What?
"I was eighteen, hanging in the wrong place with the wrong guy. I thought I knew him, that I could trust him. So I lowered my guard, and I found out that I’d been dead wrong about him from the beginning." She exhaled. "After that, I decided it’d be a hell of a lot safer for me to make absolutely certain that my shields were in place. I probe the thoughts of my patients-and only my patients."
When he opened his mouth to question her, she said, "They give me their permission. I never touch thoughts without permission." Her mouth tightened and she said, "Unless somebody’s projecting so loudly I can’t shut them out."
Like he’d been doing. He huffed out a hard breath. Good thing there weren’t any other folks like the doc running around Atlanta. Otherwise, he’d be screwed.
"And I never lower my shields all the way," Emily spoke again, her voice softer now. "I always keep some protection in place."
Colin grunted and cranked the Jeep. He wanted to ask Emily more about the coma, ask her about the guy who’d nearly put her under, but he figured he’d pushed enough for one day.
Besides, he needed to get her to the station. They needed to talk to Smith, needed to find out if the ME had gotten any more information for them.
After they talked to Smith, he’d drop the doc off at her place. Then he’d go meet the cameraman. And he’d find out exactly what Jake Donnelley knew about his case.
"Uh, aren’t you forgetting something?"
He glanced at her. Found her eyes narrowed on him. "What?"
Her lips thinned. "An apology."
"Ah, Doc, you don’t have to apologize to me. I understand now." She wasn’t jumping in his brain. As far as he could tell, she still didn’t know the full truth about him, and that was very good news. "Just stay out of my head, and we’ll get along just fine." More than fine if he had his way. In fact, they’d be-
The doc growled. Actually growled. Oh, he liked that. The beast within emitted a hungry growl of its own.
"I’m not talking about me giving you an apology," she snapped. "I meant you owe me an apology."
"What would I owe you an apology for?" He hadn’t jumped in her head.
"I don’t remember asking you to-to-" The doc broke off, flushing.
And the light dawned. He hadn’t jumped into her head, but he’d jumped her.
"I told you before, Gyth." That pointed chin lifted and she stared straight at him, even as a blush stained her cheeks. "If I want you to kiss me, I’ll ask."
Ah, yes, the doc wasn’t a fan of-what had she called it? — the He-man routine. Well, if the lady wanted an apology…"Sorry, Doc, guess my basic nature just got the best of me." His basic nature, his anger, and the hard lust he seemed to feel every time he got near her.
"Yes, well, shifters are reputed to be highly volatile and, umm-"
"Sexual?"
She blinked.
"Yeah, we are." Unfortunately, most shifters tended to be male, so it wasn’t like there were a ton of like-minded women strolling the streets.
But when he’d held the doc, for a bit there, "It seemed like your basic nature took control, too, huh?" She’d been kissing him back, rubbing that sweet little pink tongue of hers against his, pushing her body against him, clutching him tightly with her hands.
"Maybe it did," Emily said softly, and his respect for her shot up. A woman who could admit her need-just what he wanted.
He wished they didn’t have to go back to the station. Wished they could just keep driving, preferably back to his place so that he could find out more about Emily’s needs.
Even though he could still taste her, he knew his lust would have to wait.
The case came first. It had to. But once the killer was caught, oh yeah, once the killer was tossed in a dark cell to never see the light of day again, then he could focus completely on Emily.
In the meantime, he’d keep mixing his business and pleasure every damn chance he got.
She wanted Colin Gyth. Wanted a shifter. All right, she could admit it.
Emily hurried to keep pace beside Colin as they maneuvered through the police station. A few officers called out greetings to Gyth as they passed. He didn’t stop for anyone, just kept walking with that I’m-a-bad-ass stride of his. She was having to double-time it to keep up with him.
He pushed open a door leading to a stairwell. A dark, narrow stairwell.
"Ladies first," he murmured.
"Thanks." She brushed past him, and his scent-the warm, rich scent of masculine flesh-teased her nostrils.
Her heart beat faster, her breath hitched.
Oh yes, she had a serious problem where the detective was concerned.
So what was she going to do about it? About him?
The stairs ended in front of a rust-colored door. Emily knew what waited for her on the other side of that door.
It was time to stop 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."