“—is right here,” Miranda snapped, glaring up at him. She appreciated that he was worried about her. She knew he was scared, she could see the fear in his eyes. Sam might not be perfect, often he was far, far from perfect, but he cared about her. She’d always known that, so she refrained from screaming at him. Instead she said, “I’m right here, Sam, and I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Getting shot. Getting assaulted. That’s what you’re doing!”

Okay. He had a point there, but—“I’m going to help Cain. I will find Paul, because if I don’t, if we don’t, the guy will just keep killing.”

“Look, Miranda, I get that the guy faked his death and he’s been preying on women—”

Ah, so that was the story he’d been told while she’d been stuck in the hospital.

“—but you can just leave this alone. This isn’t a job for you. You work with kids, for God’s sake. You don’t chase criminals.”

She hadn’t, not until this criminal had literally walked right through her living room door and come after her. “This time I do.”

Cain watched the exchange between them, eyes intense.

“Let the Bureau gang handle it. They can afford a little spilled blood. You can’t.”

Well, not much more, anyway. She opened her mouth to reply—

But Cain beat her to the punch, saying, “You’re looking for him, Deputy Michaels. You started searching after the first attack, and you’ve been working nonstop to find Roberts.”

Her eyes widened at Cain’s statement, but she wasn’t particularly surprised. Beneath his I-don’t-give-a-damn persona, she’d found the real man sometimes cared too much. “Sam?” He was a good deputy, a little too lax with the pretty women, a little too slow to break up the occasional bar fight at Pete’s, but he didn’t let abusers walk. Killers he took down, and men who hurt women and children, well, he’d always seemed to make a special point of putting them away. For as long as he could.

His gaze didn’t meet hers. “I don’t want you gettin’ hurt, Miranda.”

The bastard. Her lips parted in surprise. He’d been deliberately downplaying his concern, telling her she had nothing to worry about, when he’d been out there tracking the vampire.

Of course, he didn’t know Paul was a vampire, but...

“Those deputies sure got to the scene fast last night,” Cain murmured.

Her eyes narrowed. Yeah, they had.

A small shrug from Sam. “Some of ’em might have been stationed in the area.” To keep an eye on her. His gaze lifted, finally held hers. “But even with my men and the Bureau boys and girls, you weren’t safe. This is way out of your league, and you need to pull out of this mess before you windup with something one hell of a lot more serious than just a flesh wound.”

“I know you’re worried”—her voice was calm, a serious effort that—“but I’m not just going to back off this thing and go hide—”

“You’re a damn computer teacher, not—”

“I’m one of the women he chose. He came looking for me, tried to kill me. And he’ll do the same to others.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to stick my head in the sand and pretend I’m not involved. I will help Cain stop him.”

She saw the fury that hardened Sam’s expression. He jabbed his index finger into Cain’s chest. “Then you damn well need to keep a better watch on her, ’cause if she gets hurt again, I’m coming after your ass.”

Cain didn’t look particularly worried. One black brow rose.

Sam grunted. “Now let’s get the hell out of here—”

“Because we’ve got a killer to catch,” Cain finished softly.

They’d just left the hospital when Cain got the call from Santiago. Apparently, Paul Roberts hadn’t just snuck off into the night to lick his wounds.

He’d stopped at Pete’s, the busiest of the local bars, picked up a visiting co-ed named Christie, and killed her in the back alley.

Sonofabitch. The news of the woman’s death hit Cain like a punch in the gut.

His fault.

He should have known. The vampire had lost a lot of blood the night before. He would have needed to restock, and a psychotic like Paul wouldn’t be satisfied with a stop by the hospital and a few bags from the blood bank. No, he’d like his food fresh.

And fighting.

Dammit.

If he hadn’t been so worried about Miranda, he might have been able to think straight. To realize that Paul was like any wounded animal, a shitload more dangerous when he was hurt.

“We’re on our way,” Cain muttered, then snapped the cell phone shut. Miranda sat beside him in the car, now clad in a pair of jeans and a loose button-up shirt. She was still too pale, and the bruises on her throat were too dark. He should stop by the station, let her out, and—

“He killed another woman, didn’t he?”

He jerked his head in agreement and heard the soft sigh that passed her lips.

“Did he hurt her very much?”

Probably. The bastard sure seemed to enjoy hurting women. “Santiago says he drained her nearly dry. Then cut her throat.” Vamps usually did that, to throw the humans off track.

“I-I thought he hunted women over the Internet, picked out his prey.”

His fingers tightened around the wheel. “He was desperate last night. He’d lost too much blood, had gotten too weak—”