Chapter 1

Monday, quarter after midnight, downtown Richmond. Neon lights glistened like wet paint off the cars parked along the cobbled streets of Shockhoe Slip. As off-duty police detective Willis Moore eased his 350Z Coupe down the narrow street, those same lights slid over his polished red hood and tinted windows like ephemeral flames, dancing over the car and disappearing behind him into the night. He had his windows down, his bass pumping, and dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

Here he was anonymous, just another soul among those huddled in doorways or perched in the glow of streetlamps. The heavy hip-hop beat blaring from his speakers turned a few heads, but most weren’t interested in his passing. They had their own lives to worry about and could spare no time for his. Will could appreciate that mentality. Lately, he hadn’t had much interest in his own life, either.

It’d been a hellacious day for him. The first time back to work at the precinct after a forced, month-long leave, and when five o’clock finally rolled around, Will had been ready to call it quits. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he wasn’t ready for the fake smiles, the inane small talk, the whispered conversations that stopped when he came into a room. Men he’d worked with for years now went out of their way to avoid him. When he tried to dive into a new case, he was told to take it easy, give himself some time to get back into the swing of things.

Hell, he’d been given enough time already. He wanted, needed,to move on.

Ahead, a stop light flickered from amber to red. Will toyed with the idea of not stopping—who’d notice? Who’d care? But the upstanding citizen in him hit the brakes at the last second, throwing him forward a little in his seat. Instinct caused his hand to stray to the volume knob on the radio; at the last minute he caught himself before he could turn it down. Despite the nagging headache that tugged behind his eyes, he cranked the knob the other way. The car shuddered beneath the increased beat.

Will glanced out the driver’s side window. Two women stood on the curb, mini-skirts hiked up to reveal tanned thighs, halter tops straining over ample breasts. One Asian, one Hispanic, neither Will’s flavor of choice. They giggled and waved, but he turned back to the street and gunned his engine, waiting for the light to change. Sorry, girls.

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement out the passenger side window. He glanced that way, saw a cluster of young men leaning against the side of an old movie theater, and took his foot off the gas as he did a double take.

Now that was more like what he had in mind.

There were five of them in all, the youngest probably not yet eighteen. They wore tight shorts and torn T-shirts that exposed smooth, flat abdomens. Dyed hair spiked above dark eyeliner rimming haunted eyes. Crotches bulged obscenely. Black leather tied in makeshift bracelets along pale arms. One kid wore a battered army jacket; another dribbled a scuffed basketball. Two of them had already paired off, rubbing against each other and snickering between stolen kisses as they moved away from the others into the shadows.

But the one Will had noticed, the one he lowered his shades to get a better look at, stood by himself at the front of the group. He had translucent skin that seemed to glow in the lamplight, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in years. His black hair shone almost blue in the night, the short bangs framing his face and ears in a pixie cut. He wore a silver mesh tank top cropped above his navel and a pair of black biker shorts pulled down low over bony hips. Will found his gaze drawn to the flat planes of that bare stomach, the thin muscles taut and lean, the skin luminous against the shadows.

A car horn blared behind him; the light had changed. Will hit the gas and shot through the intersection, his mind lingering on the scantily-clad hustler and his friends. At the next block, without making a conscious decision about it, Will turned and circled back for a second look.

Damn.

You shouldn’t, he told himself, but his body didn’t listen. His blood had risen at the sight of exposed white flesh, and when he closed his eyes, he could well imagine his own dark fingers splayed over that pale midriff like the shadows themselves.

You didn’t even see his face, a voice inside him muttered.

Will didn’t care. He’d been driving for hours, ever since he’d left the precinct, and for what?

For this.

Some part of him needed this, he knew. Why else would he be in the Slip, cruising the street? Music blaring, sunglasses on, an erection throbbing at his crotch? He needed release.