I squeeze her fingers gently. "I'm in full agreement with Daisy. You need to pay more attention to your dog's instincts."

She turns away and walks to the back door. Daisy streaks past her and gallops full-speed toward me.

"Daisy, no," Shelby yells.

I'm ready. Daisy jumps up and I sidestep. "No, sit," I say in a firm voice. His butt instantly plops down. His tail wags against the carpet and his tongue hangs out. I run my hand on the side of his jaw and scratch between his ears. "Good boy," I say and look up at Shelby. "Now that alpha leadership is established, fess up. What's the girl name for?"

Shelby rolls her eyes with a smile. "When I was young my mother bought a purebred standard poodle and named her Daisy." Her voice lowers. "She was the sweetest and smartest puppy on the planet. As she grew, it became evident she wasn't the perfect purebred dog my parents paid for. When they questioned the seller, he admitted his female may have come into contact with their German shepherd. My parents gave Daisy back and received a full refund. It devastated me. Two years ago, I saw an advertisement for shepadoodle puppies and decided to check them out. The only one who looked like my Daisy was this monster." She reaches over and scratches Daisy's head. "It was love at first sight and," her voice becomes insistent, "he likes the name Daisy."

Her parents are a piece of work. "No, he doesn't," I insist. "He needs a proud name like Duke or Rex."

Shelby shakes her head. "He answers to Daisy, and it's too late to change his name now."

"Wanna bet?" I back away and snap my fingers. "Duke, release." He immediately heels to my side, and I look smugly up at Shelby.

"That's cheating," she says with a laugh. "Have you eaten?"

"No. I feel like pizza, how about you?"

"You have a thing for Italian food, don't you?" she asks on her way to the side table where she grabs her purse and a scarf, which she ties around her waist for no apparent reason.

"My mother's Italian." When she's close enough, I place my arm over her shoulder and we head outside.

"No wonder," she replies.

"You don't understand. My mother can't cook to save her life. My father does all the cooking. It's why my brothers and I never died from foodborne illnesses."

God, I love her laugh.

10.

The pizza's good and the company better.

"He never hit me. If he had, I'd have ended it then and there and called the police. That shit doesn't go over with me." Shelby steals an olive off my slice of pizza. "Mark solves problems by yelling louder than anyone else in the room, or at least tries to. I wasted a long time thinking he'd change. He called me two days ago and said he was taking anger management classes. He just wanted to talk. His idea of talking was trying to get back together. He wasn't raising his voice, but he was being rather insistent even after I told him to leave."

"He doesn't come back," I say with finality. "If he does, you call me immediately."

She salutes me and takes a bite of her pizza. Sauce sticks to the side of her mouth and I'm not quick enough to lick it off before she grabs her napkin. "The look in your eyes is scaring me," she breathes. My mouth is an inch from hers.

I take her hand, bring it to my lips, and bite the end of her finger. Her eyes shine and her eyelashes sweep down. I release her hand and lean back. "I need to get up early. Do you want to sleep at my house in case el jerko decides to come back?" She appears dazed. Then her expression changes, and I have a feeling I won't like her answer. Her gaze moves away and I reach over and tip her head back in my direction. "Don't worry. I won't yell or cause a scene. I can take it like a man."

She nods. "I like you. I had a great time last night. But I really don't want a steady relationship."

It's not what I want. I'm fairly sure I want a solid relationship with this woman. Hopefully, it's a start, though. "I'm a good booty call if you need one," I offer.

"You're a great booty call. Can I take you up on it another night?"

"Absolutely."

I have a feeling I'll be spending a lot of time in the shower taking care of my hard dick now that I've had a taste of Shelby. Fantasizing isn't the same, though. I know exactly how she tastes, the noises she makes when she comes, and how her eyes turn almost black when she's turned on. I want the real thing.

It's after midnight when I finally fall asleep. My cell phone wakes me a few hours later. I peer sleepily at the clock while trying to unplug the phone from the charger and bring it to my ear.

It's a little after three, which means nothing good. "Detective Street," I answer gruffly.

"Street, this is Detective Zimmer," he barks. Zimmer works out of another precinct; he's new to homicide and I don't know him well. "I saw the bulletin you released yesterday. I'm at a scene and I think it's connected to your guy."

Rolling out of bed, I head to my closet to gear up. I wait for Zimmer to give me his location before ending the call and shoving the phone into my pocket.

Forty minutes later, I'm standing over the body of a woman lying against an apartment dumpster. Her throat is gaping open from a deep slash and she's been stabbed in several places. I'm careful to avoid the blood pooled around her body as I observe the crime scene.

Detective Zimmer's voice is hushed as he brings me current. "Patti Johnson, her roommate, called it in. Patti stayed at her boyfriend's last night and Birdie, the deceased, didn't show up to work her territory. Patti said she started thinking about the two other prostitutes killed and decided to head back to the apartment to check on Birdie. This was after calling her and receiving no answer. The roommate saw her feet sticking out as soon as her last john pulled his car up. The john's in the wind by the way."

Too fucking bad. He'll be sorry he left. "I want the roommate going back to the station with me. Can you keep her with you until I clear here? It could be an hour." I don't need to tell him I'm taking this case. Chances are, from the wounds on the victim, my guy's responsible. The police bulletin I sent to all the precincts had more info than what I gave the media. Enough info for Zimmer to link the crimes.

"Got it, Street. Catch this maniac, okay?" he says over his shoulder as he walks toward Patti, who's standing with another cop. I had made a quick call to Kurtis on my drive over. His car pulls up behind the outer crime scene tape. I wave him across the tape once a rookie with a clipboard takes his name. Anyone entering the crime scene will be required to write a written report and could be required to testify after I catch this guy. Assigning a rookie to take names tends to keep the brass away. I give props to Zimmer for having the rookie in place before I arrived.

Kurtis squats beside the body without touching her. He examines the wound at her throat before scanning lower. She's naked and the damage from the knife is fully visible.

"She lived in these apartments," I tell him in the same hushed tone Zimmer used. "My other two victims weren't attacked this close to home. Their bodies were a couple blocks away from where they lived." I glance around, worried even my low tone carries.

Kurtis stands up and I wave him after me. We both remove the latex gloves we're wearing. The crime scene techs are waiting and I nod in their direction. They took pictures before I arrived but didn't touch anything. They need to get to work so Kurtis can perform the autopsy at the ME's office.

After we're seated in my truck, I give Kurtis what I have. "Her roommate's here, and I'll interview her as soon as I'm back at the department. We have a missing john, but I'll have him in the next few hours." What I don't say is that I'll need to write a damned memo explaining why I brought my personal vehicle to a crime scene. Bullshit red tape every step of the way. There was no way I was taking the time to go by the department and switch vehicles.

Kurtis scratches his chin. He's looking out the car window at the police lights surrounding us. "Do you ever wonder why we do this job?"

He's tired. I'm tired. This is the effect. "Every fucking day," I reply.

That gets a small laugh from him and he turns his gaze in my direction. "I'll stay on right now and start the autopsy as soon as the body is delivered."

"Thank you." This is why I called him. We can't wait a few days, or we'll have another body. This one is too damn close to the last.

Kurtis places his hand on the door handle. "I'll call as soon as I'm finished, unless you want to be there."

I don't have time. I wasn't at the other two autopsies. As stupid as it might sound, maybe I can get a better feel for this psycho if I talk it through with Kurtis when he starts cutting. Anything is worth a try at this point. "Let me interview the roommate and I'll meet you at your office."

"That works."

11.

I'm at my desk a little after four in the afternoon when Donna, one of the records clerks, buzzes my office phone. "I've got a Detective Smith from Shreveport, Louisiana, on the line for you."

"Put him through," I tell her. I blink a few times, trying to clear my vision after staring at the computer screen for the past twenty minutes while I work on the latest report. I'm not a fan of autopsies like I was in my younger days. Too much blood and violence. All I got from watching Kurtis work was a sense that this is one sick motherfucker.

The phone makes a clicking noise. "Is this Detective Street?" a gruff voice asks.

"Speaking."

"I've got a look-alike hit on the info you put in UCI." I sit up straighter and my adrenaline immediately picks up. "Five kills beginning three years ago. Twelve months from first to last and then they stopped. All prostitutes with their throats slit and multiple knife wounds to the torso."

"I've got three now, one from early this morning. Did you have any witnesses?"

"No. Never discovered how he approached them."

My fingers tighten on the phone. "When was the last kill?"

"July 10, 2014."

"That means there was more than a year between my first one and your last."

"You think it's the same guy?"

I consider what I have for a moment. "Possibly, and if so, he hit another place in between. How long between the last two deaths at your end?"

"It was three days after the third one and one day before the fifth."

"Fuck," I swear. "Sorry, I'm tired."

"No worries. That's the exact expletive I used when I saw your info."

I thrum my fingers on the desk. "Can you send me the autopsy reports?"

"Give me an email and I'll have them to you within the hour."

I hang up and rest my head in my hands, thinking about the wounds to my latest victim. She had a fucking sock pushed down her throat and tape over her mouth. He killed her at the dumpster and no one saw a damn thing. The roommate gave me little to go on, but she did have the license plate of the john. I have two uniforms picking him up right now. He's most likely married, and it won't be fun having two cops knock at his door. Asshole should have stuck around.

My cell buzzes and I look down at the incoming text. Even with everything going on, my balls tighten, and my dick receives a nice burst of energy.

Shelby: Cooking Navajo tacos for dinner, want to join me?

How I wish.

Me: No can do, I'll be working late.

Shelby: I noticed your truck gone early this morning when I took Daisy for her early walk.

Me: Got called out.

Shelby: I heard about the body.

Me: Stay off the street.

Shelby: I'll save you some tacos and bring them over when you get home.

She completely ignores my directive.

Me: I mean it Shelby.

She doesn't reply. I hope she remembers she has court tomorrow. I'll remind her tonight after I spank her ass for being a pain in mine. Yes, my cock jumps at that thought. I gain control of myself and go back to my report.