By now, the Yeti and two of the witches have flanked us, ready to lend aid. The vampire is a new transfer, and has rubbed almost everyone the wrong way in the past two weeks. This…will be the end of her.
“You will regret crossing me,” Velma says, her fangs lending a slight hiss to her words.
I snarl at her. “And if you ever put your hands on my partner again, I will personally stake you through the heart with a silver dagger.”
If I were alone, I would bait the vampire further, but I will not risk Zoe’s safety. Nor the others standing with us. Velma swears and curses us as the Bureau’s security team drags her away in cuffs.
“Where are they taking her?” Zoe asks softly.
“She will be detained in the underground holding cells for a day, perhaps two, until she is sentenced.”
She sucks in a sharp breath and wriggles free from my hold, her slight body still trembling. “Sentenced?”
“For attempted murder. There are certain crimes that are not tolerated in our world, Zoe. A vampire exposing your neck, fangs bared, eyes blood red? She was seconds from biting you, and she would not have stopped until she had drained you dry.” I should be more delicate. Considerate. Gentle. But our world is full of dangers she has yet to learn, and I must protect her at all costs.
Even if we can never be together—if she never accepts me—she will always be mine.
Zoe
My neck aches from the vampire’s fingers around my throat, and my legs aren’t all that steady, but I refuse to let Sin help me back to my desk. I force myself to walk ahead of him, then as he pulls out my chair, I meet his gaze. “What the hell were you doing back there anyway?”
His brows shoot up. “I was getting coffee.”
“And letting a vampire feel you up.”
He grunts something that might be “fuck,” before taking a seat at his desk and glaring at me. “You made it quite clear this morning that there was nothing between us. Is there some reason you care who I let ‘feel me up’?”
Because I was wrong.
That’s what I want to say. Instead, I brace my hands on the desk and force strength into my tone. “Because she’s going to jail. And she almost killed me.” I swallow hard and keep my stare locked on Sin’s very blue, very stormy eyes. “Is it too much to ask that my partner act like a fucking professional?”
He leans halfway across the desk, close enough I can smell his cologne. Or maybe that’s simply his natural scent.
“Watch yourself, Zoe. You have seen a part of me I do not show to anyone. But this face? This side of me?” His lips curl into a snarl, and his eyes churn with emotion. “I am a demon, and I have killed more than I have ever saved. Do not test me.”
Oh, I want to test him. A lot. Until this cold, calculated demeanor of his cracks and the real Sinclair comes back. The one who held me all night last night. Who stopped a vampire from killing me.
Arousal warms my core, and Sin’s nostrils flare. Shit. I have to change the subject. Or get the hell away from him somehow. “I’m still waiting for the bill for the clothes,” I say as I shove my hands under the desk so Sin doesn’t see them trembling. “I won’t be in your debt.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks for a full thirty seconds before he finds his words. “I have more money than I can spend in a thousand of your lifetimes, Zoe. Keep the damn clothes. And gather your things. I believe I tracked down one of the missing men. His name, at least. And we have an appointment to speak with his brother in twenty minutes.”
I don’t want to be in Sin’s Fiat sitting less than a foot away from him, having his scent wrapped around me.
“So, who is this guy?” I ask.
“There’s a new tablet in my satchel for you. All of his information is on it.” He stares straight ahead, his voice flat and hard, and I roll my eyes. Fine. I’ll play his game. At least the tablet isn’t likely to try to kiss me. Or make me care about it. Not unless other worldly technology is somehow sentient.
“Gregory Locke, twenty-nine years old. Hasn’t reported to his job at the Fisherman’s Terminal for two weeks. Lives alone. No forced entry, no signs of a struggle.” Scrolling through the police photos, I enlarge one or two, hoping to find something…anything…that points to Temple or Thorn, but the police report is accurate. Everything looks…normal.
I sneak a glance at Sin. “You’re sure this guy is with Thorn?”
He stiffens. “Yes. My vision is better than a human’s. They were masked when they attacked us, but the scar on his neck is distinctive.”
Enlarging Gregory’s photo, I focus on the mark below his jaw. “It almost looks like a brand. The letter K?”
“Yes. From a Los Angeles gang. Gregory grew up there.” Sin accelerates up a hill, and I grab the door handle. I know his reflexes are sharp, but I’ve never been a good passenger. He sighs and slows the car to a more reasonable speed.
“You’re infuriating,” I mutter quietly.
“Because?”
His mocking tone grates on me, and I roll my eyes again. “You’re an asshole. Grade A. One hundred percent. Until you purposely slow down because you know I don’t like it when you drive so fast. I can’t reconcile those two sides of you, and it’s making me crazy.”
“I am trying to protect you, Zoe.” His fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and the veins in his neck bulge as he takes a slow, deliberate breath. “I cannot deny what I feel for you. Nor do I want to. There is something between us. But if we give in—if I give in—you will be hurt and I could not live with that.”
I don’t know what to say, but circumstances don’t give me the chance because Sin stops the car and pulls effortlessly into a parking space in front of Gregory’s apartment building. .
“We are here.”
Twenty-Two
Sin
Gregory Locke’s brother, Nathan, doesn’t speak as he leads us to a pair of couches in his sparse living room. “Kinda surprised to get your call,” he says once we’re seated. “The detective in charge of Greg’s case said they didn’t have enough evidence to continue the investigation.”
“We are not affiliated with the San Francisco Police Department. Consider us…independent investigators.” I focus my gaze on Nathan’s brown eyes, prepared to employ my talents if he pushes too far. Mem-Clear is a last resort only—one I rarely agree to use.
“I don’t care if you’re with the clown brigade if you can find my Greg.” The strain in his voice and the rather significant bags under his eyes speak to the close relationship he shares—or shared—with Gregory. “They said he probably just ran off. Found a girl or lost himself to drugs again. But he wouldn’t do that.”
Zoe taps her tablet screen a few times, then arches a brow as she focuses on Gregory’s photo. “Your brother had several arrests for drug possession with intent to sell back in Los Angeles.”
“Greg was clean. He’d been clean for three years.” Nathan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver chip. “We both were. Went to meetings twice a month, together. The last one was a week before he disappeared.”