fantasizing about the detective and get to work.
Straightening her shoulders, she pushed open the door and began to walk across the shining white tile. Her high heels tapped lightly against the floor.
Colin pointed to another door. A metallic door with a narrow strip of a window.
“Go on, Doc. Smith’s waiting.”
She stepped inside.
Damn, but she hated that smell. It had been seven years since she’d been inside a morgue. But the place still smelled the same.
Emily inhaled and tried to control an automatic gag impulse. God, the place reeked. Chemicals. Bleach. Decay. The scents of death.
Fluorescent bulbs glowed overhead, revealing the stark environment of the morgue. A small desk sat in the far corner. A covered body rested on a table. And a shining tray of sharp instruments stood waiting near the body.
“Hey, Gyth, couldn’t wait any longer, huh?” A tall, thin, incredibly gorgeous black woman stepped from behind a row of filing cabinets. Her hands were covered in white, latex gloves and a blue face mask dangled around her neck.
“Hi, Smith.” He flashed her a smile. “You know, it’s been at least”—he glanced down at his watch—“five hours since I’ve been down here.”
“Hmmm.” Smith didn’t smile back at him, and she didn’t sound too happy. Her gaze drifted to Emily. “And you’ve brought company.”
“This is Dr. Emily Drake. She’s profiling the Myers case.”
Smith nodded. She held out her hand, and a smile finally curved her full lips. “Nice to meet you.”
“Ah, you, too.” This was the ME? The woman could have been a double for Tyra Banks.
Smith’s smile dimmed a bit as she turned her attention back to Gyth. “Seriously, you need to stop harassing me about this case. I’m working on the body as fast as I can. Myers wasn’t the only guy to get murdered lately, you know.”
“Yeah, but he was the only one killed by the Night Butcher.”
Her jaw dropped. “The what?”
“The Night—”
Smith held up her hand. “I heard you. Jesus, you mean the press has already named this guy?”
Colin nodded. His hand came to rest at the small of Emily’s back and he gently pushed her forward.
She could feel the warm weight of his touch through her shirt. She stiffened, trying to ease away from the strong press of his fingers.
“Don’t guys like him usually have to kill a couple of times before they get nicknames?” Smith shook her head. “He could be a one-hit wonder, right, Dr. Drake?”
“Ah, maybe.” But she really doubted it.
Smith’s dark eyes narrowed. “You think this guy’s a serial?”
Not in the strictest sense of the word. The rules for serial killers didn’t really apply to the Other when they crossed that thin line that separated right and wrong for them. “I want to study the case more before I make a determination of that.” Nice, safe answer.
“Night Butcher.” Smith muttered the name again, shaking her head. “What a dumb-ass name.” She headed for the gurney, the gurney that held a body covered with a thin white sheet. “The poor SOB wasn’t butchered. He was bitten, clawed.”
Emily lowered the shield in her mind just a bit. She wasn’t sensing any supernatural powers from the doctor, but on this case, she didn’t want to take any chances.
She felt the whip of Colin’s shifter life force against her, but as for Smith…
Nothing.
The ME was completely human. Not even a half or a quarter breed.
That meant they needed to handle this case very, very carefully.
“You said he was bitten?” Emily questioned as she stepped toward the covered body. “You mean the killer showed cannibalistic tendencies toward the victim?”
“The guy wasn’t eaten,” Smith said, tapping her gloved fingers against the sheet. “But there were marks on the throat, like the attacker bit him. Bit his throat half open and then clawed it the rest of the way.”
Oh, not a good visual. Unfortunately, it was exactly what had happened. The image of
Straightening her shoulders, she pushed open the door and began to walk across the shining white tile. Her high heels tapped lightly against the floor.
Colin pointed to another door. A metallic door with a narrow strip of a window.
“Go on, Doc. Smith’s waiting.”
She stepped inside.
Damn, but she hated that smell. It had been seven years since she’d been inside a morgue. But the place still smelled the same.
Emily inhaled and tried to control an automatic gag impulse. God, the place reeked. Chemicals. Bleach. Decay. The scents of death.
Fluorescent bulbs glowed overhead, revealing the stark environment of the morgue. A small desk sat in the far corner. A covered body rested on a table. And a shining tray of sharp instruments stood waiting near the body.
“Hey, Gyth, couldn’t wait any longer, huh?” A tall, thin, incredibly gorgeous black woman stepped from behind a row of filing cabinets. Her hands were covered in white, latex gloves and a blue face mask dangled around her neck.
“Hi, Smith.” He flashed her a smile. “You know, it’s been at least”—he glanced down at his watch—“five hours since I’ve been down here.”
“Hmmm.” Smith didn’t smile back at him, and she didn’t sound too happy. Her gaze drifted to Emily. “And you’ve brought company.”
“This is Dr. Emily Drake. She’s profiling the Myers case.”
Smith nodded. She held out her hand, and a smile finally curved her full lips. “Nice to meet you.”
“Ah, you, too.” This was the ME? The woman could have been a double for Tyra Banks.
Smith’s smile dimmed a bit as she turned her attention back to Gyth. “Seriously, you need to stop harassing me about this case. I’m working on the body as fast as I can. Myers wasn’t the only guy to get murdered lately, you know.”
“Yeah, but he was the only one killed by the Night Butcher.”
Her jaw dropped. “The what?”
“The Night—”
Smith held up her hand. “I heard you. Jesus, you mean the press has already named this guy?”
Colin nodded. His hand came to rest at the small of Emily’s back and he gently pushed her forward.
She could feel the warm weight of his touch through her shirt. She stiffened, trying to ease away from the strong press of his fingers.
“Don’t guys like him usually have to kill a couple of times before they get nicknames?” Smith shook her head. “He could be a one-hit wonder, right, Dr. Drake?”
“Ah, maybe.” But she really doubted it.
Smith’s dark eyes narrowed. “You think this guy’s a serial?”
Not in the strictest sense of the word. The rules for serial killers didn’t really apply to the Other when they crossed that thin line that separated right and wrong for them. “I want to study the case more before I make a determination of that.” Nice, safe answer.
“Night Butcher.” Smith muttered the name again, shaking her head. “What a dumb-ass name.” She headed for the gurney, the gurney that held a body covered with a thin white sheet. “The poor SOB wasn’t butchered. He was bitten, clawed.”
Emily lowered the shield in her mind just a bit. She wasn’t sensing any supernatural powers from the doctor, but on this case, she didn’t want to take any chances.
She felt the whip of Colin’s shifter life force against her, but as for Smith…
Nothing.
The ME was completely human. Not even a half or a quarter breed.
That meant they needed to handle this case very, very carefully.
“You said he was bitten?” Emily questioned as she stepped toward the covered body. “You mean the killer showed cannibalistic tendencies toward the victim?”
“The guy wasn’t eaten,” Smith said, tapping her gloved fingers against the sheet. “But there were marks on the throat, like the attacker bit him. Bit his throat half open and then clawed it the rest of the way.”
Oh, not a good visual. Unfortunately, it was exactly what had happened. The image of
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