Trey questioned why he’d used that particular word but decided it actually fit. He described what he’d seen upon first getting on the scene and what it had felt like when the creature latched onto his chest.
“I think it was feeding on me,” he added. “It felt like she was sucking the life out of me. Hurt like a son of a bitch, too. I’m exhausted and she was only on me a couple seconds. I have no idea how long she’d been going at this guy.”
Connor looked over at the man on the ground. “What are we going to do with him? If we call an ambulance, the hospital won’t have a clue what to do with him.”
Trey agreed. “I say we call STAT and get them out here to help, then send a sketch artist back to that bar we just left and have them work on a drawing of our suspect. We need to tell Gage and the deputy chief that we definitely have a supernatural creature hunting people in our city. One that’s stronger and faster than we are and damn near immune to injuries.”
Connor reached for his phone, shaking his head. “When the hell is the weird crap in this town going to end? If it’s not serial killers that steal body parts, it’s supernatural soul suckers with big, freaky eyes.”
Trey sighed and leaned back against the dumpster. As his mom always liked saying, when it rained, it poured.
Chapter 9
Samantha was staring at her computer screen lost in thought when Crystal walked into her office a few minutes after eight Monday morning.
“Having second thoughts about asking your sister to analyze Trey’s blood?”
Samantha sat back with a sigh as Crystal slipped into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Second, third, and fourth. I know that sounds crazy, especially since I’ve been obsessing over this forever, but what I’m doing—going behind Trey’s back like this—I feel like I’m betraying him.”
“Wow. Betraying.” Crystal did a double take. “That’s a heavy word.”
“I know, right?” Samantha gave her a small smile. “Want to hear something even crazier? We’ve only been on a few dates, and I already feel a connection with him that I’ve never felt with anyone else.”
Her friend leaned forward. “Then talk to him and ask him to explain all the weird stuff you saw at those crime scenes the past two years. You’re a medical examiner. It’s not a bizarre question coming from you.”
Looking at it that way, what Crystal said made a lot of sense. If she asked Trey a straightforward question, he would probably be honest with her. More importantly, she wouldn’t have to feel so crappy about deceiving him. Then again, what if being up front with him backfired on her and he broke up with her?
Crystal opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the thud of heavy boots in the hallway interrupted her. A few moments later, Trey appeared in the doorway, the delicious scent of bacon and eggs wafted from a fast-food bag in one hand, a cardboard tray with two cups of coffee balancing in the other.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said, flashing both of them a charming grin before looking at Samantha. “I was in the area and thought you might want breakfast. I only brought two cups of coffee, Crystal, but you’re welcome to take mine.”
Crystal shook her head as she got to her feet. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said with a smile. “I already ate and have a freshly brewed pot of coffee in my office waiting for me, but you two go for it.” She caught Samantha’s eye. “I’ll see you later. And what I was saying earlier? Think about it, okay?”
Giving Trey another smile, Crystal walked out, leaving Samantha alone with Trey.
He set the bag on her desk, then took one of the cups out of the tray and offered it to her as he sat down in the chair Crystal had just vacated.
“Milk, two packs of sweetener, right?”
If Samantha wasn’t already feeling so crappy about how she was treating Trey, this would have pushed her over the edge for sure. Not only had he thoughtfully brought her breakfast because she happened to mention the other night that she ends up skipping it because she’s usually running late, but he remembered how she liked her coffee, too. Could he be any more perfect?
“Right.” She reached for the cup with a smile. “Anytime you feel like stopping by with breakfast, feel free.”
Breakfast turned out to be a breakfast burrito the size of her forearm stuffed with eggs, sausage, and hash browns, all smothered in a thick ranchero sauce. There was no way Samantha could eat the whole thing herself.
As Trey settled back into his chair and pulled his own burrito out of the bag, Samantha realized he wasn’t wearing a bandage around his hand any longer. She opened her mouth to tear him a new one for not protecting the wound when she saw the faded bruising around his neck. More light bruises colored both forearms, some extending all the way up to where those droolworthy biceps disappeared into the sleeves of his uniform shirt. Forensic mind kicking into high gear, she immediately recognized the marks on his arms as defensive bruising, and the yellowish-green smudges around his neck looked like someone had tried to choke the life out of him—with a pair of Vise-Grips.
“What happened?” she asked, not sure why her heart was suddenly thumping way too fast. “It looks like someone tried to choke you to death.”
Unbelievably, Trey chuckled. “It was nothing,” he said, not even looking up from the burrito he was busy unwrapping. “Connor and I were down on Pacific Avenue flashing a photo of a guy around a few clubs and bars. He was murdered two weeks ago, and we were trying to ascertain if anyone had seen him. We ended up running into someone we think was involved in the guy’s death and they weren’t exactly friendly.”
Samantha didn’t think Trey was lying, but something told her he was leaving a lot unsaid. She knew the Dallas SWAT team was involved in a lot more stuff than a normal SWAT team might be, but she still couldn’t understand why they’d be downtown wandering around the bars with a dead guy’s picture. That’s not what SWAT cops did for a living.
Unless there was something weird going on that he wasn’t ready to share yet.
Doubting he’d tell her anything, she opened her mouth to ask anyway when she got a good look at the palm of his injured hand. Except it wasn’t injured now. For a moment, she thought she was looking at the wrong hand. But that wasn’t it at all. In fact, there was a line of pink scar tissue across his right palm exactly where it should be, completely sealed and well on its way to disappearing. She might work with dead people who didn’t heal from wounds, but she still recognized one that looked at least ten days old.
Her first thought was:What the hell?But then she remembered how many times she’d heard outlandish stories about members of the SWAT team being injured in the line of duty without ever going to the hospital. She’d always thought those stories were urban legends, the law enforcement equivalent of the fish that got away.
