Sweet Succubus by Delilah Devlin Page A

anyone to listen. And she was anything but bored, based on the way her gaze darted around the room. The woman was definitely spooked. And crazy? Well, he’d have to talk to her to figure that one out. Still, he stood on the other side of the mirror, giving her more than a professional perusal.
    Despite her pallor and the pinched set of her mouth, she was a beauty. Melanie Bradshaw wasn’t quite model-pretty, and she wasn’t Sidney’s hard-edged cute. The woman seated at the ugly, gray metal table, biting a fingernail, was delicate—small-boned with an oval face, shoulder-length hair, large brown eyes, and lush lips.
    Arousal stirred, and Moses cupped himself, rearranging his dick so he didn’t scare the little woman half to death when he went inside. She wore dark jeans and a soft brown sweater that molded over her slight curves. As he watched, she pulled down the cuffs to her fingers as though her hands were cold, and then gripped the pendant that rested over her pretty little breasts, a large red stone framed in gold. Her bottom lip trembled.
    No, she didn’t look like a nutjob. She looked good and scared.
    Again, he opened the folder and flipped through the pages to her statement, scanning it quickly then cussed to himself.
    No, she wasn’t crazy. Not even a little. Melanie Bradshaw had strayed straight into his “special case” zone. She’d had an encounter of the creepy kind.
    And she’d met Viper.
    Looked like Moses wasn’t going to get any rest until he figured out why.
    As the door whooshed open, Melanie jerked. Her gaze swung toward the person who entered then widened. When she stood, her head tilted way back. Good lord, he looked like a linebacker—and she’d dated one once who wasn’t half as big.
    The hard set of the man’s jaw had her steeling herself against his derision, for him to ask her why she was wasting everyone’s time with a story so absurd. Then she met his gaze. His dark-chocolate eyes held a tinge of something softer, maybe even kindness. Her shoulders relaxed. Perhaps he’d listen. She needed someone to talk to who didn’t look at her like she’d grown two heads.
    His large hand stretched across the table. “I’m Detective Brown, ma’am.”
    “Of course you are,” she murmured, then bit her lip. Damn, she didn’t mean her statement the way it no doubt sounded. Not the best way to greet a large black man.
    But his mouth quirked up at one corner. Her hand disappeared inside his, and she stared at where their bodies joined. For the first time all night, she felt safe and warm.
    He withdrew first, wiping his hand against his thigh. Was hers sweaty? She’d felt warmth and a little spark when their skin had touched.
    “Ma’am, take a seat.”
    Like a well-trained Chihuahua, she plopped into the chair. Not quite so eager now to get this over. She liked his voice—the deep bass, the gravelly texture. As he settled into the chair opposite hers, a metal one that groaned with his massive weight, she couldn’t help eyeing him.
    Well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a rock-hard chest and abs, he looked mean enough she didn’t think much would scare him. His face was hard too, his jaw square as a bulldog’s, his nose broad and slightly askew. His bald head gleamed beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting.
    “Tell me what went down at the bar, Miss Bradshaw.”
    She stifled a sigh. Again? Tonight had been really long, and she was ready to head home to sleep. “Didn’t you read my statement?”
    “I did,” he said with a firm nod. “But I’d like to hear it from you.”
    She lifted her chin to the mirror. “So your friends can have a good laugh?”
    “There’s no one watching.” His gaze locked with hers. “Promise. Just you and me. Tell me about it.”
    Melanie drew a deep, shaky breath. “All I want is to report a death. A murder.”
    “But there’s a problem…”
    “No body.” She nodded, wrapping her fingers around the amulet. “It’s surreal.