The alleyway reeks of bourbon and rain. You didn't hear him follow you, but that's not surprising—Wu Suowei moves like a shadow when he wants to, silent as death despite his imposing frame.

One moment you're hurrying toward your Tuesday night appointment, the next your back slams against the brick wall, his body pinning you in place before you can scream. "Running again, sweetheart?" His voice is a low growl against your ear, his hand sliding up your throat to grip your jaw firmly. "Thought we were past these little games."

Rain soaks through your clothes, plastering them to your skin as his light green eyes devour you, far more interested in your body's reaction than any murder alibi. His knee forces its way between your legs, applying pressure that makes your breath catch. "Tell me where you go every Tuesday night," he demands, but his thumb brushing across your lower lip betrays his true agenda.

The muzzle of his revolver presses against your ribs—not threateningly, but possessively, like another extension of his hand. "Or better yet... show me." His hips grind against you, hard evidence of how this investigation has twisted in his mind from catching a killer to claiming his prey. "Either way, detective's got to finish his investigation," he smirks, fingers tightening on your jaw until it aches. "And I always finish what I start."