Dark Taste of Rapture (Alien Huntress 6)

People formed a circle around them, gasping and contemplating what to do.

“—officers are on their way,” she heard someone say.

“Dude! Out of my way, you’re blocking my camera’s view.”

“I am a cop,” she growled. “Everyone stay back, and shut the hell up.”

They continued talking to each other.

“Cops are getting sexier by the day.”

“Officer Hotness can ticket me anytime.”

Okay, maybe she wouldn’t chastise them for the chatter. They were highly observant.

As if he’d been frightened past his limits, her suspect’s head lolled to the side, his body going lax. Noelle wasn’t buying. She recalled Hector’s lesson all too well. Always make sure unconsciousness had been achieved by delivering another blow.

Her guy could have easily gotten control of his panic, faked a pass-out, meaning to leap up and attack her the moment she let him go.

Rather than hit him, she jiggled his broken nose. No reaction. Still not taking any chances, she moved the blade tip to his belly, where his shirt rose above his pants, revealing a strip of flesh. “I’ve got a knife at your gut, so I’d be careful if I were you.”

Warning issued, she balanced on her knees, intending to pat him down. Of course, that’s when he erupted into motion. Yep. A fake-out. His determination must be great, to have ignored that jiggle.

The action caused her blade to slice his stomach, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Bleeding, he slid out from under her, jumped to his feet, and ran. Just ran.

“I am not chasing you!” Noelle jumped up, too, and tossed the knife. It whizzed through the air. The length embedded in the back of his calf, where he had just placed most of his weight, and he went down like a brick in water, screaming in agony. Heart thundering in her chest, she stomped over to him.

He’d cracked his cheek on the concrete when he landed, and a pool of crimson seeped from his mouth. He writhed, twisting, trying to reach the blade to remove it. Maybe she’d never gotten the mercy gene because she stepped on the hilt, digging the weapon even deeper.

Another howl rent the air.

“I told you not to run, ass**le,” she said. And damn it, she didn’t have a pair of cuffs on her.

She bent down anyway and grabbed his wrists, pinning them behind his back and straddling his waist, so that her weight pinned him down. Tears leaked down his cheeks, joining the blood.

Gasps echoed behind her. Shuffling footsteps. The pounding of boots.

Noelle turned her head—and spotted Hector shoving his way through the crowd and stalking toward her. Big and muscled and so sexy her heart skipped a beat.

Puffing up, she said, “Bagged him,” sounding so damn smug, he’d probably fume.

Dressed in his usual black shirt and slacks, he looked menacing and without a hint of warmth. As always. His tattoos looked different, though. The circles more jagged, the lines thicker. He’d grown his hair out, too. A Caesar cut, the messy, darkened strands adding an air of savagery to him.

Sweat glistened on his brow, dripped from his temples. He wiped the droplets away with the back of his hand, his golden gaze sweeping over her. His pupils expanded. “You okay?”

She’d heard his voice these past few months, of course. When he’d spoken to Dallas or Mia, or anyone else in AIR. But right now, with that gravelly timbre directed at her, she felt her body respond. Her blood heated, and her ni**les tightened underneath the leather top.

Oh, hell, no. Not going there again. Lesson learned. No need for a repeat.

“Better than,” she replied, and prayed she sounded breezy. She relayed everything the guy had said, and for a moment, Hector actually looked impressed. With her—or the info-hold-out perp? “Got a pair of cuffs on you?”

One of his brows shot into his hairline. “You chased him without a pair of cuffs?”

“Yes. Mine are still hanging from my bedposts.”

No reaction. “What did you plan to do with him when you tackled him?”

“Duh. Exactly what I did. Hurt him until he caved.” Frowning, Hector reached behind him. Next he extended a pair of cuffs in her direction. She managed to take them without allowing her fingertips to brush over his skin.

In two point two seconds, she had the human bound, the laserbands wound around his wrists, lit up to a pretty gold—though not as pretty as Hector’s eyes—and bonded to his skin.

And yet, still the guy writhed.

She said, “You pull at them too much, and you’ll lose your hands. Or so I’ve heard. I’m more than willing to use you as a test subject and find out for real.”

That got his attention. At long last, he stopped fighting.

Did you see that, Hector? I won this round. Noelle climbed off the perp, but kept a boot pressed into his shoulder blades to remind him that she was there. “Where’s your car?” she asked Hector.

“Right there.” He hitched his thumb to the street beside them, and sure enough, she spotted a standard AIR sedan.

“No Jag today?”

He didn’t seem surprised that she knew he’d traded in the Porsche, even though they’d never run into each other outside of work. “No. I’m on the clock.” His gaze swept over her a second time. Another flare of his pupils. “But you’re not. Where have you been?”

“I was out on a date with my newest lover, the insatiable Don Carlos.” She wanted to believe Hector liked what he saw, but … She’d gone that road with him before, hadn’t she? A girl never forgot a burn like that.

“Don Carlos? Where’d you meet him? A romance novel?”

Her lips pursed. How had he known she was lying? “Do me a favor and carry the perp to your car,” she said, ignoring his question.

A moment passed in silence, then he shook his head. “Bastard clipped your chin. He doesn’t deserve a carry.” As he spoke, he withdrew a pair of familiar gloves and slipped them on.

Her gaze immediately slid to his arms, and yep, for the third time in their acquaintance, she spotted that slight, barely noticeable azure glow. A glow that remained even after he donned the gloves, just above the top edge. She only detected it because she knew to look. And okay, because she was staring. Most people would probably think his tattoos were colored that way. She wasn’t most people, and besides that, she had a picture of him seared into her memory. She had forgotten nothing about the way he was made, and always spotted any changes in his appearance.

She wished she knew what the glow meant, though. She’d even done some online research—because she’d been bored and not for any other reason—but had learned nothing.