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 damn 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 guy I was out with last night is some kind of-of—”

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 damn 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 ’im.”

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—”

She caught his hand. “I—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 thesame 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.

“I didn’t know how you felt.” He’d given no indication of his attraction before. She hadn’t even realized he’d wanted her until his lips had been on hers and she’d felt the heavy length of his erection pressing against her.

Hard to mistake those signs.

“Now you do.”

Yes. “Cain, I—”

He exhaled and stepped away from her, muttering, “Damn but you smell too sweet.”

That was good, right? Or was it—

She wanted to catch his hand again. To touch him. But time was running out, and though she wanted to make amends to him, now, well, now she needed his help.

Before Sam returned.

“The man last night,” she began.

“The vampire,” he corrected, voice sardonic.

“Fine. Whatever. That guy, he’s a killer.”

His head moved in the faintest of agreements.

“Sam isn’t going to believe me if I tell him the truth about what happened.”

“Humans rarely understand just what the word ‘truth’ means.”

Not the most helpful of answers. She sighed. Miranda knew she couldn’t just walk away from this case now. And she knew that he was the one with the creature-feature knowledge. “What do we do?”

Three women. Three months. She would have been victim number four. And she didn’t believe for a moment that Paul Roberts was just going to walk off into the sunset and never kill again.

Last night the devil had been in his eyes, and evil that strong didn’t just stop its blood quest.

She couldn’t stand by and wait while another woman was killed. “We can’t let this guy get away,” she said, when he didn’t speak. “There has to be a way to stop him.”

He laughed, the sound too hard. “Ah, baby, let me clue you in to a few facts.”

She bit back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips.

Cain jerked his head toward the closed door. “I’d say, in less than five minutes, a team of suits will be arriving at the station. Your Sam won’t have to contact the FBI, they’ll have monitored the call systems for this station—they do that for all the offices—and they’ll know what happened.”

Her palms were sweating. “They’ll go after Paul?”

“They go after killers like him every day.” A shrug. “Sometimes they catch them—well, they catch the human psychos—and sometimes, when the killer is . . . different, like your friend Paul, well, then they are pretty much just shit out of luck.”