But the guy didn’t move. He smiled and the bastard had something wrong with his mouth. His teeth—they were filed or sharpened or something.

They looked like an animal’s. Light spilled from Miranda’s open back door, throwing a glowing circle around the struggling figures. Miranda was fighting. Squirming. Ramming her head against her attacker. Swearing.

And the perp’s smile was just getting bigger.

“I said get away from the woman!” He would put a bullet in the guy if he had to do it. He wasn’t in the mood to screw around with some cracked-up killer.

“Make me.” A taunting whisper.

One hand pinned Miranda’s wrists to the ground. The other lifted to her throat and, Christ—were those claws?

“Shoot him!” Miranda screamed.

The claws swiped toward her jugular.

Sam fired. The bullet caught the bastard in the shoulder, and his hand fell away from Miranda’s throat.

“Again!” she yelled. “Keep shooting, keep—”

The man leapt away from her. Bounded to his feet in a single move. The smile was gone. Black eyes glared at him. “That stung, asshole.”

Stung? It was a bullet, not a bee.

“And it really, really pissed me off.” His lips curled back as he snarled, and those freaky teeth of his looked even sharper.

Sam aimed his gun straight at the freak’s heart. “Get on your knees. Put your hands on your head.”

The man took a step forward. Christ, he really did look exactly like the photo of Paul Roberts. So the bastard faked his death. You knew that already.

The hair on Sam’s nape rose. Something was off here. Way off.

Behind the perp, Miranda scrambled to her feet. “Don’t talk to him,” she cried out. “Just shoot him!”

That wasn’t the way things worked, she knew that. He had a badge. The guy, well, except for the claws and teeth, looked unarmed. If he could take him down the right way, he would.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “On your knees!” he ordered again.

“I’m a god,” the man, Roberts, snapped. “I don’t kneel for anyone.”

God his ass.

He saw that Miranda had grabbed a broken limb and was holding it like a bat. At any minute, he expected her to slam it right into the back of the guy’s head.

“I’m countin’ to three,” Sam muttered, “then either you’re on your knees, or I’m shooting.” Ample warning. “One.” His finger tightened around the trigger. “Two.” Sam finally realized something weird was up with the guy’s eyes. They looked far too dark.

Empty. Like a dead man’s.

“Thr—”

He never finished counting. The bastard launched his body at him, growling. Claws raked over his face,slashed into his neck, and then Roberts’s mouth came at him, teeth bared.

Sam’s finger jerked, squeezing the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times.

Those creepy eyes widened. The guy’s mouth went slack. The bullets had been fired at point-blank range, and they’d thudded straight into his chest.

The claws fell away from Sam, and Roberts’s body hit the ground.

“Sam!” Miranda stepped forward. Hesitated. “Sam, come over here, now!”

He bent next to the body, searching for a pulse.

“No!” Her bellow had his head jerking up. “Get away from him! He’s not human, dammit, he’s a vampire—and he’s not dead! He’s gonna get back up, so move your ass over here, fast!”

A vampire? He blinked at that and slowly rose to his feet.

Impossible.

Fangs. Claws. A supposedly dead man on the ground in front of him.

Oh, hell.

He ran to Miranda’s side. Grabbed her left arm. Spared a moment to appreciate the pure bulk of the limb she was gripping with her right hand.

“We’ve got to get inside, call for backup.”

She nodded. Her lips trembled just the faintest bit, but her eyes were wide and determined.

They hurried inside, each casting fast looks back at the prone body of Paul Roberts.

Sam hoped the bastard stayed down. But if he didn’t, well, he had more bullets.

A fucking vampire. Christ. Just when he’d thought things in Cherryville couldn’t get more screwed-up.

“I need an ambulance and more damn backup at 101 Lakeview Street! I need—Shit.”

Miranda’s gaze snapped toward Sam. They were in her kitchen. They’d pulled the two wounded officers inside and barricaded the doors with her furniture. “Sam?”

His eyes lifted. “The line just went dead.”

Oh, no, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear right then. She took three steps toward the window. She’d just make certain Paul was still on the ground—

Glass shattered. She and Sam ran for the living room at the same time.

But it was too late. The vampire was already inside. Paul crouched on the floor, shards of glass from one of her picture windows all around him.

Sam jumped forward, gun ready.

He fired.

Paul attacked. He was on Sam in less than two seconds. “I don’t fucking like getting shot!” Blood covered his chest. Dripped from his mouth. Paul grabbed Sam’s right wrist and twisted. The gun dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Miranda grabbed the limb she’d propped next to the couch.

Paul drove his teeth into Sam’s throat.

“No!” She swung the limb straight at his back, hitting as hard as she could. Again and again and—