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“Ah, sure.” He pressed a button on the phone and asked the clerk out front to show Cain inside.
They were sitting in the sheriff’s office. Sheriff McMillan was out of town. He’d gone fishing in Biloxi, and since Sam was the undersheriff, the second-highest officer in Melvin County, he was holding down the fort.
Less than a minute later, Cain marched inside. Miranda felt the lancing heat of his stare even before their eyes connected. After taking a deep breath, she told him, “Paul Roberts is dead.”
He didn’t look particularly surprised.
“According to Sam, he’s been in the grave the past five years.”
Again, no surprise. Not so much as a flicker of an eyelash.
Sam said, “Miranda’s told me she met this guy on the Internet—”
Now one black eyebrow did lift.
“—she never saw his ID, so it’s safe to say he gave her a false name. And the SUV we towed from her place, well, it had been stolen two days before, so we got no help on the suspect’s ID from that end.”
She lifted up the photo. “Want to see the real Paul Roberts?” Her fingers shook just a bit.
He took the photo. Scanned it. Glanced back at her. Waited.
“Interesting, huh?” she whispered.
“Very.” He dropped the photo onto the desk.
Sam cleared his throat. “I actually think that Miranda got very, very lucky last night.”
Her focus jumped to him. “What do you mean?” Yeah, she felt extremely lucky the bastard hadn’t drained her dry but—
“Three women in Florida have been murdered over the last three months. All with their throats slit.” A pause and his expression tensed. “And all the women told their friends they’d recently met a ‘Paul’ online.”
Chill bumps rose on Miranda’s arms. “Are you telling me the man I was out with last night is some kind of serial killer?” Multiple murders meant a serial killer, didn’t it?
He held up his hands. Glanced from her to a silent Cain. “All I’m saying is the situation fits the MO. I’m gonna be calling the FBI later today, briefing them on what happened. But, to me, well, like I said, I feel like you got real lucky.”
The phone on the desk rang with a shrill cry. Sam frowned and picked it up. “Michaels. What? Hell. Yeah, yeah, I’ll be right there.” He slammed down the receiver. “Jack Thompson pulled another all-night drinking binge and just tried to break into his ex-wife’s house. He’s pissed and disorderly as hell. I got to help the boys process him.”
Miranda nodded, feeling more than a little numb.
“I’ll be right back.” He stalked from the room.
She rose to her feet, lifted her chin, and walked closer to Cain. “About last night…”
“Forget it,” he snapped, and a muscle flexed along his jaw. “We’ve got more important matters to deal with now. So you think I’m some kind of freak? Got it. Message received.”
She caught his hand. “I don’t.”
His nostrils flared, and she saw his pupils dilate. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. When you touch me, it makes the thing inside me hungry.”
He was trying to scare her. But from the sound of things, she’d almost been prey to a vampire serial killer, and Cain was probably the only reason she’d escaped. Her fingers tightened around him. “I shouldn’t have left you last night.”
“If you hadn’t, I’d have taken you.” Stark. Predatory.
Her heart did a hard thud against her chest.
“I want you, Miranda Shaw, and I’m not one of your human men. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I am. I don’t play by their rules, and when I want something, I reach out…” His left hand lifted. Caught her chin. “And I take it.”
He wasn’t dealing with the same woman he’d faced last night. She’d been at the end of her rope then. So his words now didn’t scare her. But they did turn her on.
