He cocked a grin that would have been heartwarming, had he not been a psychopath. “Why would I kill you?”
“Because I saw you this morning. Drunk or not, you were leaving the scene of a crime. If I tell the cops . . .”
Still grinning. “Having another cigarette?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re smoking again.”
I felt my brow furrow and put my hands on my hips, feeling indignant. “I’m smoking? I’m not smoking anything, Pike. I saw you well and fine.”
“No,” he said, striding toward me, pointing. “You’re actually smoking.”
I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see a plume of gray-black smoke rise up from my shoulder blade and the cotton strap of my tank top engulfed by a tiny flame.
“Son of a bitch!”
Pike had me in his arms in a split second and was wrapping me in one of Emerson’s discarded muslin swatches. He spun me as he wrapped and before I knew it, I was fairly well mummified.
“Thanks. I think it’s out.” I tried to wiggle my arms but they were clamped to my sides. “A little help?”
Pike pulled a chair out from Emerson’s drafting table and plopped himself down. He kicked up his feet and crossed his own arms in front of his chest. “No.”
“No?”
He wagged his head. “No. I’m not going to help you get out of that until you answer some questions for me.”
I tried to take a step, but my legs were clamped too. I considered a Hulk-like show of vampire prowess, but then I’d have some explaining to do.
“What kind of girl catches on fire and doesn’t know it?”
I bit down hard, feeling the edge of my fangs slicing into my gums.
Looks like I would have some explaining to do, after all.
“Why do you care?” I asked, chin hitched.
“Because I just walked in on a woman snooping around a dead woman’s place, and said woman—the first one—caught on fire.”
I tried to shrug nonchalantly. “So?”
“So there is no fire around. And I had to tell you that you were on fire. Who does that?”
“Spontaneous combustion happens, Pike. Look it up on Wikipedia.”
He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Can you help me sit down at least?”
I started to take a series of minuscule steps while Pike pulled a chair out for me. He put his large hands over my shoulder and that same spark shot through me, making every hair on my swaddled arms stand on end. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Get off me,” I said, maneuvering myself into the chair. I sat down hard, feeling Emerson’s cheap chair selection ringing up my tailbone. “This is rather uncomfortable.”
Pike sat across from me and narrowed his eyes into what I figured he supposed was an intimidating glare. I rubbed the tip of my tongue over one fang and felt my stomach growl when my eyes fell to the thick vein in his neck, pumping fresh blood.
“I’m here.” I tried to shrug. “What the hell do you want to ask me?”
Now Pike leaned back and kicked one ankle over his knee. I told myself that the constant salivation was a result of skipping my breakfast pouch and had nothing to do with the way his jeans rode up at the thighs or the way he pursed his red, full lips.
I bit mine.
“Apart from this whole thing,” he said, gesturing to the apartment. “How do you know Emerson?”
I rolled my eyes. Why were the pretty ones always so dumb?
“We’re both fashion designers. We meet up at events and she’s a two-faced design stealer.” Pike’s eyebrows rose and I hurriedly tacked on, “God rest her soul.”
“So you and she weren’t friends?”
“What gave you that impression, Colombo?”
Pike blew out a sigh. “So before you,” he cleared his throat, “caught fire, what were you doing here? Stealing?”
“Stealing my own designs? Hardly. I was looking for clues.”
“Clues?”
I was getting frustrated and the muslin was starting to chafe. “About who killed Emerson!”
“If you hated her, why would you care?”
“Because I’m a good fucking person, okay?” I stopped trying to hide my annoyance, and that seemed to make Pike crack a self-appreciative grin. “I’m not so sure about that. Good fucking people don’t burst into flames.”
“Look it up!” I snapped.
Pike popped out of his chair. “Can I take a picture of you?”
“So you can sell it to some bondage website? Hell no.”
“Okay, I’ll cut you free.” He produced a pocketknife and flicked it open. He didn’t look menacing nor did he brandish the weapon in any way other than to show me