“Private party, demon. No one else is invited.”

She bit him. As hard as she could. Until she tasted blood.

He howled and jerked his hand back. And she screamed. And screamed.

A light flashed on at the Grantons.

Finally.

Her attacker swore, stumbled back. “I’ll be back for you, bitch.”

Bitch or demon. Make up your mind, ass**le.

Adrenaline pumped through her, and as he fled, for one mad moment, she actually thought about running after him.

Then she realized her hands were shaking. Her legs, hell, everything shook, and she didn’t think that she could have made it four steps, much less all the way across the yard.

Her attacker ran to the wooded lot. For just an instant, the glow of a streetlight fell over him. He glanced back at her—

Just a kid. A kid with hair too long, a face too thin, and eyes too big.

Then he was gone. Disappearing into the night.

“Emily!” Mark pounded up the steps, grabbed her, and pulled her to her feet.

Damn. When had she fallen again?

“What happened?”

“Call the police…” She swallowed, realized her throat was desert dry. Fear will do that to you.

She’d been more scared of that kid than she had been tracking a killer through the News Flash Five station.

But Colin had been with her then. And she’d known he’d keep her safe.

She’d trusted him.

Her knees began to shake again.

“I thought I saw someone running—” Mark glanced toward the lot.

“Some kid. He hit me.” Called me a demon, said he’d be back for me.

“Jesus.” Mark wrapped his arm around her. “Let’s get inside and we’ll call the cops.”

They stepped forward, and Emily saw that her door was ajar. Oh, no, not a good sign.

She pushed the door all the way open. Stepped inside the small foyer. Turned on the light.

“What in the hell…” Mark’s voice trailed off.

Emily crept forward. Hit the light switch for the den.

Destroyed. Her furniture had been smashed, her couch and love seat ripped apart. The TV was on the floor, the screen in pieces.

Papers, magazines, books littered the floor.

“Let’s get out of here.” Mark took her hand. “Go back to my place and call—”

“Step away from the woman, now!” Colin’s voice snarled from directly behind them.

Emily whirled around and heard Mark gasp in surprise. Colin stood in the doorway, his gun drawn, his face tight with fury.

Mark made the mistake of tightening his hold. “You don’t understand, I’m her neigh—”

“Get your f**king hands off her or I’ll shoot.” His stare was intense. A turbulent blue that was, oh, shit, beginning to glow.

No, no, he couldn’t shift. Not in front of Mark. She’d never be able to explain that.

Emily stepped forward, pulling away from Mark’s suddenly sweaty touch. “It’s all right, Colin. Mark’s my neighbor and—”

His gaze flashed to her face. Narrowed. The gun never wavered. “What the hell happened to your cheek?”

Emily lifted her hand to her right cheek. She could only imagine how the mark must look in the harsh light. “Someone was here when I arrived.” A punk kid who thinks I’m a demon. “He was waiting on the porch.”

“Fuck.”

Yeah, that pretty much summed it up.

“Umm…are you a policeman?” Mark sounded like he very much hoped that was the case.

Colin grunted. Dropped his gun and grabbed Emily. He pulled her against his chest, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and just held her.

Emily squeezed her eyes shut to stop the stupid tears she could feel welling. Aftereffects, she was sure. But, oh, it sure felt good to be in his arms.

The edge of his fingers dug into her skin. He pulled back slowly, stared down at her. Then he kissed her. A hard, hot, open-mouthed kiss that stole her breath.

“I guess you two know each other.”

Sirens blared in the distance. Grew closer.

Emily wrapped her hands around Colin’s shoulders, held him tighter.

God, but she loved the way the man kissed. Loved the smooth, sensual thrust of his tongue. Loved the faint bite of his teeth as he nibbled on her mouth.

His mouth lifted, just an inch. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

A choked laugh slipped past her lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bright blue lights filled her yard, spilled through the open door.

The cavalry had arrived.

But too late to catch the bad guy.

Chapter 12

He took her back to his place. She’d argued at first, saying she should stay at her house, try to clean, but the crime scene guys had nixed that idea.

They’d left a team at her home, searching for fingerprints. Hairs. Anything that might give them a clue to the identity of the guy who’d broken in.

A kid. Emily had given him a description of the boy. Pegged him for being around sixteen.

Colin didn’t give a damn how old the guy was. He just wanted to find him, make him pay.

The punk had hit Emily. The red stain on her cheek had already turned into a faint brown bruise.

And her house— sonofabitch. All her clothes had been destroyed. Her bed. The dresser. Her books. Even her food—the guy had dumped it all over the kitchen floor.

Emily’s house had looked far too similar to Gillian Nemont’s place, and Colin couldn’t ignore the link. Hell, even the slash marks in the couch cushions had looked the same. Both were hard, long slashes from left to right.

Had the kid done both jobs? He’d find out, when he found the boy.

And the fact that Gillian Nemont still hadn’t turned up worried him. A lot. People didn’t just disappear. Not without a damn good reason. Or help.

Initially, he’d thought that Gillian had fled on her own. But now, now he was very much afraid that she’d had help. The unfriendly kind.

“I-I could have stayed in a hotel, you know.” Emily stood beside the couch, looking tired, disheveled, and so beautiful she made him ache.