Page 17

“Detective Vickers?” I asked dumbly.

The detective stood in the doorway of my cubicle, a much less flirtatious smile on his face.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Nice to see you again. Do you have a minute to talk?”

My shock and confusion quickly evaporated, and distrust and worry seeped in. “What’s this about? Who let you into the building?” I demanded.

Vickers— Ollie —stuck a thumb in his belt and pushed his badge forward. “This tends to open a lot of doors.”

The newsroom had gone eerily quiet. It looked as though every woman in the room had come over to check out the two men.

Ollie was attractive in a traditional sense, while Nate had a wildness to him that made him even sexier.

I couldn’t blame the ladies—and even a couple of the guys—for wanting a look.

Then I mentally chastised myself for even thinking that.

As if to rub that thought in even deeper, Tabitha walked by behind Nate and caught my eye. She glanced down at his ass, then back at me, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“You still haven’t said if you have time to talk. Do you?” Ollie asked me again.

“I don’t know that it’s smart to refuse a police officer,” I said.

“Is there somewhere more private we can talk?” Ollie asked, glancing around and almost catching Brent’s secretary checking him out.

“Sure, follow me,” I said. Standing, I led the two men to a small conference room.

Ollie followed me, and Nate trailed behind.

He’d slid his sunglasses back down, hiding his eyes.

In the conference room, Ollie took a chair at the table opposite me.

Nate flopped into one by the door, kicked his feet up onto the back of another, and leaned back, the very picture of some grungy biker fashion model.

“Can I ask you what this is about, Detective?” I asked. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, and I’d like to get back to it.”

As annoyed and uncomfortable as I was with the strange and unexpected interruption to my day, I kept my tone respectable.

I’d never forget how the police were back in Zamora.

The gangs and cartels owned that place. The police were in the pocket of one or the other.

Corruption ran rampant, and at times, you were in more danger around cops than gang members.

Their badges and power made them think they were untouchable—pauper kings lording over their slums.

In Canada and the US, things were different. I had witnessed the differences myself, yet the old, ingrained habits still clung tight.

Ollie nodded and pulled a notepad and a folded piece of paper from the inside of his jacket. “We wanted to discuss your attack again, if that’s all right.”

I threw a glance toward Nate, who, if I hadn’t known better, looked like he was napping. His sunglasses covered his eyes, and his head was tilted back to rest on the wall.

“Why is he here?” I asked. “Do you guys know each other through work or something?”

“Something like that,” Nate said with a chuckle.

“Ms. Torres,” Ollie said, opening his notebook. “Can we go over the details of the attack once more? I had a chance to read the statement you provided, and I wanted a bit of clarity on some things.”

“Uh, okay, sure,” I said.

Reading from his notes, Ollie said, “You stated that on the night of the twelfth, you and your acquaintance, Lesley Darlton, were leaving the Sweat It Out fitness club. You two proceeded to a nearby parking garage, and that was when you encountered your assailant. Correct?”

“Correct,” I said.

“Sweat It Out?” Nate said with a smirk. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously ,” I said, feeling my irritation rise. “It’s a high-end sort of place.” I glanced up and down at his biker clothes and scuffed leather boots. “I doubt you would know anything about that.”

He chuckled as I turned back to Ollie.

Ollie ignored the banter between me and Nate. “Can you describe what happened next?”

“We were about to get into the car, and that was when we heard this… I don’t know… a growl or snarl or something.”

Both men stiffened at that, neither of them smiling now. Ollie said, “Like an animal?”

“I guess, yeah.” My worry about the situation faded, and my instincts as a reporter kicked in. “Is the serial killer real? Is someone really using a trained animal to kill women?”

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “Before we go further, I want to remind you that anything discussed in this room is strictly off the record. I don’t think a young, up-and-coming reporter wants to be arrested for interfering with a police investigation, right?”

I heaved a sigh and crossed my arms over my chest. “Fine. What else do you want to know?”

Ollie scanned his notes, then frowned at me. “Your statement says the assailant first attempted to attack you and your friend, and then you state that you scared him off. How exactly did you do that? Did a car come along that startled him? The written statement is a little vague on that part?”

“I fought him off,” I said.

Both men were quiet for a beat as they exchanged a look. Ollie said, “You fought him off? By yourself?”

“Did your friend help you?” Nate added.

That rankled me even more. “No. I fought him off by myself. I do a lot of martial arts and MMA training at my gym.”

“Sweat It Out helped you fight this guy off?” Nate asked derisively.

“No,” I growled through gritted teeth. “That’s Lesley’s gym. I was her guest. I go to a different place. Less bougie.”

“ Oh ,” Nate said with exaggerated understanding. “A place more my style, you mean?”

Ignoring him, I looked back at Ollie. “Can we get on with this?”

He snapped himself out of whatever confusion he’d been dealing with.

“Sorry, it’s just, well, we have a suspicion that this guy is very , uh”—he glanced at Nate again—“powerful, so it’s a bit of a shock that you were able to handle yourself with him.

Have to say, Ms. Torres, that’s incredibly impressive. I applaud you.”

“Thanks,” I said. The detective’s admiration and respect did a lot to better my mood. I worked hard at the gym, and I liked knowing it had been for a good cause.

“Yeah,” Nate said begrudgingly. “That’s actually pretty badass.” It didn’t sound like he gave out compliments very often.

“How are your injuries healing?” Ollie said, pulling us back to the conversation at hand. “You suffered some cuts and bruises.”

“I did,” I said. “Most are fine. Bruises are mostly faded, and the cuts are healing well.”

“And the wound on your neck?” he said, still looking at his notebook.

Nate lifted his sunglasses and gave me a sidelong stare. Why was that the wound they were worried about? Did it have something to do with the serial killer angle? Maybe after the guy sicced his dog on the victims, he bit their neck? Could it be a calling card of some sort?

Fear and anxiety surged through me. Had I really almost been killed by a serial killer? All thoughts of Rick vanished, replaced by this new horrifying possibility. It made the nausea roiling in my stomach worse, and a cold sweat sprang out on my body.

As if they could sense my fear, both men perked up. Strange.

“Uh, it’s fine,” I finally answered. “It’s healing. It’s all pretty minor stuff, really. I guess I came out mostly unscathed.”

“Uh-huh,” Ollie said, though I thought I caught a twitch of his eyes glancing at the hairline at my neck.

It took a massive power of will not to adjust my hair to make sure the bite in question was covered.

Ollie set his notebook down and picked up the piece of paper. He unfolded it and slid it across the desk toward me.

“Do you recognize this man?”

The printed image of a snarling and angry face sent a jolt of fear through me, one of fear and recognition.

The quality of the image wasn’t great—obviously from a gas station security cam or something—but it fit what I’d seen of my attacker’s face in the dark.

I could almost feel the hot breath washing across my cheeks, hearing his grunts and growls of frustration and anger as we fought.

“That’s him,” I said, pointing a trembling finger at the image. “That looks just like the guy who attacked me. That’s got to be him. I’d never forget that face.”

Ollie and Nate shared another look. When Ollie looked at me again, his eyes were tense and worried.

“Ms. Torres, this is going to sound strange, but bear with me,” Ollie said. “Would you allow Mr. Zane here to inspect the wound on your neck?”

Again with the wound? Something weird was going on, and I didn’t like it. How the hell could some two-bit private eye be able to tell anything from examining it, anyway? Though, given the situation, I wasn’t sure how I could refuse without coming off as suspicious.

“I guess that’s fine,” I said reluctantly.

Ollie nodded to Nate, who stood and walked over to me.

As soon as he was close, I could smell him.

A musky, manly scent, somehow more intense than any other aroma I’d ever known.

Like a combination of sawdust, leather, cinnamon, and whiskey.

The moment his fingers brushed my hair aside and touched my skin, a bolt of heat went through me, and I had to clamp my teeth into my tongue to stop a moan of delight from escaping my mouth.

“Do you perhaps know what caused the wound, Ms. Torres?” Ollie asked, eyeing me speculatively.

For some reason, I didn’t want to tell them I thought the guy bit me. It was too private somehow. A dark secret I needed to keep hidden, but I didn’t understand why.

“Maybe a knife or something?” I offered.

Nate’s fingers froze. Even without being able to see him, I could feel the tension in his body.

“What do you have?” Ollie asked, his voice tight and strained.

“It’s small,” Nate said. “An inch and a half. Looks like it was done by teeth.”

Ollie stood and moved his chair around the table to sit beside me. “Ms. Torres,” he said. “I want you to stay calm. Our working theory is that the man who attacked you may have been driven by either a drug or some sort of disease.”

Fear settled in my bones. A disease?

Ollie sighed. “If that is a bite, the sickness he has might have been transferred to you. Can you tell me if you’ve felt sick at all since the attack?”

I started to nod, but froze. I felt better now than I had since the attack. There was no nausea, and my headache had vanished. Nate stepped away from me, his fingers brushing my neck as he did so, and I had to suppress a shiver of pleasure.

Finally, I said, “Yeah. I have. Some nausea and headaches.”

Nate and Ollie shared another loaded look. That was really starting to piss me off. These two men knew more than they were letting on, and I was tired of being in the dark.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded. As a reporter, I should have been digging into this further, trying to find out what they knew. But in all honesty, I was now too freaked out to worry about a story.

“Ms. Torres, I would like to escort you to the hospital,” Ollie said.

“We need to do some tests. Your illness may not be directly related to the attack, but we need to rule some things out. You could be fine, but you could also have something very serious. Can you go with us now? It truly is better to do this as soon as possible.”

My whole world tilted on its axis. The last thing anyone wanted to hear was that they might have some kind of dangerous sickness. Would I be okay? Was I going to die? Holy shit.

“Uh, yeah. I guess that’s fine,” I said numbly. “Am I going to be okay?”

Ollie patted my knee and gave me a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be fine.”

Maybe he was right. Hopefully, if I did have something, the doctors could prescribe whatever I needed, and I’d be right as rain soon. And if I did, I might be able to ask some questions I could use for my story.

As worried as I was about myself, my professional drive hadn’t abated yet. There was still a story here, and being sick didn’t mean my job was over.

Ollie stood and guided me out of the conference room.

Nate walked beside me. His sunglasses sat on top of his head, and I couldn’t help but notice the way he kept glancing at me, like he couldn’t keep his eyes off me.

He was irritating and more than a little arrogant, but despite that, I found myself enjoying the attention.

It even helped keep my mind off the fear swirling in my heart.