His Seductive Target (Afterlife, #2) Read online

  Her head clouded as she imagined the excruciating amount of pain her sister and the second victim had experienced. It’d been a year since they’d spoken to one another. Over something so stupid too. Something that’d happened to them as children. She studied the victims’ wounds then narrowed her gaze on him again. His pupils dilated the longer she stared at him. Trying to tell her something without giving away more than he could maybe? Until...

  Instinct flared.

  “This wasn’t an animal, was it?” she asked.

  Dr. Anderson shook her head in Nika’s peripheral vision, hair bouncing down her white lab coat. “No. It wasn’t. An animal wouldn’t only take the heart. They’re scavengers. They eat everything they can.”

  The killer took the heart? Her lips parted on a strong exhale and Grayson’s attention dropped to her mouth for brief moment. She stumbled back a step.

  Reynolds sketched a note in his notebook. “Rachel was reported missing yesterday by a neighbor. According to her, they were close and hadn’t talked in more than two days, which the neighbor considered odd. Rachel works late after hours sometimes, but the bank manager says nothing is missing from the vault. Doesn’t look like a robbery.”

  Nika turned her back on her younger sister and analyzed the vault for the first time since she’d stepped inside. No more than ten feet wide and fifty feet deep, the room was packed full of once-pristine, white safety deposit boxes. High end. Exclusive to wealthier clients. Nothing suggested any of them had been touched.

  “Nika?” Reynolds asked.

  “Yeah?” She faced her ex-partner, exhaustion slowing her down. What did Rachel have to do with any of this? Had she been targeted?

  “Your time is up.” He hovered his pen above that damn notebook. By the book. All the time. That was his problem. With the boyish, dark brown, close-cropped hair, Michael Reynolds didn’t look like a detective. His perfectly measured suits and ties helped. The wrinkles too. But those were new.

  “Yeah. All right. Just promise me one thing, Reynolds.” She’d agreed to a deal and she’d stick to it. With another once over of her baby sister, she memorized everything she could about the scene. The blood around her sister’s eyes and mouth had been smeared, wiped. The killer wouldn’t try to clean up the face. At least not any killer she knew of, which meant there was a possible witness to track down. She’d keep the idea to herself for now. Maybe poke around the precinct later for details without Grayson hanging over her shoulder.

  “Don’t let the FBI take the case.” With a quick glance at Grayson, she turned her back on the scene and headed toward the hallway. She stepped over the ridge of the vault door, attention on the bloodied path back to the lobby, and ran directly into a wall of hardened flesh. Stumbling back, she tried tramping down the disgust working up her throat and into her expression. No point.

  “Veranika Russo.” Her back straightened as Lieutenant Turner’s gaze wandered to her breasts then up to her face. The disgusting perusal pitched her stomach into a roll. Ah, yes. There stood the second reason she’d been thrown out of her precinct’s doors two months ago. Slicked back hair and deep wrinkles battled with the pristine suit tailored to his six-foot-plus frame. “What in in God’s name are you doing at my crime scene? I cut your ass loose. Well, until you can prove you didn’t steal all that cocaine from your last case.”

  She lifted her chin and sucked in a lungful of air. “Well, Lieutenant, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but that’s my sister over there with her heart torn out of her chest. Did you honestly think framing me for corruption would keep me away?”

  Searching for possible eavesdroppers, Turner checked over his shoulder then stepped into her. He kept his voice low. His tall, lean form crowded her from head to toe, but she couldn’t back down. Not to this prick. “You weren’t able to prove anything in court and you sure as hell aren’t going to screw with me this time. Get out of my crime scene.”

  “I was just leaving. But you can’t keep me from investigating, Turner. I’m not on your payroll anymore.” The confidence that coursed through her body waned as Turner’s brown eyes hardened. She’d closed more cases for his precinct than any other detective in the state, but because she hadn’t given into his demands like any other woman under his reign, he’d thrown her credibility out the window along with her badge. He’d reopened cases, searched for holes, and planted evidence in the trunk of her SUV. Turner’s vengeance knew no bounds and, for a second, she swore a slight hint of red flashed across his irises.

  “You’ll never investigate again as long as I have something to say about it.” Turner lifted his hand and scraped the back of his fingers down her jaw. “By the time I’m through with you, you’re going to wish you never met me.”

  “Don’t touch me!” Fire shot through her veins along with an electric prickling spreading under her skin. Something dark—something alive—connected her hands with Turner’s chest and she shoved as hard as she could.

  The lieutenant flew through the air—five feet, six—and landed hard on his back. The momentum slammed him into the opposite wall and her mouth dropped open. What the hell? She hadn’t pushed him that hard. Stumbling back, she studied the faces of everyone frozen in the room. All staring at her. The tingling subsided as she held her hands in front of her.

  “Detective Russo?” Grayson appeared at her side as though he’d been standing right behind her the entire time.

  Her heart double-timed an uneven beat. Shit. Dropping her hands, she bit back the explosion inside and ran from the vault. CSI and officers alike ignored her on the way out, almost as if they were afraid to cross her field of vision. Couldn’t blame them. She’d assaulted Lieutenant Turner in the middle of a crime scene, effectively destroying what was left of her career. Her eyes burned. Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d loved, had been taken in the span of a few months, but she wouldn’t cry.

  Cold air rushed against her as Nika shoved through the bank’s front doors. She stared down at her shaking hands, remnants of that foreign current of energy still boiling in her blood. What the hell was happening to her?

  Chapter Two

  Tracking his target had been a cakewalk. Relying on the skills drilled into his soul as the FBI’s foremost expert on missing persons, Grayson Wyatt had walked right into her life without raising suspicion. Or was it his new powers that’d lead him to the blonde, athletic, and far too sexy Detective Veranika Russo?

  “But why her?” he asked himself. She was only one of the targets he’d been assigned. Although, he didn’t understand why the Deceiver sent him after a mortal hovering over her deceased sister. Every other target had been demonic. Five in the last year, but for some reason this woman had made his list. Veranika—Nika as her former partner had called her—brought monsters to justice and didn’t exemplify any real threat, least of all to the devil himself. But what did he know? He’d been given a choice and the deal had been struck.

  Too bad he had to turn her in. Nothing of his new life had raised his awareness of a mortal quite like Nika had. She’d confronted him and demanded answers, determined and unafraid. Had even warned him off the case.

  He liked that kind of confidence in a woman.

  NYPD and their technicians buzzed around him, some so close, the scent of their shampoo overwhelmed the heavy smell of decomposition. They couldn’t see him now through some miracle the Deceiver had granted him, but he saw everything.

  Faced with her sister’s body, Nika had shown vulnerability, but confronted by her former lieutenant, she’d shed her weakness and stood her ground. Her sweet scent had intensified to the point it’d practically filled the entire room. Lavender. Calming. Addictive. He’d barely been able to resist touching her.

  She stepped into the corridor that lead toward the bank’s lobby. Arousal hit him hard and he shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out for her. He stared after her as she rounded out of sight. All too easy to imagine grabbing a fist full of that long, blonde hai
r and exposing her delicate throat to his mouth. And that scent...he hadn’t been able to expel it from his system yet. Almost didn’t want to. But her commanding presence was what kept him at attention below the belt. It’d been a long time—too long—since a woman had pumped blood through his veins so fast. But his attraction wouldn’t stop him from finishing the assignment. Not when his soul had been put up for auction. The instinct to protect her from her lieutenant had overwhelmed every nerve in his body, but Grayson forced it out of his mind. “Not your job, asshole. Just stick to the plan.”

  In fact, he’d been charged with the exact opposite: bring her to the Deceiver alive or dead. Maybe that explained his momentary fascination. He wanted what he couldn’t have.

  Like a wind funnel touching down, the atmosphere heated as a high amount of burning power swept across his skin. His stomach lurched and rolled as he searched for the only source that could give off that much energy. “Shit. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “She’s a target, Grayson. Nothing more.” The lieutenant who’d threatened Nika—no, the target—circled around Grayson’s shoulder from behind, irises red. As if tiny insects crawled beneath his skin, the Deceiver’s forehead rippled with movement. Wrinkles disappeared, his eyes darkened and visible scars evaporated. A sharp jawline appeared, and he grew a full two inches in height. Bones popped as skin tightened to its origin and broke a cold sweat between Grayson’s shoulder blades. In a process taking no longer than ten seconds, the demon who’d turned him into a monster stood mere feet away, the facade of Lieutenant Turner disappearing. Which meant something had happened to the real Lieutenant Turner. “Or have you already forgotten our deal?”

  “You never said she was a cop.” Dread settled low in his stomach as a surge of electricity jolted his muscles stiff. In an instant, the brush of power was gone. Maybe the rumors were true. The Deceiver might’ve been compromised from the battle with his former heiress and control of his power had obviously suffered.

  Amusement turned to disappointment in the Deceiver’s expression. Pitch black eyes flashed red. “The target interests you.”

  Invisible insects crawled up Grayson’s neck and face. Right. The target. Because he couldn’t think of her as a person. Not if he planned on handing her over to the world’s biggest asshole.

  “Don’t forget what happens if you renege on our deal.” The Deceiver slid close. The uncomfortable heat of his body permeated through Grayson’s FBI jacket and burrowed deep under his skin. Hot. Too hot. Those black eyes skewered him, unrelenting.

  Grayson’s gut caught fire, chest tight. Couldn’t breathe.

  “I gave you your life back when that serial killer ambushed you last year. Your soul is mine,” the Deceiver said.

  Shitty deal. Stupid decision to accept. Do the devil’s bidding for a chance to reclaim his soul. A mere chance. But handing over an innocent life had never been part of the deal. The words of the oath he’d taken, still so fresh, played across his mind. There had to be a loophole. Something he could use before he didn’t have a soul left to reclaim.

  “I made a deal.” He swallowed against the bile crawling up his throat. Grayson ground his teeth. “You’ll have her by the next full moon.”

  He needed a plan to get out of this mess in four days.

  “I have no doubt you’ll get the job done.” Ice slid through him as the Deceiver turned his back on him and advanced through the vault entrance. Probably had another appointment to take over some other demonic servant and force them into his bidding.

  Grayson clenched his teeth hard. Releasing the pressurized air he’d been holding, he surveyed the crime scene one more time. The technicians and officers were almost done. Nika’s sister had been bagged and hefted onto a gurney for transport to the morgue. Too many witnesses to dispose of the body now. He’d have to wait for the right opportunity to destroy evidence of the killer’s existence. Mortals couldn’t be trusted with that kind of truth.

  He followed behind the coroner into the corridor and retraced his target’s steps. Nika would investigate her sister’s murder despite the dangers of tracking down the killer with zero backup. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

  Which brought him to his second target. Rachel’s murderer. Psychopaths like her couldn’t help themselves. She’d turn up at the scene or close by to survey her work. “Can’t hide forever, Isabel. Every bounty hunter and demon is looking for you.”

  Traces of the Arch-demon’s power tinted the atmosphere inside the bank, a sultry, burnt scent he couldn’t get out of his nose. The trail hadn’t gone cold, but the evidence of her involvement in the mortals’ deaths diminished with the presence of blood and human traffic. Soon the scent would disappear altogether.

  According to his research, Nika had been an unforgiving detective before her suspension two months ago. She’d find her sister’s murderer on her own and, in the end, he’d be there to claim them both.

  He pushed out of the bank and caught sight of her lean frame disappearing down the end of the street. Odds were she’d head to the victim’s apartment. Smart girl. He followed her to the end of the block and slid behind a large tree when she turned the corner. Couldn’t take any chances of her spotting him. Not yet. She paused, those intelligent blue eyes ensuring she hadn’t been followed. Or had she sensed he was there, watching her? Bark dug into his skin through his thin FBI-issued jacket as he pressed tight against the tree.

  He peeked around the trunk. She was gone.

  His lips quirked to one side. He’d always enjoyed the chase. Despite his vigorous training for the FBI and the new powers he’d been endowed with, she’d still spotted him. Interesting. He was always up for a game of cat and mouse.

  Grayson shouldered out from behind the tree and treaded down the sidewalk, his boots nearly silent as he moved. Frozen at the corner from where she’d vanished, he skimmed over the possible hiding spots. The alley to his right provided the most cover, but she wasn’t stupid enough to corner herself without an exit strategy. That left the dumpster at the mouth of the alley, the one slightly angled away from him. Perfect choice to survey passersby and lay in wait to attack. Would’ve been his choice.

  There seemed to be a pattern somewhere in that thought.

  “Nika?” Based on his brief study of her in the bank, she wasn’t armed. The only way to force Nika to show herself would be to walk right into her trap. Hints of her lavender scent carried on a slight breeze, teasing him and tensing his muscles. He took a single step, almost inexplicably drawn toward her. None of his other targets had driven him to make such stupid decisions. What was it about this mortal woman that compelled his steps as he moved toward the dumpster? “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  Truth. He had no intention of turning her over to the Deceiver in less than perfect condition. His skin prickled. She was close. He sensed her mere feet away. Shallow breaths reached his ears and his body shook. The adrenaline of the hunt always got to him. Electricity sizzled under his skin with every step taken. Anticipation ran through his veins. Grayson rounded the back of the dumpster fast, ready for anything.

  Nothing. He straightened. Oh, this woman was good at her job.

  Something hard pressed into his lower back as a hand latched onto his shoulder.

  “Don’t move,” she said, dark and dangerous.

  “A rear sneak attack. Very clever.” Surprise melted into fascination. “You could’ve been with the Bureau, Detective.” He followed her command and remained still. The muscles across his back and neck tightened as he fought his instinct to turn and face his opponent. They were opponents, each on the wrong side of good and evil, although she didn’t know the threat he posed. And that wouldn’t change, even if he was attracted to her. He’d signed the deal. He would get his soul back. “But you’re not armed.”

  “Want to find out?” Nika ground whatever she’d shoved into his low back against his spine. Felt like a gun. He could’ve missed a holster when he’d scanned her in the bank, but not probab
le. He didn’t mess up when it came to weapons. He’d studied guns inside and out, experienced barrels pressed against every part of his body while in training and in the field, and could spot someone carrying a mile away. Had he made a mistake?

  “Why are you following me?” she asked.

  “I want to find your sister’s murderer as much as you do, Detective. We need to work together. Me with my knowledge of our suspect, you with your skills as New York City’s finest.” A light exhale swept across the back of his neck. He sucked her scent in deep to keep it from vanishing on the breeze. Her hold on his shoulder faltered, but not for long. She didn’t trust him. And she shouldn’t. He’d told her the truth about working together, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have ulterior motives

  “Why would you suddenly want to share with me?” she asked. “You made it very clear back there any prior cases were above my pay grade.” She spun him around by the shoulder, his vision momentarily blurring. He met her bright blue gaze. Her pupils widened, and lips parted with a gasp. His body caught fire. A disorienting lightness filled his head the longer he stared into her eyes. Not even death forced him to hold his breath like this. His jacket grew too hot, too heavy.

  “Unless you’re not here on official business.” It came out breathy. Her attention settled onto his lips for a second. Then determination hardened her features. She raised a compact Glock to his chest. “Would explain why you showed up at the scene without a partner.”

  She obviously wasn’t as intrigued by him as he was by her, but she’d hit it right on the nose. Hard to track down missing persons for the FBI when he’d technically died at the hands of serial killer last year.

  “And if I said I wasn’t on the case officially?” Where had the gun come from? He scanned down her body again and focused on the bottom hem of her left pant leg and not the way her jeans fit her perfect long legs. Creases at her ankle. An ankle holster. That was what he’d missed. Son of a bitch. He was slipping.