eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 2932 Ross Clark Circle, #384 Dothan, AL 36301 Angel Eyes Copyright © 2006 by Jaycee Clark Cover by Scott Carpenter ISBN: 1-59998-021-5 www.samhainpublishing.com All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: April 2006
Angel Eyes Jaycee Clark
Dedication I have to thank my family for always believing in me. I dedicate this book to the eccentric souls of the world.
Angel Eyes
Prologue Her eyes, those pale eyes, the purest blue of folded snow watched him. Her mouth moved, or tried to, behind the tape. He wondered what she wanted to tell him. Probably beg, plead. They all did. It was rather boring at times. But then, he loved it. Boring or not, aggravating or not, it was what he waited for. What he longed for. The pleading, the begging, the hope. “Do you know how much fun we’re going to have?” He leaned down and softly kissed her cheek. She moaned. Her long body was stretched out for him, hands and feet bound at different posts on the stripped bed. A naked sacrifice. An angel. Just for him. The classical strings of Beethoven strained against the air, just as the woman did against her bonds. For some reason, the music annoyed him. He should have chosen a different piece, a different disc. But, it was too late for that. His schedule would be thrown off if he stopped just to select different music. This one loved Beethoven, so it only seemed fitting she should get to listen to it. Besides, the music was moody, impressionable. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, to run down into her red hairline.
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Jaycee Clark
She knew better than to shut her eyes when he was with her. He taught her that the first day. He leaned over and grazed his finger over her right top eyelid, which was now missing several eyelashes. “The tape is never pleasant is it?” He’d taped her eyes open when she refused to watch him. They always learned after the tape. He no longer had that problem with the bitch. He breathed deep and let the moment flow into him, around him, become him. He laughed. “I want to show you something.” He walked over the concrete floor, his shoes, the scrub booties he had over the tops, whispering along the cement. “You’re not the first you know.” He stopped in front of an armoire, its cherry doors slightly scarred and scuffed. “Do you want to know what is in here?” He watched her, waited. She shook her head from side to side. “Oh come. You know you want to know. Just a bit curious?” This time she merely stared at him, again, her chin moving, but no intelligible sounds came from behind the tape. “Well, I’ll show you anyway. Makes what’s to come so much more…” He opened the armoire to allow her to see, “Enjoyable,” he finished, watching her. For a minute, she frowned. He glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. “Oh, I forgot. Sorry.” He loved toying with them. He flicked the switch that brightened the interior of the armoire. Light reflected down on glass jars. He watched her carefully and knew the moment she knew what she saw. Her eyes widened, then slowly turned to him with terror in the pale depths.
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“I know, isn’t it wonderful? All the angels here with me. All these pretties to watch over me.” He motioned to the jars, which contained the eyeballs of those before her. He tapped an empty space. “Right here is where you’ll be. Do you like the spot?” Now the fun began. One. She shook her head. Two. She blinked and tried to say something again. Three. She struggled against the silk ropes that bound her. So much fun. “You can’t get away, Angel Eyes. No one ever does.” Her moans and whimpers filled the small space of the converted basement. His heartbeat thrummed, pounding the blood in his ears as he slowly stripped down. “Isn’t it interesting?” When he was naked, he strode to the bed. “Shhh,” he told her, caressing her hair back from her face. He leaned down and climbed onto the bed, whispering in her ear. “You know what my favorite part is?” Her head shook from side to side and still she struggled, moaning behind the tape. “My favorite part is when you try so hard to get away, even when I’m inside you. The moment you die, when all the muscles in your body clench…” He sighed, slipped on a condom and smiled. “I love that part.” Just as he surged inside her tight, resisting body, she screamed.
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Jaycee Clark
Chapter One She awoke with the scream still trapped in her throat. Cora gasped for breath, cold with sweat and trembling. God, not another one. She hated dreams like that, dreams so real she could all but taste the terror, thick and dark, swirling around the air, bitter and elusive. Cora tried to erase the images from her head even as she knew it was useless. Useless and empty, but still she tried. That poor woman. Cora stood, not surprised when her legs threatened to give out on her. A knock on her door made her jump. Her heart slammed against her ribs, blood pounding in her ears with the fist on her door. “Cora!” She watched as the doorknob rattled. “Cora!” Taking a deep breath, she stumbled to the door and unlocked it. It swung open from a force on the other side and she fell back against the wall. Kyle stood, glaring at her. “What the hell, woman?” She blinked. His green eyes narrowed. “What? Hey, whoa. You’re not about to pass out on me are you?” He quickly wrapped an arm around her and led her to her bed. “You screamed to wake the dead. I haven’t jolted like that -8-
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since Mrs. Kovoski down the hall decided to take aim at Old Man Hollerman when he made a pass at her.” He glanced around her room. “No boogie men are there? I’m just really not into those, you know.” She smiled and managed to shake her head. She sank back on her bed and closed her eyes, exhaling. Kyle huffed. “I swear, you don’t take care of yourself. I keep telling you, you really must eat better. I shudder at half the stuff you put into your system and that’s just what I know about. Hanson makes the best breakfast. It’s a good thing he’s here tonight. You’re eating in the morning, or rather later this morning.” At the mention of her roommate’s long time boyfriend, she glanced to the doorway to see Hanson staring at her with narrowed eyes. He had on a pair of jeans and his muscular torso and arms were the stuff of many a woman’s fantasy. Not to mention the dark blond hair and the heavy lidded brown eyes. He had that Italian model look to him and she could never quite figure out if she thought him too damn handsome for words, or too pretty for her peace of mind. Damn shame the man was gay, but he and Kyle were happy. She wasn’t happy, but that was hardly here or there. Hanson left the doorway and she heard him in the bathroom, the faucet turn on, the clink of a glass. He returned with a wet cloth and a glass of water. “You look like you could use this.” Hanson’s voice was deep timbered, very male and one of the things she knew Kyle found sexy about his significant other. Cora closed her eyes and exhaled, sipping the water and running the rag over her face. In her mind, she kept seeing those jars, all those jars lined on the shelf. Eyes staring out, pale blue suspended and floating in liquid. She shuddered. “Oh God.” -9-
Jaycee Clark
Kyle sat beside her and brushed her hair back. “That bad was it? Want to talk about it?” She and Kyle had been best friends since childhood. They’d roomed together in college and continued rooming together until she moved away and started her own life. When she moved here two years ago, she looked him up for dinner. He’d wanted a roommate to supplement the income. So here she was. Instead of answering him, she patted his leg. “Thanks for coming to wake me.” “You and your nightmares.” He sighed. “I wish there was more I could do.” You always had nightmares that left the hair standing up.” She knew her nightmares bothered Kyle. She still remembered how she freaked him out when they were in college and several girls went missing. The memory was not one she wanted to dwell on. That incident, though, had forced her to confide in Kyle that sometimes she saw things. And now thanks to Hollywood everyone expected her to say she saw dead people. She didn’t see dead people. No, just their floating eyes, saw the women being killed. She fisted her hands, feeling drained. “I’m sorry I woke you.” He sighed, gave her a quick squeeze and stood. “Well that means good night and you’re not going to talk about it.” Almost to the door, he said, “Stubborn woman.” He paused and looked back at her. His short black hair and green eyes made him handsome, though the smile on his face always made him charming. Now, however, no dimples peeked at her, only concern furrowed his brow. “You will eat in the morning. I’ll ask Hanson to fix up his omelets.” The thought of food made her nauseous, but she smiled. As he closed the door, she reached over and flipped off the light. Light or dark, it -10-
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didn’t really matter. For her the fear was in her mind, from people she couldn’t always see, but felt. For her terror was in sleep. She stared at the ceiling, watching the play of light and shadows. Angel Eyes. The woman had pale blue eyes. Cora O’Donnell didn’t need to look in the mirror to see her own eyes. She knew the color. Angel blue, her grandmother had called it. Angel blue…
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Jaycee Clark
Chapter Two Rogan Duran stared down into his beer and felt sorry for himself. That pissed him off. He made it a point to never feel sorry for himself, but it was the truth, his life was shit. Once he’d been a war hero, following orders that were never reported, because technically the missions under several joint special ops forces, had never happened. There were no records. But that was all before. Before the mission gone wrong, which had landed him in the infirmary, followed by his reassignment to the Army’s Criminal Investigative Unit. Before Ginger, before the nightmare, before the investigation. He sat and listened to the activity happening in the bar. Leo’s, a cop hang out, was in Maryland on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. The air was thick with squawking radios, men and women rehashing the day’s events and cursing the turn around of the justice system. The dark wood interior, scarred tables and green vinyl had probably never been changed. And it was all as normal to him as breathing, as familiar as the smell of grilling burgers and beer. He sighed and took another sip of his dark ale. He must be getting old. Anymore, beer left a bad taste in his mouth. He motioned to the waitress and ordered a cup of coffee while he waited to meet his friend, Detective Clayton Whitesell. He’d met the man two years ago after he’d
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been discharged. They’d hit it off, in this very bar and had been friends of sorts ever since. Clayton worked in the homicide unit and Rogan freelanced and worked for the Washington Post. He covered the military stories. To be perfectly honest, he was bored out of his mind. His heart wasn’t in it and he half ass did the job. He was simply used to more. He wanted more. He needed more. But that wasn’t to be. At least not at present. “Man, I gave up a date for this?” A hand slapped him on the shoulder. Rogan looked up and shrugged his friend’s hand off. Rogan studied Clayton as the man sat opposite him. The detective’s salt and peppered hair was worn longer than most of his contemporaries thought fashionable and most of the younger rookies would have called fashionable. The mustache, also salt and peppered, gave the cop a rather criminal look, or maybe it was just the hard green eyes. “I didn’t ask you to give up your date,” Rogan said, smiling as the waitress set his coffee in front of him. Clayton ordered the same. “What are you working on?” Clayton slid the saltshaker over the scarred, varnished wood of the tabletop. “Nothing worth talking about, why?” Clayton shifted. “You going on assignment any time soon?” “Do I need to?” Technically Rogan was a reporter now, not a military investigator, but the two had…bonded, for lack of a better word. Clayton sighed. “You and I talked about your case, about the missing girls.” -13-
Jaycee Clark
For a moment, Rogan didn’t say anything. He had told Clayton of what led to his discharge, of the nightmare he’d found himself in and never had awakened from. Missing girls… “And women,” Rogan muttered. Clayton’s
green
eyes
narrowed.
“Do
you
want to
have
the
investigation reopened on you? I’m trying to help here.” A tingle of apprehension walked its cold fingers down Rogan’s spine. He didn’t move, didn’t twitch. Instead he looked across the table at one of the few men he’d ever call if he were in trouble. “What are you here for, Clayton? Why did you call for this meeting?” Clayton sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “A woman who was reported missing from a county in the western part of the state some year ago—her body was found yesterday.” The tingle became a squad marching down his backbone. “And?” His heart thrummed in his chest, knowing what he’d hear before Clayton told him. “She’s like the others. Pleasant, nice from all accounts, knew people, no variation from her routine before, poof. She’s gone.” Rogan sipped his coffee, wishing he’d kept his beer. “People vanish every day, Clayton.” Clayton leaned back as the waitress returned with his coffee. “Yes, but it’s not every day the missing person is a woman with pale, freaky blue eyes.” Freaky… Rogan smiled in spite of himself. Pale blue eyes…he supposed some might see them as odd or freakish. He never had. He’d loved that color, which had always reminded him of the purest glacier, where ice met water.
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Angel Eyes
The memory of Ginger’s eyes, as she laughed at something he’d said, flashed in his mind. “Damn,” he finally said, and drank the rest of his bitter coffee down. “Yes, that’s it in a word.” “Can you tell me any more?” He ran a hand over his Henley, suddenly wishing he’d put this meeting off, wishing he’d moved across the country instead of staying on his own quest. “Not at this time. Just thought you might want to know since…” Clayton trailed off. “Well, since things with you are as they are.” Rogan shook his head and wished… What? Anger beat in him. He knew Ginger was dead, he’d known from the beginning. He’d known when she hadn’t come home after two days, and then Colonel McClafferty had shown up on his doorstep there on Ft. Hood with the MP’s. Life after that had been a blur. Questions, questions and more questions. There had been other women who had vanished off bases, all seemingly normal women, many of them wives of servicemen, some of them enlisted, officers, all had vanished, all had been on or near bases he had served on. What the fuck didn’t even begin to cover the confusion and fog of that time. It wasn’t something he could easily let go. It had ruined his career, and he knew some still believed he was behind the disappearances. “Thanks,” he said, looking into Clayton’s eyes. “So where did this happen, maybe I should call my editor and ask him if he’d be interested in this story.”
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Jaycee Clark
Clayton leveled a finger at him. “You, my friend, are going to stay the hell away. I know who you are. But if others don’t, you can bet your ass they will.” “Thanks to modern technology.” He cursed under his breath. This was just what he needed. They finished their coffees and both ordered burgers. Blue eyes, just disappeared. It could be a coincidence. “We don’t know anything yet,” Clayton said as if reading his thoughts. He often wondered how the man could read him so easily. Rogan decided to change the subject. “How’s Roni?” He’d met Whitesell’s partner a few times, and the woman surprised him. She was petite, looked more like a kindergarten teacher than a homicide detective. He had nothing against Detective Kershaw, but he was damn glad she wasn’t here right now. “Fine. She wanted to come along. Which means I’ll be dodging questions for the next week. Woman may look like she’s thinking about grading papers, but her mind is shrewd and tactical.” Rogan sighed and dunked a fry into ketchup then tossed it down and pushed the plate aside. Clayton shook his head. “I debated whether or not to tell you, but figured you’d want to know. Hell, I’d want to know if I were in your shoes.” “Yeah, but there’s not much I can do but wait.” He stood, slapped his hand against the side of Clayton’s shoulder and said, “Thanks. I owe you one.” Clayton nodded. “Keep your phone on, so I can reach you.” He stopped halfway slipping his leather jacket on. “Why?”
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Angel Eyes
“It’ll look better should the need arise.” Clayton took another bite of his burger. “And don’t get any ideas about going on vacation in the southwest.” He paused and tilted his head. “So another was reported missing was she? Where?” Then he huffed out a breath. “Never mind. I’ll do my own searches.” Without another word, he walked across the bar and shoved through the door. For a moment, he stood on the sidewalk, watching the traffic, the couples, the cops. He felt like a damn criminal. With another curse, he strode to his bike and jerked on his helmet. He straddled the seat and cranked his baby. A black and silver Fat Boy. The sweetest damn Harley he’d seen in a long time. The man he’d bought it off of was selling it because he was being shipped out and didn’t want to have to worry about it. It had helped that Rogan knew the man selling it. An old buddy he’d served with on several missions. One of whom who’d stood by him when Rogan’s life unraveled to hell and back. The motor purred and growled to life. Another missing woman. Blue eyes… This wasn’t happening, not again. But he knew it would. Again and again and again, until someone found the real killer. He revved up the bike. His mother worried he’d get killed on this bike. Rogan adjusted the strap to his helmet and took off. He knew it was another threat all together that would kill him. Without a doubt in his mind, women would be the death of him.
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Jaycee Clark
Chapter Three Oh the joys of it all. He hummed as he packed his precious, precious angels. So many, so wonderful, so loving. It was, of course, time to hunt again. He knew that. The police were already all over the missing girl. And they’d never find her. The fools. They never found them before. Never. The angels were the point of it all, the fun, the meaning behind all he did. But the added bonuses were the things left in his wake. Ruined plans, ruined lives. He chuckled and set another jar back in its proper place. Many of the slots were already filled. Carefully, he held another then slid the container onto the wooden shelf, making certain all the dust was gone and the glass was without fingerprints. He really hated fingerprints on glass. He couldn’t wait until the day when the entire armoire was filled with his angels. Angels only for him. Angels who would forever belong solely to him. He ran a finger lovingly over the top of each jar. Who would be next? He tilted his head and looked at the map on the wall. Nothing called to him. He’d already been in several of the southern states, a few in the Midwest. Texas, but it was big. California he’d already visited. Nice little wine girl and the co-ed from Berkley. Probably shouldn’t head there again. Maybe he’d just toss a dart and see where the fates took him. -18-
Angel Eyes
Feeling better, he picked up the last jar. Poor thing, she never really understood. Even when he showed her the angels. Oh well. He tucked the envelope with his photos into the back of the shelf. He’d already looked through his pictures. One day he’d create works of art with all his pretties. A sort of gallery that paid respect to his angels. He looked at the shelf, at the gleaming jars. Then again, maybe he’d put the corresponding photos beside or behind the jars. He thought about it and then discarded the idea. He hummed as he continued to clean. Who would be next? Not anyone too close to home, that would never be good, and had led to trouble and a quick move in the past. But still he knew he should probably have some vague idea of where to look for her. What angel would see him and know?
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Jaycee Clark
Chapter Four Two Months later Cora sat behind her desk, in her shop, Mystic Moons, and stared out the window at the late Arizona day. “What’s the matter?” Lake asked her, handing over a paper bag with the whiff of cinnamon and apples wafting from it. Cora pulled her attention back. “What kind is this?” “Apple strudel. Monte made them just this morning.” Lake sat on the other stool behind the counter and slid a Styrofoam cup of coffee over to Cora. “So spill. You’ve been moping around here all week.” At one time, when Cora had first moved to Sedona from Seattle, she would never have dreamt she’d be chummy with the other psychic, Lake. Lake was into the dark and dreary, catered more to the Goth sect of clientele. Where as Mystic Moons went towards the move to naturalism and organic. Bath products that were purely botanical from immigrant recipes. Cora carried books and scrying stones, herbs both potted and dried. Lake—well, Lake’s shop was full of incense, silk hangings, whispery music and a crystal ball set atop a silver hand. “Come on, you know you can tell me. Do I need to kick some guy’s ass? Cast a spell on the woman who runs the flower shop and will never be nice?” Cora grinned, and shook her head. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel…” At loss for the correct term, she settled. “Right.” -20-
Angel Eyes
Lake, red headed, tall and willowy, and stacked like a Viking goddess, was the envy of any sane woman and the fantasy of many men. She studied Cora for a moment, her dark green eyes narrowing. “Pregnant?” Cora smiled. “That would require sex and sadly, I haven’t had any.” Lake rolled her eyes. “You could be having plenty. I told you that Mitch over from the furniture store has been keeping an eye on you. So has Chris.” Cora scoffed. “Mitch from the furniture store? No, I don’t think so. And Chris? Monte’s Chris that couldn’t even make a regular cup of coffee?” At Cora’s raised brow, Lake amended, “I’ll admit though, something is wrong with that boy. His aura is entirely too dark. But Mitch is a sweetie.” “Mitch is simply the new guy in town. You try to get me to go after every new guy that settles here.” “Yeah, with those faded Levi’s and worn shirts.” Lake sighed and broke into her own muffin. “Man gives me dreams.” “So why don’t you go out with him?” Lake snorted. “I think I intimidate him.” Lake shrugged. “Besides, I’m seeing someone, remember?” Cora laughed. “You always use that as an excuse. I don’t know why you think you intimidate men. You’re very nice and sweet.” “And you’re a girl.” Lake broke off another piece of muffin and shoved it into her mouth. “Men are different. Men go for women like you.” This was news to her. “Really? I think I missed that one.” Lake shook her head again. “They do. Those eyes stop any man in his tracks, I’ve seen it. You’ve got this complex innocent-but-worldly image going. Drives them nuts. You really just need to loosen up. Come with me this weekend to Sunsets and we’ll have all sorts of fun.” -21-
Jaycee Clark
Sunsets was the local bar where everyone went. Depending on the semester and the current student frame of mind, it was either crammed with college grads or it was near empty with retirees and the golf playing, high rolling sect. “College is dumping it this semester. It’s only the golf pros are hanging there.” Lake leaned in closer. “And doctors. I met two last weekend. Ohmygod, Cora, you should have been there. Tall, dark and handsome. The other was blond, taller than me and soooo inventive in the bedroom.” Cora held up a hand. “Please. No more. I don’t need to hear any more of your war stories.” For the life of her, she could never figure out why Lake had singled her to share all her girl stories with. It seemed odd, but then Cora had never been one to have friends, so maybe this was normal. Kyle had never boasted of his bedroom stories, at least not to her. “Why is it, anytime I bring up sex, you go all schoolgirl on me?” Lake grinned, pulling the lid off her cup and taking a sip, watching Cora with those big green eyes. “I don’t know. I’m not used to it.” Lake frowned. “Didn’t you have a best friend growing up?” “Yes. Kyle.” “No, silly, a girl friend?” Cora shook her head. “A sister?” “Nope.” “A female cousin that loved to brag how she banged the quarterback on the fifty yard line?” Again she shook her head.
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“Oh well, then. We’ll just look at this as your education in female camaraderie.” Cora laughed. “Fine. I give up. You can shower me with all your stories. Then if I ever meet a man I either don’t scare off, doesn’t laugh off into the sunset, or just freak out, I’ll know what to do with him.” Lake grinned, her full lips lifting almost slyly at the corners. “I wonder.” She tapped her long purple nails—and Lake always had purple nails—against the countertop. “It’s a good thing things are so slow today. I think I’m going to go to the bookstore and get you a book.” “On sex? Trust me, some things I know.” Lake threw her head back and laughed. “Oh darling, there’s sex and then there’s sex.” She reached out and patted Cora’s hand. “First the knowledge, then the men. I think we’ll make a goddess out of you yet.” She shook her head. “You’re nuts. And what are you doing at Sunsets admiring other men when you’re with someone?” Lake tilted her head one way, then the other. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to. Simon and I have an understanding.” “Mmmmm.” Cora rearranged the jewelry stand, then straightened the chained necklaces hanging there. “Mmmm… What does that mean? Well, never mind. Suffice it to say, Simon manages to do things that make even me blush.” The bell over the door chimed. Thank God. “And that’s my cue to leave.” Lake stood and gathered her paper goods, her cup and muffin crumbs and stopped at the door. “I’ll be over tomorrow with goodies.” Cora could only smile and wave. Oh…goody. A A A
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Jaycee Clark
Rogan Duran wondered what in the hell he was doing in Sedona, Arizona. It wasn’t a place he’d ever choose to go, and yet, like some compulsion, he was drawn here. Rogan took off his helmet as he climbed off his bike and kicked the kickstand down. He looked up and down the street. He needed some coffee and a place to stay. Clayton was pissed at him, but the man would get over it. He was tired of letting everyone else dictate where he could go, who he could see, what he was doing. Hell, he was lucky they weren’t telling him when and where he could piss. The day was edging towards noon. He’d left Albuquerque, New Mexico this morning around dawn. The traffic on I40 was heavy, but then a storm was said to be moving out of the Rockies and he’d been told that interstate often shut down due to bad weather. From here, he felt no foretelling of the weather to come. It must be around seventy degrees. He ran a hand through his hair. Needed a haircut but that was life and he really didn’t care about it right now. He’d taken time off work because he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus and his boss was about ready to toss him over for some new Georgetown grad. Not that Rogan would blame the man, but it still irked. He was quickly becoming a has-been in every sense of the word. Maybe he just needed a change of scenery. Completely different. He knew enough about journalism now, he could buy a small town paper and try his hand at being editor. Why not? What the hell was stopping him? He hung his helmet on the handlebars and strode down the sidewalk. Looking up and down the street he saw he’d landed in the touristy part of town. Oh well, learn more this way. At least at first.
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Desert Cup boasted of the best coffee in town. The sign swung precariously in the Arizona wind. He blinked a couple of times. Damn the air was dry here. Shaking off the wayward thought and hoping he didn’t have bug guts on his jacket or shirt, he strode down the sidewalk, passing a jewelry store. Desert Cup’s door stood open and inviting. Rogan walked into the dimly lit coffee bar, the full robust scent of roasted coffee beans, chocolate and baked cookies pulled a smile from him. He stood for a minute looking over the menu, written on a chalkboard in weird colors, hanging over the bar. The man behind the counter replaced a clear glass dome over the top of a cake—chocolate from the looks of it. Rogan was in the mood for a bit more. Again he glanced at the menu. “Decide yet?” the man behind the counter asked. He looked to be about forty, maybe, five-seven, dark hair going thin on top and pulled back into a ponytail. A gold loop winked in his left lobe and he pushed his glasses up his nose. A Hawaiian print apron covered his clothing. Rogan ordered a large house coffee and a chicken salad sandwich. As he waited on his order, he wondered what in the hell he was doing here. Clayton hadn’t said anything else after those first few days when the girl in western Maryland was found and identified as previously missing. Miss Danni Owens had been a grad student, last seen leaving the library at seven twenty-one p.m. The parking lot didn’t have security cameras and even if they had, some of the lights didn’t work. The local community college was now embroiled in a lawsuit filed against it by students, faculty and Miss Owens’ parents. No one liked to see a promising young woman snatched off the street. Her car had still
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Jaycee Clark
been parked where she’d left it. No sign of a struggle. No marks on it, nothing. Her books were found in a dumpster across town. Rogan wasn’t surprised she was dead. Like the others. He didn’t delude himself with false hopes that all these women, with pale blue eyes, were simply being held by some left wing government conspiracy. When people went missing, it was either because they didn’t want to be found, or it was because they had been taken against their will and were probably dead. Which left the who and the why. For him, the why seemed self-explanatory. They all had the same color eyes. The who left him floundering. Many had thought he was behind it. He wasn’t. Regardless of the fact that several of the missing women disappeared near an area where he’d been stationed. Thankfully, while his involvement might be questioned in some cases, he had airtight alibis on all the rest. Yet, he wondered. There were nights he’d wondered if maybe he had done it. The blackouts from his injury weren’t helpful. Lost areas of time he had no way of proving. His order was called and Rogan stood, walking to the counter. “Hi, Monte,” a female voice said from the doorway. “I think I’ll have my usual. Make it on toasted rye today though.” She was looking over her shoulder and then turned back. “And how are the plans coming? Everything still a go?” “Far as I can tell. Talked to Hanson just this morning and he says Kyle has no idea,” Monte answered. Rogan, busy picking up his basket and cup, froze.
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She only stood a couple of inches over five feet, her figure nothing to make a man stop dead in his tracks. But her eyes… She looked up and her eyes, a pale blue stared at him for a full minute before she blinked, smiled and then shook her head. She turned back to Monte who was behind the bar. “Great. Maybe I’ll actually pull a surprise party off for once in my life.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Rogan, a smile still on her face, yet a question in her eyes. Rogan took a deep breath and walked to his table. What was he doing here?
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Chapter Five Cora worked on her website that afternoon. Trying to update was a pain in the ass. It was time to give herself a new look. The flat, drab blue background did nothing for her. Maybe she’d purchase Photoshop Elements and play with layering. Lake was always going on about how easy it was. And she already had Frontpage. How hard could it be? She liked the blue colors, but maybe she’d layer it with some green and purples. Give it a sky theme. Maybe do some of that fading stuff with stars and moons in the background. She grabbed the mini-legal pad she always kept close and jotted down a few notes. The bell above her door chimed and she looked up. All afternoon she’d only had five customers stop in, but then it was midweek and that was life. She knew closer to the weekend things always picked up. Which was why she was closed on Tuesdays and closed early on Wednesdays at four instead of five. It was now three fiftythree. She sighed. Oh well, if she could get a sale, that was all that mattered. Hell. It was him. Faded and worn Levi’s, their starched crease arrow straight, stretched over long legs and trim hips. Black boots. A long sleeved, dark red shirt under a chambray shirt with a button missing and a brown -28-
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leather jacket tossed over his arm. She looked across the street and noticed the Harley hadn’t moved. Was it his? She’d bet it was. His face was weathered and creased from life or worry—perhaps both. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and eyes, his forehead. She wondered, for some absurd reason, if he ever smiled. His eyes were a dark, chocolate brown. A color she’d always thought of as soft, but his were hard, unwavering and a bit unnerving. His brows, dark as his hair, faintly arched over his eyes, his nose was Romanesque and slightly crooked as if it’d been broken in the past. As he neared, she noticed again the scar splitting his left eyebrow. His mouth was firm, the lips neither full nor too thin. His neck was thick and corded, his shoulders probably the same. Cora sighed. Just as before in the coffee shop, she felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to stay or run. The soft mood music she had on chimed from speakers, the birds chirping, the piano soothing. It seemed contradictory to the mood that suddenly filled the shop. “Can—” She cleared her throat. “Can I help you?” His dark, unwavering gaze skewered her to the spot, narrowing and crinkling at the edges. Then he smiled and it completely changed his entire countenance. The worry and seriousness lining his face seemed to relax as he walked closer. Cora was glad for the counter between them. “I don’t know, maybe you can.” He looked around the shop as he stopped at the counter. “What is this place?” “Mystic Moons,” she answered, standing now and straightening the area around the cash register. -29-
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“I got that. I wanted to know what it specializes in.” “Natural products. Shampoos, soaps, all organic and from age-old recipes.
Things
our
grandmothers
would
have
used
or
great-
grandmothers in many cases.” She walked over and glanced at him. “Books on herbs. Here’s some rosemary.” She pointed to the potted plant. He picked it up and sniffed, then nodded. His eyes were narrowed, but not in study, more like confusion. “Here’s a book on spells,” he said, picking it up and setting down the rosemary. “Yes, well, that’s what people want now.” “So you provide. Are you a witch?” She sighed. For some reason that question always bothered her. “Look, what I am or am not, is really no one’s business but my own. I have customers who look for certain materials. I merely provide those materials. Just because you go into a music store and see a large selection on rock doesn’t mean every person working there is into heavy metal.” He grinned at her again, his head tilting to the side. “Anyone ever told you, you have amazing eyes.” She rolled hers. “No, never.” Cora walked back to the counter and let him cruise. What was he doing here? She knew it wasn’t to buy any new age mysticism. “I hear you’re psychic,” he said, picking up a green marble orb from its pedestal of silver trees. This time she sighed. “And?” He turned and pierced her with those eyes. Cora shivered and rubbed her arms, holding his stare, though she wanted to look away. “So do you do like…” He frowned and put the orb back. She noticed his fingers were
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long, scarred and the nails blunt. The cuffs from his red shirt peeked out from under the chambray sleeves. “Do you?” His question jerked her attention back to him. “I’m sorry, do what?” “Do you tell fortunes?” What a pity. If ever she met a man who might understand, he wasn’t it. “And if I do?” He shrugged. “Personally, I’ve never held much stock in fortunes that are yet to be made or lost.” It was her turn to frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He picked up her dusty set of tarot cards. “It means that I think most of this is just for…” He shrugged again. “Show?” she finished for him. It wasn’t all that far from what she herself believed, but yet, the fact he was so condescending about it bothered her. “Not show exactly, what many believe in, isn’t show, but what makes them believe in the first place?” “A philosopher,” she muttered. She huffed a breath and shoved a wayward curl behind her ear and strode to the bookshelf. “You in town for long?” For a minute he didn’t answer. Then he said, “Depends.” He had a deep voice. Why hadn’t she noticed before? And it mattered why? It didn’t. Without looking at him directly, she pulled a book off the bookshelf. Pagan Beliefs and the Resurgence in Modern Civilization. That should do it. She handed it to him. “Here, you can buy this and then let me know all the answers.” “But aren’t psychics supposed to know all the answers?” -31-
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She glanced at him, angered, yet not surprised. Turning back to the bookshelf she grabbed Harper’s Guide to the Psyche: Sensitives. “Here’s another one. That’ll be…” she quickly added it up in her head, “…thirtythree dollars. Though I need to add tax.” His lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh at her, but didn’t. Instead he took the book she held out to him and stacked it with the other one. “I’d like to look around a bit more.” Cora glanced at the clock. It was already after four. “Fine.” She walked to the door and turned the sign over so it read Closed to the outside world. Looking out over the street, she shivered and an image from an old nightmare rose up. Eyes in jars… Pretty, pretty angels… Again she shivered and looked back at the man in her store. Where did he come from? What did he want? And why did she think of her stupid dream now? She’d only had it that once, but it had stayed with her. She studied the man who was now looking through her lotions and shampoos. A man who knew such things was either gay or in a relationship. “What scent does your significant other like?” she asked, not wanting to label either way. He flashed her another smile. “As I’m currently without a significant other, I don’t know.” She felt a blush stain her cheeks. “I thought of getting something for my mother.” “Oh. And what scents does she like?” A frown appeared between his brows. Cora walked over to him. “She doesn’t like things that are too floral, but she’s not really into spices either, or too fruity.” -32-
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“Hmmm…” She looked over the shelves. There was a jasmine one that was popular, but it was very strong. Another was apple blossom, but it was also strong. “Here’s one with a light citrus scent.” She opened the bottle and let him smell it. His eyes met hers and the corner of his mouth edged up. “Not bad.” She started to pull the bottle back, but he leaned closer and smelled her wrist. A shiver danced up her arm, down her spine to pool at the base of her back. His eyes held hers. “What kind are you wearing?” For a minute, she couldn’t think. Then shook her head. “The uh— uh…” The bottle slipped from her fingers. Damn it. Not only was she an idiot, she was a klutz too. They both reached for it and she bumped her head against his, then stumbled back. His hand snaked out and latched onto her arm. “Easy.” She glared at him and jerked her arm. He let her go, but with the momentum, she landed on her ass. Cora closed her eyes and then picked herself up. “You know, I was just thinking what a quiet and calm day this was. How it was almost closing time and then you walked in.” “Yeah, I know the feeling.” He picked up the lotion and handed it to her, both of them staring at each other. “Vanilla and nutmeg,” she blurted. “I’m sorry?” he asked, picking his books back up. She waved to the bottles stacked on their stands. “Vanilla and nutmeg. It’s very popular. So is Vanilla Cookies.” A slow grin lit his face. Rolling her eyes, she walked back to the counter. A klutz. Lake would laugh her ass off. Here was the first cute guy in a long while. She glanced back over her shoulder to see him trying -33-
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out different worry stones and had to admire the way his ass filled out the pair of Levi’s. “You are in sad, sad shape, Cora O’Donnell.” “Did you say something?” He unscrewed the top of another bottle and took a whiff. “No.” She checked the register and rearranged the packaging. Okay, straightened the clear tape and restacked the bolts of ribbon. She could dust the shelves, but she already did. Cora glanced back over her shoulder, watching him. He moved around the shop, picking up this or that, unfurling material swaths, the few dresses she carried, tie-dyed and slip-like. Then he moved onto the incense. She watched as he picked up the passion one and sniffed. He sneezed. She smiled. He looked at her with an arched brow and rubbed his nose. Then he gestured to the entire shop. “People really buy into all this crap, don’t they?” She narrowed her gaze at him and propped her elbows on the counter. “Why did you stop in here again?” He rubbed his nose and strolled to the counter. He set the books down and leaned on his elbows as well. “To see you.” She straightened. “Well, you’ve seen me.” She quickly rang up the total for the books. “The lady down the way said you were psychic.” She’d kill Lake later. Cora waited. “You going to get those books or not?” “Don’t you know?”
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She closed her eyes. “The narrow-minded ass will probably buy the books so he can disprove every point in them.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him. A slight smile played at the edge of his mouth. He dug forty dollars out of his wallet and handed it to her. “Keep the change.” He walked out, pulling shades from his pocket and slipping them on. Cora let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She hurried over and locked the door. The sun was already low in the sky. She wanted to be home before it set. She didn’t like the dark. Not lately. She stood back from the door, looking out the big picture window and watching as he climbed on his Harley and revved it up. She’d never ridden a motorcycle, let alone a Harley. And he looked liked he knew how to handle that bike. Shadows were creeping out. She sighed and rubbed her arms, chilled now that she was alone. Something was coming. What or who, she didn’t know, but it was in the air—dark, thick and threatening.
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Chapter Six He looked down the dark road and then up to the star studded sky reminding him of grade school and art projects with lots of silver glitter. Silver glitter on black paper. He looked over his shoulder back towards the lighted window. She was waiting. It was so quiet out here. Here where no one could hear. He hummed as he looked up, took a drag on his cigarette and wished, just for a moment, things were…normal. Wishing… He’d go in. She’d have dinner ready. Ready for him, her clothing neat, her hair just so, and no make-up on. He really hated make-up. It made women look cheap most of the time and too…something the rest of the time. But his angel wouldn’t have make-up on, especially not on her eyes. Her lashes would be clean, the lids as translucent as they were created to be. No liner to mar and smear her skin. No, she was perfection and she was waiting for him inside. Where the warmth wrapped around him, where the fireside beckoned. His dinner would be ready and waiting. She by the stove, the table set. Smiling. They should always be smiling. But they never did, did they? Oh they did at first, at first when thought they’d landed a nice, rich man. Someone to feed them, franchise them and fuck them. It’s what they wanted. Nothing more, nothing less. It was nice to think he’d take care of them, in their minds, under their terms. However, -36-
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he wanted to take care of them his way and that always left them fighting him for some reason. He would never figure it out. He loved them. Worshiped them. Wanted them. But they didn’t always want him, love him or worship him. And in the end, they always looked at him as if they couldn’t stand the sight of him. He frowned and took another drag. He should really quit the disgusting habit. It was bad for him, but it was a vice he always gravitated back to for some unknown reason. He was stressed. And stressed was never a good thing to be. Taking the last drag, he watched as the cigarette lit bright orange in the night, disintegrating as he sucked the last of the nicotine out of it. He flicked it to the gravel path and crushed it out with the toe of his shoe. Turning, he studied his humble abode. A traveling businessman always worked wonders. Or a dot com retiree who was smart enough to get out while the getting was good. Still dabbling in the markets, after all, there was never enough money. The ranch house sat along the plateau base in the high priced subdivision. Yet it was still unsettled, a bit unspoiled on the thirty-five acre plots. He rather enjoyed peace and quiet. The adobe walls glowed in a faint arching peach, the darkness lit from the little domed lights strategically placed along the walkway. A pretty place. A pretty home, just for his angels. Always wanted him, then rejected him. They might not worship him, want him, or love him in the end. But he made certain he was the last thing they ever saw, the last thing they thought of. -37-
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They were angels, his angels. In the end, he became theirs. He became their Angel of Death. Humming he walked back into the house. The door clicked shut behind him. “Honey,” he said softly. He hadn’t moved her to the basement yet. She was tied to the kitchen chair, her head lolled forward, her hair hanging around her face in a blonde curtain. “Honey, I’m home.” Did she whimper? Time would tell. His shoes clicked across the tiles. He ran his hand softly over her head, the hair silky and salon soft. Healthy hair. No junk food for her, no frying and over styling. No, she took care of her hair. A shame almost. He ran his fingers through her hair and then fisted his hand in it and tilted her head back. Her eyes, glazed and vacant, stared up and around. But not on him. Not at first. “Angel…” Her eyes slowly blinked. And blinked again. “Do you see me?” he chuckled. “You might want to enjoy what you see while you can.” Again her pale blue eyes blinked up at him. “Look at me. At me,” he said, leaning down further and brushing a fingertip along her cheekbone. “So pretty. So precious. So mine.”
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Chapter Seven Rogan set the coffee cup down as he stared at the paper. Sedona was a nice upper crust town, not large, but not too small. Lots of retirees and golf courses, lots of spas and naturalists/newagers. A Mecca for those on the fringe of what most considered normal. Here, off-the-beaten-path seemed the perfectly rational way to go. Place made him twitchy. Give him good ‘ole inner city crime any day. The sky outside was crystal clear, a sharp crisp blue that hurt the eyes. The air was dry and yet, strangely welcoming. He breathed deep, the scent of the dark roast coffee beans the owner of Desert Cup was grinding filled the air, heady and strong. Should have waited to have a cup from here. Last night he’d been plagued with nightmares from the attack back in the mountains of Afghanistan, sleep wasn’t his friend and he’d made the mistake of eating fast food breakfast burritos earlier. Why he’d been so stupid, he didn’t know. He wasn’t a snob, but all fast food tasted the same to him, no matter if it was breakfast, lunch or fried pies. They all tasted the same. The B&B he’d chosen wasn’t but a few blocks over and run by a friendly family. He could have stayed out at on the interstate, or one of the major hotel chains scattered throughout and around the town. There were even some high-class hotels, but Rogan had never been comfortable in hotels. He could sleep on the ground in some godforsaken land, but he -39-
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couldn’t sleep in a hotel. It used to not bother him, but ever since he had woken up at Ramstein after the attack, he found several things had changed for him. One of those was hotels. To him, a hotel room could never be clean enough. The bed and breakfast he chose was different. It was like staying in someone else’s house. People were funny about their homes if someone was staying with them. The place, a few blocks over in the historical part of town, made his mother’s house look questionable and everyone in Mrs. Duran’s bridge club knew she kept the best house in the neighborhood. No one could argue that fact. Her windows were the cleanest and there were never skid marks on her floors. She’d been a housewife all her life until his father passed away several years ago. Then she’d gotten a job at a local flower shop and informed him just a few weeks ago that she wanted to buy out Old Man Lipisky. Rogan didn’t know what to think. Life was odd. Life could be shit and it could just be normal. He wasn’t normal. He didn’t remember what the hell normal was. Normal people could probably sleep just find in Best Western or at the Courtyard or Holiday Inn. Most people would love a chance to stay in The Four Seasons or have enough money to stay in the penthouse. If he had that kind of dough, which he didn’t, he wouldn’t stay in one of those places. No, he liked his nice, quiet, impeccable bed and breakfasts. He should have eaten breakfast, but he told the owners last evening he wouldn’t be eating in today. Today he was sitting in a coffee shop, reading the local and state newspapers, scanning news articles to see if any other women ended up missing. So far nothing. -40-
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He was on his way to California to speak with the family of one of the missing girls who had disappeared some seven years ago. Instead, he’d decided to swing down to Sedona. He still didn’t know why, instinct maybe. Or, as his late night reading explained, perhaps it was more. Maybe it was more than instinct, perhaps it was some wacky psychic ability. He smiled into his coffee at the absurd thought and looked across the street, his smile fading. For whatever reason, he decided to stay here for a while. The woman across the street kept intruding into his thoughts. And speaking of which— He watched as she opened her shop door and stretched up, a large purple watering can held over her head. The hanging basket, now dripping water, hung from her dark blue awning. There were three hanging pots, each was bursting with flowers, what kind he had no idea. Different from what he’d seen yesterday. Though he did know the ones hanging down in long streamers were petunias. He’d always thought they grew in neat little pots and had never seen them hang before, probably why they stuck out in his mind. She went on to the next one. He admired the way her slight frame was toned. She wore some sort of long, flimsy skirt in a sort of tie-dyed blue with large, gold crescent moons on it. A gold, tunic-style shirt hit her mid-hip, the sleeveless shirt leaving her arms bare. He wondered if she had a smattering of freckles on her shoulders as she did across the bridge of her nose. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. He watched as she watered the rest of the plants, then set the watering can down and strode across the street. The bell above the door of the coffee shop jingled and she smiled as she walked into Desert Cup. -41-
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“Morning, Cora,” the man behind the bar greeted. Today he sported a doo rag with large, all-seeing eyes on it. Rogan just shook his head. She barely spared Rogan a glance. “Hey, Monte. All set for tonight?” The man grinned, dimples making his reddened cheeks even rounder. “It is. The cake’s in the back. Wanna see it?” Rogan wondered why he was so fixated on this woman he didn’t know. Well, it was probably the eyes and his screwed up life, but he’d go with instinct for now. When all else failed, he went with instinct. And his instinct lead him here and right up to one Cora O’Donnell owner of a psychic shop. A A A Cora turned to follow Monte to the back and caught sight of the man sitting at the table all alone. The bike rider from yesterday. She stopped next to his little table, which set next to an empty fireplace. “Enjoying the coffee?” He smiled and took another sip. “I am indeed, Miss O’Donnell.” She frowned. “How do you know my name?” One dark brow arched. “Perhaps I have my own psychic abilities.” “Or perhaps you’re just a pain in the ass?” She crossed her arms over her chest and wondered again for the hundredth time this morning, why she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this man. He grinned and scratched the side of his mouth. The man needed to shave. He was way beyond five o’clock shadow and edging into two days worth of stubble.
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She found the scruffy look sexy. Went with the Harley. Cora smiled at the thought. “There’s a sight.” She tilted her head. “You know, you obviously know me. Or have asked about me, so you shouldn’t mind me asking you, who you are and what are you doing here?” His eyes narrowed for just a second on hers and a slight chill danced down her spine. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, and the name is Rogan Duran.” Rogan Duran. Sexy name for a sexy man. She sighed. “Great, Mr. Duran, enjoy your stay in Sedona.” He turned in his chair as she passed him, making her way to the back of the shop to where Monte stood waiting by the double swinging doors. She pushed through them and was in the kitchen part of the coffee house. Chris, the career college student stood next to the center block chopping vegetables. Sliced carrots mixed with celery and onions. The man had always left her feeling odd. His eyes were an intense dark brown, almost black and seemed to follow her wherever she went. It was unnerving, but he worked hard for Monte so she never brought it up. He jerked his chin in her direction—apparently as a greeting. She nodded back. “So, what do you think?” Monte pointed to the counter top. She looked and gasped. A large chocolate cake with a cascade of chocolate covered strawberries stood to the side. The swirled, decorative icing on the edging begged her to try a lick with her finger. “It looks wonderful, Monte. Kyle will love it. Has Hanson seen it yet?” Monte nodded and smiled. “Just in earlier. He said he’d invited a few more people, nothing to worry about though with all the finger foods we’re serving.” Monte wiped a nonexistent spot off the gleaming -43-
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countertop. “I’d have killed him if he added twenty more people the day of the party. Surprise is for the birthday boy, not for the caterer.” Then he pointed in Chris’s direction. “We also decided to add a soup and breads since it’s been chilly in the evenings.” She rubbed her hands together. “This is awesome, Monte!” Without thought, she hugged him. “He’ll be so shocked.” Monte laughed. “That’s the idea.” As she turned to leave the kitchen area, she caught the narrowed look Chris shot her. Frowning, she walked out the door and back into the customer area. Lake waited at the counter and she was eyeing Mr. Duran. He was busy looking back at Cora. She caught Lake’s wiggle of brows and head tilt towards Duran. Cora only shook her head. Lake rolled her eyes. At the counter Lake leaned over and whispered, “I swear girl! I’m gonna have to knock you out and let men start having their way with you. You don’t know what you’re missing. Any man that can handle a Fat Boy the way that man can…mmmmm. Babe, trust me, go for him. He had questions about you yesterday when I sent him over to your shop.” The words were whispered, but the old building had great acoustics. Cora wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Rogan Duran, sexy as hell biker could hear exactly what Lake was saying. “How’s his aura?” Cora asked, meaning to be a smart ass. Lake frowned and stared at him, her eyes losing their sharpness and the pupils dilating. “For God’s sake, don’t read him here!” Cora hissed. Lake’s brows furrowed. “On second thought, maybe you should stay away from him.” This was news.
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Cora looked out of the corner of her eye to see that Duran was buried behind his paper. Monte’s grin and headshake told him he at least could hear the conversation. Then Lake tilted her head. “No, I don’t think he’s bad, just…” She sighed. “Damaged.” Then she shook her head and blinked. Turning to Monte she asked, “So it’s all set for tonight?” Monte huffed out a breath and dumped finely ground espresso into the portafilter before fitting it onto the espresso machine. “What? Do you girls think I can’t handle a party for twenty-five to thirty guests?” Cora smiled. Lake tapped her nails, then without warning walked over to the table where Duran sat. Cora had the feeling she should jerk her friend back, but stood frozen to the spot. Lake’s voice carried, even as quiet as she was. Yep, he’d probably heard their exchange about auras. Great. Lake asked, “You’re new in town, and aren’t hanging out at the touristy spots.” He lowered his paper and stared at her. “No ma’am.” “So you’re not here to play golf?” He ran his tongue around his teeth. “Business?” Lake tapped her purple nails on the tabletop. He folded his paper and set it aside. His dark eyes creased as they landed on Cora for just a second before returning to Lake. “And you’re interested because?” Lake shrugged. “Well, the thing is, we’re having a party tonight and Cora’s date backed out, so I was thinking, if you’re not busy, you could come.”
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Cora slid her eyes closed. Monte laughed. Cora opened her eyes and walked to the table. “Thank you, dear. If I’d wanted a date, I’d have set one up myself.” Lake scoffed. “No, darling, you wouldn’t have.” She turned back to Rogan. “You married?” “Can’t you tell?” Rogan smirked. Lake waved the question away as if he’d said he was hot. “Yes or no.” He cocked a brow. “No.” “Any plans? Meetings for tonight at six-thirty?” Again his eyes cut from Lake to Cora then back to Lake. “No.” She smiled. “Good. If you can make it, swing by here, closer to seven maybe. The party will be in full swing by then. We’re throwing a surprise party for a friend.” “And you need couples to do this?” he asked. Lake’s husky laughter danced out. “Well, if I’d planned it, yes. But then my activities can deviate from the norm.” Cora snorted and shoved Lake with her hip. Not wanting to seem juvenile and say he didn’t have to come, or stand here mute like they were in junior high and Lake set her up on a date with the class hunk, Cora took a deep breath and said, “Really, come if you’re not busy. One more won’t hurt.” She glanced at Monte. “Will it?” He shook his head. “Nope.” Rogan shrugged, picked his paper back up and then looked at Cora. “I’ll probably be here.” For some absurd reason, her heart gave a small flutter. She smiled. “Great, see you then.” At the counter, she ordered a chai-latte with a shot of espresso.
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Lake remained silent until they’d both stepped outside the coffee house doors. She chuckled and gently shoved Cora in the side with her elbow. “He likes you.” Cora ignored her and started across the street, waiting while a VW Bug drove slowly down the street. “He’ll be there,” Lake said as they stopped in front of Cora’s shop. The man’s Harley was parked in front of the coffee shop. She vaguely wondered if he’d read the books she’d given him. “Why in the hell did you do that?” Lake’s smile slid away then she huffed out a breath. “I felt like it.” “Felt like it?” Lake shrugged. “Not in that way, like I had to. Like I was supposed to.” “Nice one.” Cora looked down and shook her head. “I don’t have time to go home and change. Now I have a date and will look like this.” She picked up the watering can and walked into her shop. Lake waved a hand. “Darling, he couldn’t keep those sinfully dark eyes off of you. Trust me, he thinks you look good enough to eat.” “So does he,” Cora mumbled, setting the can behind the counter. “Ha!” Lake grinned. “I knew it! You’ve got the hots for Mr. Biker.” “Duran.” “What?” Cora sighed and looked at her friend. “His name is Mr. Rogan Duran.” Lake leaned up on the counter. “I wish I had boobs like yours,” Cora muttered. Lake laughed. “Well, your Mr. Duran didn’t seem to mind the size of yours.” She cupped her breasts. “I’m thinking of getting a boob-job done. Something a bit more perky.” -47-
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At loss for words, Cora merely changed the subject. “So you coming alone tonight or bringing Simon?” Or someone else? Lake rolled her eyes. “I’m bringing Simon of course.” Cora nodded. “Of course, what a dumb question.” “I should think so.” She leaned over and pecked Cora on the cheek, then wiped the lipstick kiss off. “Sorry, babe. You will have fun tonight.” “You think?” Cora was already slightly regretting the set up. “No, I know.” Lake walked out of the door, her long, layered chiffon skirt tinkling from the bells or bling-bling, shiny things on the bottom. She knew? Well, Lake was the all-knowing psychic. Tonight. Cora dropped her head in her hands. At least she didn’t have any nightmares last night. But tonight? Well, that was hours away, a day of work, a birthday party, and a set up date that blind-sided her. The day could not get any more interesting.
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Chapter Eight Rogan stood outside the coffee shop. Inside he could see people milling about. Laughing at this and that. Bits and pieces of their conversations floated through the open windows. A sign on the door read, Closed Early—Private Party. Nice advertising, Rogan thought. He ran a hand over his hair and blew out a breath of pent up confusion. Lately he had no idea what the hell he was doing, but he hoped it was the right thing. Twilight Zone might be a bit harsh to describe his life for the last couple of years and especially the last couple of days, but that was the closest he could think. Or maybe something off the Sci-Fi channel? None of this made sense. He found on the internet where a girl from northern Arizona was missing. Clayton Whitesell had called earlier and informed Rogan the Feds were looking into it. It wouldn’t look good for him to be where he was. Too damn bad. Rogan knew one day he’d have to face it. The black outs, the stress, the loss of time he couldn’t account for. But he didn’t fit every schedule, the only light that shined down on the whole mess. He knew he wasn’t responsible for the disappearances of the girls, but yet, in the dark of night, he couldn’t help but wonder, question—see it from a cop’s point of view—fear it from his. For now, he’d simply stay here. Maybe Clayton was right and he just needed to get laid. -49-
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He watched as a black haired man grabbed Cora in a bear hug. She squealed and laughed. Rogan figured now was as good a time as any and opened the door, stepping inside. A bell above the door chimed. “Sorry, we’re… Oh,” Monte said, “it’s you. Come in, come in. Shut the door behind you before someone else slips in.” Rogan shut the old door, which rattled and stuck. The entire building had been built at the turn of the century when Sedona was founded from a mere post office. He’d read the historical article framed on the wall at the front of the shop yesterday. “Thanks.” He left his jacket on and looked around, studying people. “There’s food over there, drinks, coffees.” Monte, dressed in a Hawaiian print shirt and khakis, sandals, was without the all-seeing doo rag. Instead, a braid hung down his back. “Whatever you want, you’ll probably find.” Rogan nodded and simply stood at the edge of the crowd, feeling the layout, the people. It was a long ingrained habit, one he found he couldn’t easily break. Then again, he never really tried. Lake, dressed in a long dress, was unquestionably sexy. The purple material went from just beneath her chin all the way to her ankles. He noticed she wore black boots. A purple stone necklace hung almost to her navel. He nodded as she smiled at him. Leaving the man at her side, she walked towards him, stopping to whisper in Cora’s ear. Cora turned. Those wicked blue eyes pierced him. Her eyes weren’t like Ginger’s. No Cora’s were…different. Ginger’s, though the same strange blue, were just a bit paler, he thought. There had been a cold sharpness to Ginger’s, probably from her years spent first in foster care, then in a military academy. Cora on the other hand was…soft, vulnerable. At least he thought so. He also figured she’d have something to say about his observation. She -50-
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was Cora, she was different and she intruded on his thoughts entirely too much. Still dressed in her sleeveless tunic and moonbeam skirt, she walked to him. “And here I just knew you were going to be a no show,” she said, propping a hip against the table. He arched a brow. “Some psychic you are.” “I never claimed to be precognitive.” She shrugged. Narrowing his gaze at her, he asked, “So what is your area of sensitivity?” The look on her face registered a moment of shock before she grinned. “You read the books?” “Hmmm.” He studied her. The lowlights danced in her blonde hair, glinting off almost red highlights. He had the absurd urge to run his finger over the curve of her nose. He glanced at her bare shoulders and grinned at the freckles that smattered over her creamy skin. “Surprised?” For a moment, she studied him. Then she shook her head. “No, not really. You’re not the type to buy a book just to buy it. You buy it, you read it, otherwise, what’s the point?” “You want something to eat?” “Sure, why not?” For a moment, she frowned, then she reached out and took his hand, moving them towards the food tables. The same black haired gentleman who had hugged Cora when Rogan was standing outside stopped them. “This is the birthday boy, and my best friend, Kyle Backerman. Kyle, this is Rogan Duran.” Kyle, dressed in dark slacks and a dark green turtle neck smiled and offered his hand. “The set up.” He turned around and hollered over his shoulder. “Lake! You’re right. He’s a hottie.” Kyle smiled back at him. Rogan could tell from the happy expression and the wide, dilated eyes -51-
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Kyle was well on his way to being seriously drunk. “It’s my birthday, didn’tchya know? Hanson threw me.” Kyle laughed and slung an arm around Rogan’s shoulders and the other around Cora’s. Cora shook her head. “You dolt. Hanson threw it for you.” Kyle, still smiling, leaned close to Rogan and whispered, “It’s a surprise party. Haven’t had one of these since I was nine and Cora threw me one in her backyard.” He squeezed Rogan’s shoulders. “Say, thanks for coming. This is the best party!” “My pleasure,” Rogan answered. Kyle stood back, his drink almost tumbling out of his hand, as he whirled and hollered, “Happy Birthday to me!” Then he leaned over and kissed Cora on the cheek. “I love ya, Cora.” Smiling, she nodded, and patted Kyle’s arm. “I know, sweets.” Another man, blond, with dark eyes stepped up. “I’m Hanson.” Kyle nodded. “Yep, thas…that…that’s. That’s a funny word, huh? He’s Hanson.” Hanson steered Kyle off to a table. Rogan grinned and turned to Cora. “How long have you been friends?” A faint frown appeared between her brows. “Oh, forever.” They made it to the food table, which was piled with enough food to feed a starving village. Rogan loaded his plate, happy to see she did as well. Call him a dumb male, but it irked him when he was out with a woman and they ate like a bird. She caught him looking at her plate. “I’m hungry.” “So am I,” he answered, and added another quiche. “Want one?” “I don’t know, I guess so.” She looked at her plate then at the large chocolate cake at the end of the table, which had yet to be cut.
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“You’ll still have room. That’s the beauty of dessert. There’s always room.” “Yeah, on my ass.” In the process of spearing a cube of cheese he halted. An image rose in his mind. She laughed, a blush stealing up her cheeks. “Can I have some cheese please?” “Chocolate icing and…” He chuckled. “And here I thought you were such a straight laced girl.” Cora rolled her eyes and walked back to their table, grabbing a bottle of water on the way. He did likewise. At their table he asked her, “You want me to grab you a drink, wine or something?” She shook her head. “No. I don’t drink.” He sat. “Neither do I.” She studied him. “Grab you something if you want it. I don’t mind.” He shook his head. “No, I really don’t drink. The occasional beer. But that’s about it.” He sat across from her. “I have…” He shrugged. “Issues.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t we all.” He let that go, not wanting to go into his reasons for not drinking, already worried about blackouts and missing time. He couldn’t help, though, wondering about her reasons. What issues could this woman have? He watched her eat. The way she carefully bit into each piece of food, the way her jaw muscles worked, the way her throat moved as she drank. Her lips as she talked. “You have amazing eyes.” The frown between her brows was back. “Thank you.” “You don’t like them?” “No, they’re fine.” She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” -53-
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They finished eating. He asked about local jaunts and places to visit. She gave him the low down on the total tourist traps versus the real hangouts. He was interested in the outdoor activities. Mostly rock climbing. It had been too long since he’d dangled on the edge of space. Physically. Mentally, that was another story. He learned she was easy to talk to. There was a calmness about her. A peace. He found himself talking about his time in Afghanistan. He never talked about his tour over there. Then he felt it. That prickle along the back of his neck, someone was watching him. Without seeming too obvious, he stood to throw the clear plastic plate away and gathered hers as well. He scanned the faces of those present. No one stood out to him. There was the owner, Monte, who he’d met. The birthday boy, who was singing some song, his partner, Lake, the man she was with, and several other people stood around in clusters talking or sitting at the tables. Rogan tossed the plates and grabbed a couple more bottles of water. Lake and her date separated from the group they were with and made their way over to him. “Hello, Mr. Duran.” “Rogan, please,” he told her. The man with her offered his hand. “I’m Simon Jenkins.” “Rogan Duran.” Rogan shook his hand and studied the man. “Glad you could make it,” Lake said. “Um.” He turned his attention back to Lake. “Yeah, me too. It’s nice to meet everyone. And the birthday boy seems to be having fun.” She laughed, a full rich and throaty sound. Simon put his arm around her waist and narrowed his gaze on Rogan. Rogan only shook his -54-
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head. Though the redhead was undeniably sexy, Rogan was more into subtle beauty. This woman was full of life and energy. Not a bad thing, but he found the anxiety flutter inside him when he was around her. Where as Cora… He looked over his shoulder to see some young man talking to her and a tight smile on her face. Cora was peaceful. “If you’ll excuse me.” He walked back to his table and wondered who the young man was and why Cora was tense, as if ready to spring out of the chair. Cora saw Rogan coming from across the room and couldn’t hold in the sigh of relief. Chris wasn’t threatening in any way, but she couldn’t be comfortable around him. “So?” Chris asked her. “Will you? I know you’re not seeing anyone and—” Rogan walked directly to her, and sat in the chair against the wall that was right against hers. “Sorry I was so long, babe.” He set the water bottle in front of her and offered his hand to Chris. “Rogan Duran.” Chris looked at the hand, then up to Rogan and stood without a word. He slammed the chair under the table and stormed off towards the back. Rogan watched him go. Cora saw Lake watching them and noticed that Monte followed Chris. She released the breath she’d been holding. “He bother you a lot?” Rogan opened her water bottle and then his own. His brow was furrowed and he finally looked from where Chris disappeared to her. His expression didn’t lighten. “Does he?” She shook her head. “No. He watches me a lot, but he’s never asked me out. I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings, but didn’t see a way out of that one. And he just ditched his date earlier. Saw them get into it when I -55-
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went to the back for something. Anyway, I was asked out, I declined.” She patted his hand. “Thanks for coming over.” “You’re welcome.” He tilted his head. He frowned again at his water bottle and opened his mouth as if to say something. A shrill whistle split the air. “Time to cut the cake!” Monte held a lighter. Cora stood and Rogan followed her, his hand at the small of her back. She shivered and wondered if he felt it. The man was…something. He made her feel strangely safe and yet not. She had no real idea what the hell to think. She knew next to nothing about him. One thing she did know, she was glad he’d interrupted Chris’s demand for a date. It hadn’t been a simple request. He’d demanded they start seeing each other. She shivered again, and this time, it had nothing to do with the warm hand resting almost passively, guiding her. They watched as Kyle cut part of the cake and passed pieces around. She finally shooed him out of the way, cut the rest of the cake and finished serving the chocolate confection. Rogan stood beside her, holding the plates as she set large wedges of chocolate cake on them. When everyone else had some, she cut both of them a piece. Rogan grabbed them both cups of coffee and they stood at the long coffee bar. “So you’re a chocolate girl?” he asked. “Dark or milk?” “Is this twenty questions?” He grinned as he tried the cake. “Why not?” She nodded. “Why not. Okay. Sure. Dark. Milk’s okay on occasion, but I have a weakness for fudge and for truffles. Not cheap ones either, unfortunately.” “A chocolate snob. How sad.” He shook his head. “What about you?” “What about me?” Men. “Do you like chocolate? Vanilla?” -56-
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He thought about it, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She wondered how he got the scar through his eyebrow. “Depends. Ice cream, I like vanilla. Cake, chocolate. Nothing beats the perfect chocolate cake.” Then he picked up his mug of coffee. “With the perfect cup of coffee.” Laughter danced in his eyes. “Nothing?” Did she just ask that? A chuckle rumbled up from his chest. “Oh, there’s a couple of things that beat the perfect chocolate cake and coffee.” His grin was too sexy for her peace of mind. The dark growth along his jaw and upper lip made her want to run her hands over his cheeks for some absurd reason. Maybe Lake was right and she just needed to get laid. “I’d love to know what you’re thinking,” he said, leaning closer and offering her a bite of cake. She took it and licked the icing off his fork. “Too bad.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Will I ever find out?” An arm slung around her shoulders and she jumped. Kyle leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Bess, birthday, sweets. The very bess.” She looked into Kyle’s glazed eyes. Hanson was beside him. “I’m taking him home.” He nodded to her. “Thanks for all the help here.” Hanson glanced from her to Rogan. “You need a ride back to the apartment? We can wait. I’ll drop you off.” “No, I’ve got my bicycle.” “You need a car. Cycles are fine, but late at night, they’re just not smart.” “He’s vury, right. Hanson’s right ahlot,” Kyle confided, swaying slightly. “You know what? I am drunk!” Cora laughed. “Yeah, I caught that I think.” Looking at Hanson, she shook her head. “I’ll be fine.” -57-
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Holding onto Kyle he narrowed his dark gaze on her. “You call when you get home so I know you got there safely.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re as bad as Kyle. Go home. I’ll be fine.” Again he glanced from her to Rogan then back to her. “I mean it, you call.” “Yes, yes, fine.” Hanson nodded once more. Thanked Rogan and then led Kyle out the door. Rogan watched them go. “How long have they been together?” She thought for a minute, counted the years. “Almost four years I think…three? No it’s going on four.” Then she shrugged. “A while.” He motioned to the coffee shop. “We need to help clean up?” Monte, walking by with a tray answered. “No you do not. You’re guests. Get out of here. Go dancing. Go stargazing. Go to the river.” Cora gave Monte a pointed look. What was with everyone trying to set her up? Yet worried about who she was with? “You sure, Monte? It won’t take long?” People were shuffling out, thanking her, thanking Monte. He waved them on. “Go.” Rogan tugged on her hand. “Come on.” At the door she grabbed her minipack, which she’d dropped her keys, wallet and phone in earlier. Outside the temps had dropped. “I should go over to the shop and grab my jacket.” She shivered and started across the street, pulling her keys out. The shop was dark and she flipped on the lights to dim. From the hook behind the counter, she grabbed her jacket and turned to Rogan. Her bike was in the back hallway with the storage boxes. He looked back there. “You know, he’s right. It’s not real safe to ride after dark.” -58-
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She raised a brow. “Really?” “Really.” He looked back at her, walked until he was standing closer to her. “I could give you a ride.” She glanced from him to his Harley out front of her store. “Yours is a bike too.” “It’s not just a bike. It’s a Harley.” His hand reached out and held hers. “Plus, mine goes faster,” he said, his voice low. Cora looked at their joined hands. His long, dark fingers were nicked with small scars. Strong hands, she thought. The black shirt he had on under his jacket was pulled tight across his chest. His neck was corded. He’d fought in Afghanistan. Maybe that was the darkness that seemed to surround him. Yet, when those who hurt were near her, she found herself wanting to ease them. She was no empath. But she still wanted to help. She followed the corded muscles of his neck up to cup his nape. “You’re very tall,” she whispered. His lips smiled. “Yeah. I’m going to make sure you get home okay,” he answered, his voice just as low. Then he was leaning down. His other hand moved to the base of her back, pulling her closer. She tilted her head back. “This is probably a bad idea.” She licked her lips. “Probably,” he agreed, watching her mouth before raising his eyes to hers. Then kissed her. His lips were warm, firm and as possessive as the man himself. He licked her lips, his stubble rubbing against her chin, scratchy and strangely arousing. Cora moved her hand to cradle his cheek. She opened her mouth, welcoming him. His tongue grazed over her lips before delving inside. The man could kiss. -59-
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He angled his head to the side, and she moved to allow him better access. The kiss was hot and awakened long buried, usually battery operated desires. She breathed deep and smelled his cologne. A deep spice scent, which reminded her of shadowed lands and ancient secrets. She stood on her toes and shivered as his hand opened, his fingers curling back towards his palm across the small of her back. His other hand rested against her jaw, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. Rogan grazed her nape and she shivered again. The kiss shifted and deepened. His hunger poured off him, swirled around them, then dove into her as his tongue tasted and promised. She moaned. He abruptly pulled away, breathing harder than he had been. The loss of his mouth on hers, the quickness of his withdrawal left her unbalanced. She stumbled and he caught her. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean. That is…” “No problem.” God, talk about mortified. Maybe she didn’t kiss well. Or maybe he just wasn’t interested. Though he’d sure as hell seemed interested. She tried to pull her hand from his. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I need to think,” he whispered. She smiled and looked up at him. “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes narrowed on hers, shadows moving in their depths. She wondered what haunted him. “I’m seeing you home.”
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Chapter Nine Rogan watched the way her eyes seemed to darken. This close he could see they were really nothing like Ginger’s—thank goodness. Cora’s were that same pale shade of blue as Ginger’s. There was no disputing that fact. But Cora’s were a purer blue. Where both had the same paleness, Ginger had tiny green striations in her irises, and Cora’s pale depths held dark midnight blue lines. They were twinkling in the low light as if she couldn’t figure out if she wanted to smile or frown. Confusion. He knew the feeling well. It had been his locked hell for the better part of three years. She still smelled good enough to lick—a vanilla cone. He now knew she tasted as good. Rogan wanted another taste, but something warned him this was a bit too soon. Maybe he was rushing things. He sure as hell hadn’t come here to get involved. He had nothing left to get involved with, even if he had wanted to. Which he didn’t. No matter how interesting, how fresh. “You’re very pretty,” he said softly. The raise of fair brows told him she thought he must be joking. “Seriously,” he said. He grazed a finger down her nose. “You’ve got freckles.” Now she frowned. “So?” -61-
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He grinned and looked into those incredible eyes. “So, I’ve always had a soft spot for freckles.” She didn’t say anything. He inhaled, caught the faint scent of vanilla, and stepped back again from her. Time to put a bit of distance from her. “You know you want a ride.” She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. A blush stole up her cheeks. He chuckled. “On the Harley.” She shook her head. “That’s what the boys always say.” He guided her out the door and waited while she locked up. Cora shoved a strand of hair out of her face, swinging her small pack onto her back. He gave her his helmet. She looked at it, then at him. Her hands were small, her fingers pale and long adorned by several silver rings. “Here let me.” Rogan took the helmet and set it on her head, jerking it down and then slapping the top. “Okay?” She rolled her eyes. “Yes. It’s fine. Do you travel with extra helmets?” He swallowed as she swung her leg over the back of the Fat Boy. Her skirt wasn’t wide enough. She muttered something and pulled it up to her thighs. God help him. It had been entirely too long. He waited while she settled before he dug the key out of his pocket and climbed on. He turned his head and said over his shoulder. “Where are you at?” Her breasts pressed against his back as she leaned up and he caught a whiff of her vanilla scent. “Behind you.” “Smart ass. I mean where do you live.” She pointed in front of them. “Go up here two blocks and then take a right.”
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He nodded and started the bike. It roared and rumbled to life. Rogan kicked the kickstand back and pulled away from the curb. She wrapped her arms around his waist and settled harder against him. Her thighs cradled his ass. Rogan exhaled slowly and wondered why his libido had finally found its way home with the force of a tornado. He’d rather have had some warning. The bike vibrated under them. She giggled against his neck. Rogan shook his head and sped up. She squeezed him tighter around the waist. He couldn’t help but notice her hands were about two inches above his fly. Slowing, he turned and listened to the other directions. The air, chilled now that the sun had hidden behind the mountains and the stars twinkled overhead, blew through his hair, stung his face. He pulled up in front of an apartment complex. She sighed and looked up at it. “Man! That was fun!” Her bare knees rested on both sides of his thighs. He should let her go in. Go in and lock the door. Instead he heard himself ask, “You want to go for a ride?” She waited just a moment and shifted. “Where to?” Hell. “Where do you want to go?” He felt the vibration of her mutter, but didn’t make it out. “What?” “Nothing. I don’t know. Wherever. It’s been so long and it was fun. But if you have something to do, that’s okay.” She straightened. He grabbed her hands and held her to him. “Um. No. Any place you want to go?”
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She shrugged behind him and he half turned. The helmet swallowed her small face. “No. Wherever. How about just around?” Around? Fine. He revved the motor, felt her shift again and grinned. Maybe it was fate he came here. Even if his journey was delayed, at least he’d found something long missing and from her actions, she wasn’t disinterred. Rogan shook his head again. Forget it. Ride. Just a ride on my Harley. He snorted as he roared out onto the road, felt her squeeze him tight, heard her laughter before the wind stole it away. He drove aimlessly, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing. Finally, he gave up and just enjoyed the ride as his passenger was apparently doing. When he pulled back up to her apartment, she was breathing hard. “That was awesome.” She waited while he climbed off. Rogan held his hand out and helped her from the back of the bike. He couldn’t help but get a glimpse of the inside of her creamy white thighs as she dismounted. Her skirt slid back down to her calves. He swallowed. “Wow. Maybe I’ll get me one of these babies.” Rogan looked at his bike then back to her. “Lots of power. You need upper body strength.” She flexed her muscles. “What? You think I’m a wimp?” Cora punched him in the arm, then pulled off the helmet, handing it back to him. She shook her hair out and he couldn’t help but reach up and finger a strand. It was as soft as it had been when he’d kissed her. Her grin slowly slid away and she stepped back. “I should really get inside. Gotta open the shop tomorrow.” He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “My momma taught me to walk my dates to the door.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “She might have. But my daddy taught me to never trust strangers.” -64-
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He laughed. “What did he tell you about kissing them?” She grinned and walked backwards up the sidewalk. “You don’t want to know.” “Probably not. Does it have to do with shotguns?” Her laughter floated back over the night and right to his gut. “Nope. Elasticator rings.” He shook his head and watched as she disappeared into the gated adobe wall. A few minutes later a light came on in the fourth window along the right side. At least she was inside. For some insane reason, he wanted to go knock on her door to make certain she was safe. Instead, he wrestled his demon, pulled the helmet on and climbed back on the bike. As the wind blew around him, the streets blurring by, he smelled her. Some fruity scent and vanilla. Great. As if thinking about her wasn’t enough, he got to drive around on a vibrating machine with a hard on, smelling her. He really needed help. A A A He listened to her whimpers. Tonight fueled him like he hadn’t known it would. What a surprise to see her there. He looked at the woman on the bed, stretched out and ready for him. He found he was rather disappointed in her. Her beautiful blonde hair was not nearly as lustrous as it had been. Now it lay matted on the bare mattress. Her wrists were worn and bloody, the skin peeling and sticking to the silk ropes. He tsked. “I told you not to struggle. It wouldn’t do you any good.” He sighed and walked to her, his shoes clicking across the tiled floor. He
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thought it brilliant the basement had a drain in the floor, made cleanup so much easier. She pulled again against her bonds. He knew she hoped someone would find her, someone might save her. Alas, no one was coming. They never did. He glanced at his watch. It was late and getting later. He looked upwards and listened. Not that he needed to. His date for tonight was out cold, thanks to what he slipped in the drinks. No waking until morning. And by then it would all be over. It might be risky to bring another here, but he could hardly get away from it. Plus, it added to the excitement. The knowledge someone could find out, that he’d then be forced to protect what he knew. But he couldn’t take too many chances. So many things coming together. Who would have thought. Well, he had. He had hoped and now it was all falling together. He glanced at himself in the mirror. It had taken him so long to get used to this face, but now he was. And no one knew. He chuckled. Even those that should. She whimpered again, drawing his attention away from himself and back to her.. “I’m sorry, I’m ignoring you, aren’t I, my sweet?” He walked to her, pulling out his shirt. “Do you know, you’ve been fun thus far. I hadn’t expected you to have this much fight in you.” He rubbed his thigh where her kick had landed a bruising blow that had brought him to his knees and almost cost him his angel. Her eyes didn’t plead with him, not like before. Now they were narrowed in anger. She was a feisty one. He hadn’t planned on that, but it had added to the spice. He’d almost lost her. What fun she’d been. At least she had… -66-
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Until he’d seen his next angel. So sweet. So alluring. He’d seen the way she looked at him. The way her eyes had scanned over him. She was his. His next angel. And her eyes were the closest to perfect he’d seen in a long, long time. This one, her eyes the same color, were different. The color was right, but the lines in them were gold instead of a darker blue. Not that it matter. She was born an angel, now she’d remain one forever. “Your eyes aren’t quite perfect. But they’re perfect enough.” She frowned. The skin between her brows creasing. “Now don’t frown. You’ll get wrinkles.” He tsked and smoothed the creases away with his fingers. She moved her jaw as if to tell him something. “Such a fighter. I admire that about you.” He straightened and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping first the top button, then the next. He smiled at the way her eyes narrowed even more, watching him. He could see the plea in them. He ignored it. “I had planned to wait on this. Really, I had. I have a schedule after all.” The last button slipped free. He unbuckled his belt. “But time is always shifting and moving. Now I must move on.” He toed his shoes off. “I found my next angel and must make room for her. It’s been a long time since I found two so perfect, so close together. And she is absolutely perfect. I hadn’t realized how until tonight when I looked deep into her eyes.” Her eyes widened and she shook her head. He shrugged out of his shirt. “I don’t really care what you’re trying to say. I have something to show you.” The armoire stood against the wall. He loved his closet. Skeletons in the closet. He chuckled to himself.
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“We all have secrets you know.” He opened the doors. “This is merely mine.” Anticipation rushed through his system and he found he couldn’t wait to end it. Not for this one. Not for the fact of adding her to his collection. But the fact he already had someone to move onto. Excitement coursed through him. He took a deep steadying breath and flipped on the light. “Ta-da. See my angels?”
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Chapter Ten Cora screamed. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Her tank stuck to her wet back, her hair limp and sticking to her forehead and above her ears. Her hands shook. She fumbled for the light switch, whimpering. She could still smell him. A full woodsy scent, expensive. No cheap cologne. Dim light flooded the room. She looked over at the clock. Almost four in the morning. Tremors shook her body, but she couldn’t stop them, couldn’t hold in the need for comfort, couldn’t battle back the terror that rose and strangled her mind. His hands. She rubbed her neck, still feeling those cold fingers just there, pressing, pressing. “Oh God.” She scratched her neck, wishing the feeling away. The coverlet was bunched and tangled, her sheets a mess. Cora shivered again and slowly stood. Her legs weakened, wouldn’t support her. She sat back, but only managed the edge of the bed before she slid to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. She dropped her head in her hands, raking her fingers through her hair. “Please,” she whispered, not sure what she was asking for. Had the vision already happened? No, more than likely it was taking place. His voice, soft and soothing slithered through her thoughts. What
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should she do? Go to the police? They’d never believe her. Never. And if they did? She lay back on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. There was no way she’d get back to sleep tonight. Should she have already gone to the police? This was the second nightmare she’d had. Dammit. She pulled herself up and wobbled to the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror over the pedestal sink. The earth-toned tiles chilled her bare feet and helped to settle her in the here and now. What the hell did she do? A pale, sunken face stared back at her. No wonder Kyle always freaked after one of her screaming dreams. Dark circles shadowed beneath her eyes, making the pale blue even more prominent. …Angel eyes… She cut on the cold water and splashed her face. What did it all mean? What good were these horrible images if she couldn’t do a damn thing about them? Leaning over, she splashed more water on her face. She needed to think. She twisted the faucet, cutting off the water. Cora straightened, patting her face dry. She opened her eyes and froze. In the mirror behind her, was the shadow of a man, she could only see his lips moving, the rest of him was in shadows. Her senses focuses, sharpened. He was hazy, but she knew who it was, the hunter… His lips still moved. She frowned and tried to hear what he was saying, but she didn’t hear anything. She only saw his lips moving soundlessly. Whirling, she looked behind her. Nothing. There was just the wall. No man, no ghost, no shadow. -70-
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Cora squeezed her eyes shut. “You’re not real. You’re not real. Leave me in peace.” When she opened them again and looked over her shoulder in the mirror, he was gone. Goose bumps prickled the skin on her arms, danced down her back, hardening her nipples. She reached over, flicked the lock shut and stared at the bathroom door. Shower, she just wanted a hot shower and to forget. But she couldn’t climb in. Instead, she unlocked the door and checked the entire apartment, surprised, as always at the slight mess in Kyle’s room. He was such a neat freak, except in his room. She checked behind the doors, under the beds, in closets. The apartment, other than her, was empty—like she’d known it would be. That still didn’t stop the fear from whispering around her. She fixed coffee and turned on the coffee maker. In the bathroom, she stood beneath the spray as hot as she could stand it, hoping it would warm her. Finally, she felt the muscles in her neck and shoulders lessen their strangle hold on her stress points. After her shower, she stood at the sink in her robe, cupping the hot mug in her hands. She sipped the hot brew and thought about her dreams. Had a murder happened? What if she was confused? She used to never be confused, but now she questioned everything. What if it was nothing more than a dream? What if she was wrong? Wrong like before? But what if you’re not? If she wasn’t wrong, then she was letting her own insecurities cost women their lives. -71-
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Two. Two. She shuddered, and could see in her mind’s eye again all those jars lined up just so in the armoire, in a dark windowless room. God help her. God help them all. A A A She
stared
at
the
building
that
housed
the
Sedona
Police
Department. These were good ‘ole boys. Men who had grown up around here. They dealt with burglaries out at the multimillion-dollar homes, which
flanked
the
many
golf
courses.
They
answered
domestic
disturbances, they probably even dealt with drugs and maybe, just maybe something worse. But murder? At least not all the time. Not like this. Yes, she could see their faces now. “Yes, I know there’s been a murder, but I have no idea who she was, who he is, or where it happened,” she muttered to herself. She checked her watch. It was just past seven. Perhaps she could get through this quickly. More than likely, she would. Most of these men and women believed in cold hard facts, things logically and scientifically explained. Someone owning a new-age shop titled Mystic Moons would not endear her to them. The waiting would not make it any easier she knew. Oh well. No time like the present. She took a deep breath, then another, wishing she’d worn the larger sweater this morning. It was actually cold. Or maybe she was just cold. She looked down at her jeans, her boots, her turtleneck. Did she look normal? Serious?
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She shook her head and slid the front wheel of her bike into the slot, locking it in place. She’d walked to the shop early this morning, retrieving her bicycle, then rode over here. She stared at her bike a moment more and realized she was putting off the inevitable. What difference did it make? They’d never buy her story in the end. The police station was pretty much like most she’d been in. The glass doors on the front were nice, the officer manning the desk stuffing a breakfast burrito into his mouth. Stale coffee, cigarettes and some underlying scent she’d never been able to put her finger on, but always wrinkled her nose, permeated the air. The man behind the desk didn’t see her as he sat up and turned to toss his wrapper into the trash can. “Johnson!” Another cop hollered and jerked his head towards her. She smiled and the yeller strolled forward. He wore jeans, a button-up white shirt, his badge clipped to his belt. Boots. Well, this was Arizona and not Seattle. “Can I help you?” both men asked. Cora licked her lips and frowned, looking down at her hands. She quit fidgeting and remembered the best way to get through this was just to say it. Inhaling and hoping for some sort of guidance, she asked, “Who here investigates murders?” They both blinked. She looked from one to the other. The plainclothes officer opened the wooden gate that swung between the waiting area and the den of awakening activity. “Ma’am?” He held the gate opened for her. She looked at him and then to the sergeant at the desk. “I’m detective Rick Palacios. Why don’t we talk at my desk?” She took another deep breath and followed him to the far back wall. From the looks of things, he shared a work area with another man or woman who had yet to appear. Their desks were facing each other and -73-
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spotless. His side more so than the other. A photo of him, a woman and a baby sat at the corner of his desk. On the wall beside him, she noticed the phone numbers to several city services, the number to a day care, and a calendar. He motioned her to have a seat on the blue plastic chair beside the metal desk. Cora pulled her backpack around to her front and sat. He sat in his chair, but didn’t pull it all the way up to the desk. His hands were folded atop his blotter, the fingers still. She fidgeted. “You asked for someone who investigates murders. I have to say, you don’t walk into a police department saying something like that. It generally doesn’t go over very well.” She just looked at him. He blinked and looked back, not bothering to apologize, but then she couldn’t really blame the man. “I don’t really know how to explain this,” she said, not looking away from him. She’d learned early on the best way to at least let them know she believed what she told them was to keep eye contact. “The beginning is usually the best.” “Usually, yes, but in my case, it’s not that easy. I don’t know when the beginning was, or how or why, but I know it’s been happening for a long time, and she’s not the first.” He pursed his lips, then blew out a breath. “Okay, let me rephrase, why don’t you explain to me why you came in looking for a homicide detective.” He tapped his pencil on the calendar blotter on his desk. “I know this is waste of time. You won’t believe me, but fine, here goes.” She fisted her hands and said, “I had a dream, or rather dreams about a man that kidnaps women with eyes the color of mine, or very close to it. Angel Eyes, he calls them.”
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She waited. He didn’t say a word. She continued, “I don’t know where he gets them, or how. When I dream, I only see…” She shivered, remembering the feelings of being trapped, of hopelessness, of knowing what was coming and hoping against hope she’d be able to escape. She licked her lips and leaned towards him, seeing not him, but the room. “It’s dark there, very dark until he comes. I can’t see his face, but he’s tall. Taller than me, and very muscular, fit, like he must work out. He hurts them, can’t stand for them to close their eyes. He taped her eyes open, she was missing eyelashes.” “Who?” he asked quietly. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know if he even knows, or cares. He just wants them because of their eyes. Angel eyes,” she whispered again. …the armoire… Jars all lined up just so, waiting to see, waiting to be seen. So many, not enough. Never enough. Not for him. He needs more. Ropes pulled tight against her wrist… “This is my favorite part.” His hands tightened around her throat. She jerked when a hand touched hers. Blinking, she came back to the police office. To the man staring at her with gunmetal gray eyes. “You need something? You just sort of went away there for a minute.” She blinked again and looked down at her lap. Cora nodded. “Yes, could I have some water, please?” He rose and walked away. She took a deep breath. When he came back, he handed her a bottle of water. “Here ya go.” She uncapped it and took a drink. He stood beside her thrumming his fingers on his thigh. “What did you say your name was again?” “Palacios.” -75-
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“Detective Palacios, I know you’ll find this hard to believe. I don’t know the whole story, I’m not shown the whole story.” “Shown?” He sat on the edge of his desk. “He shows you?” She shook her head. “No, sometimes…sometimes I see things in dreams.” “So you dreamed this?” he asked, in a flat voice. She glared up at him. “Look, I know what I sound like. I know what cops always think of me. And other than the one incident in Seattle things always turned out okay. I’m telling you there is a man out here somewhere taking women off the streets because of the color of their eyes. He terrorizes them, rapes them while he’s killing them. He has them tied to a bed in a windowless room that echoes.” She realized her voice was getting louder and took a deep steadying breath before continuing. “His favorite part is when he strangles them and they convulse.” She glared at the cop silently staring at her. “Then, then the sick, twisted psycho cuts their eyes out and puts them in a jar. That way he can show his angels to the next poor woman he gets.” Fear and helplessness washed over her. “He’s already found her. The next one.” Cora sat there, waiting. Detective Palacios narrowed his gaze at her, she realized then how quiet the rest of the activity had become. “He strangles them,” he repeated, not asking a question, his eyes never wavering from hers. “Yes.” “What does he do with the bodies?” He reached over for a pad. She took another deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t see that part. I know he doesn’t think he’ll be caught. He’s never been caught before.” The detective sat back behind his desk. “Look, this is a little…” “Weird? Off? Strange? Cooky?” She dug her card out of her purse. “Fine, when you want to know more, you can find me here.” -76-
Angel Eyes
He picked up the card and read the blue script with Celtic knots each corner. One brow rose as he cut her a look. “Mystic Moons?” She stood and slung her pack on her shoulder. “Yes, I own it. Yes I sometimes tell fortunes as it is. And no I don’t charge for it so you can’t get me for scamming. The only money I take is from customers buying actual products from my shop.” He held up a hand and tossed her card on his blotter. “Look, I don’t know why you’re so defensive, I do have to ask questions.” Cora blew out a breath and nodded. “Yes, I realize that. And I apologize, but I haven’t been sleeping well. Seeing and feeling that in my dreams…” She rubbed her arms. “It doesn’t make for a well rested night.” She shrugged and was honest. “Plus, I’ve dealt with disbelieving cops before. I realize there aren’t hard facts to see and feel, but I know what I’m talking about. Instead of wasting time looking into me and bringing me in later, call the Seattle P.D. and speak to Captain Everheart. You can also see old articles at WSU, I helped a case there and the idiots wrote about it in the paper.” “Bragging Miss O’Donnell?” “No, detective. Just saving you time.” With that, she turned and started to leave. “You said all. All of them have eyes the same color as yours. Yet you seemed focused on one woman.” She stopped and turned. “He shows his trophies to whomever he has tied down at the moment. A large armoire with shelves. It’s lined with jars of pale blue eyes.” Without another word, she weaved through the desks, then back out into the outer hallway. Once outside, she pulled on her shades and climbed on her bicycle. As she peddled several blocks to the shop, she
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wondered how long it would be before Detective Palacios was at her shop, if for nothing else than to appease his curiosity. She’d bet late today, just before closing. Otherwise, he’d catch her early tomorrow morning, thinking he’d make her sweat. Cora shook her head. She’d done what she could. There was little else she could do unless gift—or her cursed blessing as she thought of it—decided to have an address scrawled in her dream. Wouldn’t that be nice?
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Angel Eyes
Chapter Eleven Rogan pulled his bike up in front of Mystic Moons. He hadn’t been able to get the damn woman out of his mind all night. He was either thinking of things he wanted to do with her, in the bed he was laying in, or he was worried about her. When he finally drifted off it was to dream about her, first making love to her, then of not being able to find her. He’d woken up around four not able to go back to sleep. He’d been trapped in a nightmare and hadn’t been able to find Cora. He’d looked everywhere and just as he thought he knew, knew he’d be able to keep her safe, the police knocked on his door and took him away. It had been just like before. Like before with Ginger. He couldn’t go through that ever again. Never, ever again. He called Clayton this morning because with the time change, he knew the man was probably already in morning commute. Rogan vented his worries to his friend, but Clayton got tagged by dispatch and told Rogan he didn’t have time, to call his shrink. He thought about it, but to what point? As he stood on the sidewalk and looked through the window, he could see her moving around inside rearranging things. He pulled the bag, containing the breakfast tacos he’d charmed the B&B owner into wrapping up for him, off the bike. Call his shrink? -79-
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God, he hated just the thought. He wanted to be the man who led others into danger again, who saved comrades from bullets. Not that he wanted to be a damn hero. He could care less about that shit. No, what he wanted, more than anything, was respect—in himself. He’d lost it along the way, had just gained it back when the nightmare with Ginger happened. He hadn’t found it again in the three years since. It was like walking along a deserted beach, the water murky, the clouds low and gray. Sooner or later everything appeared one color. The water, the moisture off the water, the clouds, the beach. Everything was gray. His shrink would say he was depressed. His shrink could kiss his ass. He really didn’t have time for any more counseling sessions. Nor did he want on chemicals. Call him stubborn, but that was who he was. He wasn’t in danger of going postal as far as he was concerned. So all the worriers could just worry to their heart’s content. Right now, he knew, knew with an inner instinct he hadn’t felt in years that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He was doing what he was supposed to do. He’d felt this way when leading men, when knowing a mission was going to go right, or to move. Instinct or something else, he really didn’t care. It had saved his life more often than not, so he learned early in training to follow that inner voice to the letter. Now that voice—or was it libido—was telling him to stick close to Ms. Cora O’Donnell. He smiled as he sat on his bike, watching her. She moved around inside dusting. The place was spotless, why she needed to dust he didn’t know, probably had a spotless house as well. He liked neat and orderly—for the most part. -80-
Angel Eyes
But he rather liked the air of scatteredness that came over her at odd moments. He loved to fluster her, watch her eyes darken and flash. Deciding to start the morning off right, he walked over to the coffee shop and ordered then asked Monte for Cora’s usual. Chris, the young man he’d caught watching Cora last night, glared at him. Rogan had no time for the punk. He merely stared back until the kid looked away. Back across the street, he knocked on her door, careful not to spill her coffee creation, which looked like some sort of chocolate milk but had three shots of espresso in it. Woman would be wired all day. She just looked at him through the glass for a moment before unlocking the door and pulling it open to allow him in. Her shop smelled like her, herbs and vanilla. He handed her the cup and she took it, smiling. “Thank you.” Without another word she walked behind the counter. He watched her, noted the way she didn’t move as fluidly as she normally did. Even in her dim shop, with the morning light slanting through the front windows, he could see she was pale. Her freckles stood out on her face, worry creased her brow and she frowned down at the cup before shaking her head. “What’s wrong?” He sipped whatever dark brew the coffee shop owner had given him. He winced, but it beat the hell out of the sludge he’d made in the hotel coffeemaker. Her frown grew and she looked at him, opened her mouth then shut it again, shaking her head. “Nothing.” “Yeah, I can see that.” Again she shook her head and pasted a smile on her face. “Fake smiles don’t really work on you, you know.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “You know, I’m not in the best of moods.” He could see that. “How come?” -81-
Jaycee Clark
“Long night.” “Tell me about it,” he muttered. She leaned on the counter and glanced at the clock. “You don’t open for another half hour,” he told her. He studied her more, noticed her hands shook and the skin beneath her eyes smudged a darker blue than her eyes. “Come on, tell it to the biker dude.” He leaned closer. “We’re known to be able to take on trouble and blow it to the wind.” A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. Then she tilted her head. “Yes, but you don’t believe in all this.” She waved her hand around the shop. Did he? “Let’s just say I don’t disbelieve in it, and leave it at that.” For a long moment, she stared at him. “Come on,” he whispered. “You look like you could get it off your chest.” She took a deep breath and he decided the cute white turtleneck looked as great on her as the flowy skirts and tops he’d seen her in before. “I’ve just had some really bad dreams lately.” Okay, that wasn’t what he was expecting. “You’re frowning,” she muttered. “Well, it wasn’t what I thought you’d say.” “And what did you think I’d say?” He thought for a moment. “Fine, tell me about the bad dreams.” Her eyes stared past him out the windows, he watched her as she seemed to go somewhere else. “Sometimes, sometimes I see things in dreams.” He scrambled through the info he’d read in the books he’d purchased. “You mean like precognitive?” Or was it clairvoyant? -82-
Angel Eyes
She blinked and then looked back at him with a slight question in her eyes. “I do read, why else buy the books?” That faint smile pulled again at the corner of her mouth. “Touché.” “So tell Dr. Duran about the bad dreams.” Her eyes went almost blank again. “I see him killing them,” she whispered. He leaned closer to hear her. “You what?” She looked directly at him and he could have sworn he saw the secrets of the world in her eyes. “Nothing. Just forget it.” She edged passed him and walked behind the counter. “Thank you for the coffee.” She set the cup on the counter and dug in her pocket, pulling out a five. He shook his head. “Keep it. Consider it a peace offering.” Deciding to follow her lead, he dropped the conversation. He’d try again later. “So, are you busy tonight?” “Tonight?” She propped an elbow on the counter and he couldn’t help but notice the way her shirt pulled across her breasts. A white bra, lace. He closed his eyes. “Yes. If you’re not busy. You know, dinner and…” “And?” she pressed. He smiled and leaned across the counter so that his mouth was only inches from hers. “I don’t know. What’s there to do around here? I’m the new guy in town. Got any ideas?” Her lashes hid her eyes from him as her gaze dropped to his lips. Her tongue darted out and he could no more stop from closing the distance between them than he could his next breath. Her lips were cold, unlike the night before. He slowly licked them, hoping to warm her up. Her breath sighed and mixed with his. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her closer. “I thought of you all night.” -83-
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She opened her mouth and he kissed her like he wanted to, slanting his mouth over hers, asking, a begging demand for what he didn’t know. Her hand rested on his forearm and she moaned. Rogan gentled the kiss and pulled back, sliding his fingers through her hair, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear. Her lips were no longer pale, but rosy and wet from his kisses. He wanted another taste. “I guess we can do something tonight,” she whispered. “I must be stupid.” She shook her head. “I know nothing about you.” He smiled and said, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” “What are you doing here?” “Looking for a man,” he blurted out, not sure why. It was the simple truth. Her gaze raked over him again. “Are you a bounty hunter or something?” He laughed and realized it had been awhile since he’d found humor in anything. A bounty hunter. “No. I’m a reporter for the Washington Post. Just on vacation for a bit.” “Ah.” Then she shrugged. “What the hell. Fine. What time?” He cocked a brow. “Seven?” She started to say something else, but a knock at the door caught her attention. “We’re cl—” Her pallor grew. “Damn.” Rogan glanced over his shoulder. Two people stood on the other side of the door. Both plainclothes, a gray Crown Vic sitting at the curb behind his bike. Well hell. He’d know cops anywhere. He wondered what they were doing here. Cora sighed. “I’ll meet you tonight at seven. Where?” He didn’t take his eyes off the police. Great. He wondered if they were here because of him or because of her… -84-
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The woman of the pair pressed her badge against the door. Cora walked to the door and opened it up. “Detective, I’d say it was a surprise, but I’d be lying.” The man smiled at her and Rogan noticed it was a real smile, not a placating one most cops used to put people at ease. “Miss O’Donnell, we’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said, his gaze quickly raking over Rogan and missing little. One dark brow rose. Rogan leaned against the counter. Frankly he didn’t need the hassle of cops, not at this time. Then he’d have to answer questions and more questions and that just wasted time, in his opinion. But he wondered what they were doing with Cora. She was as far from criminal as a kewpie doll. He remembered her sassy attitude, maybe kewpie wasn’t the correct term. “Detective Palacios,” the man said, offering his hand. “And this is my partner, Detective Mesler.” Rogan’s attention went from Palacios to Mesler. She was dressed in slacks, a jacket and a tight pullover. Nicely put together if one went for the kick-ass, get-out-of-my-way woman. Blonde or not, she did nothing for him. “Rogan Duran.” He shook hands and waited. “Seven tonight?” Cora asked him. He turned to her and nodded, then without a care to the policemen, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Seven. Your place.” She smiled. “You bringing the bike?” “Well, I didn’t rent a car if that’s what you’re asking.” She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Good. Tonight then.” And he was dismissed. One last look between her and the policemen and he let himself out of the shop and climbed back on his bike. He -85-
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needed his laptop, time to search the entire area for anymore missing women. A A A Cora watched as he drove away on his Fat Boy. She sighed. What she wouldn’t give to be on the back of the damn thing with him. But that wasn’t to be. She turned to the detectives. “I’d offer you coffee, but I really don’t have any.” She pointed across the street. “Monte keeps me supplied.” Palacios smiled again. She wasn’t put at ease. “That’s okay, Miss O’Donnell. My partner, Mesler.” “Yeah, I caught that.” “Why did you come in again this morning, Miss O’Donnell?” the woman asked. She was blonde, tanned as the sunbaked Arizona landscape and wore her hair lopped off in a tomboy haircut. Somehow the style remained feminine on the woman. Her brown eyes were hard, flat, suspicious. Cora couldn’t blame her, but she still resented it. “You know why I came in this morning. Let me save you the trouble of requestioning, hoping I’ll trip myself up. I’m a psychic, clairvoyant for those that want particulars. Generally I’m not precognitive, but I have moments. However my dreams, nightmares, visions, as you will, are happening.” Palacios held up his hand. “We checked you out, Miss O’Donnell.” Cora scoffed, turned and picked up the utility knife, slicing through the tape of the box already delivered this morning. “You’ve helped on many cases. Why’d you leave Seattle?”
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Without turning, she said, “I wanted something new. I was tired of being fucked for visions.” Now she turned. “Does that answer your question, Detective?” He smiled. “The captain up there said to tell you hello and that your old friend is no longer with the department.” She shook her head. “Huh. Isn’t that a surprise.” “So, you see things?” Mesler tried again. Cora opened the box and dug through the foam peanuts finding the wrapped candle globes she’d ordered. “Yep.” “We’re just trying to understand,” Mesler offered. Cora put down the blue and green globe and gave her attention to the police. “Look, I dream them. Not all my dreams are actually happening.” She frowned. “But others, I just know.” Then she shrugged. “Or suspect.” “As in this case?” “Yes, as in this case.” “What do you know about these disappearances?” Mesler asked, taking out a pad. Cora sighed and grabbed a small, blue tealight candle, lighting it and setting it inside the new globe. “I don’t. Not much. I’m not sure where he gets them, what they look like, not really. What I do know is he has them, he wants them, he needs them, or thinks he does.” She looked down at the candle flame. “So many,” she whispered. “Can you sit down and tell us all about the dreams? The details?” Palacios asked. She jerked her gaze from the dancing fire to look back at the detective. “Why the sudden interest?” His gray eyes held hers. “Because a woman from Flagstaff was reported missing this morning. No one has heard from her in three days.” Cora just looked at him. -87-
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Palacios continued. “And after learning that, we ran the eye color through the data base and several have never turned up. Just vanished. Two in the state of Arizona in the last three months.” Chills pricked her skin and Cora could only look at him. The cold that stalked her closed in and whispered a warning.
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Chapter Twelve He smiled as he read the morning paper online. Someone reported her missing, had they? Poor, stupid souls. He scanned the article and knew they had no leads, no anything. They never, ever did. He was the one always in control. Always in the know. He opened another file. Cora O’Donnell. Pretty, all things considered. And the fact that there was an added bonus… He smiled. Her eyes called to him, but this time would be different. He felt it, knew it. Something about her was going to be a turning point for him. He closed his eyes and thought of her yet again. The way the flowing skirts she often wore breezed around her ankles. She painted her toenails, and wore toe-rings. Yet she wasn’t flashy or overdone as many were these days. Her light, wavy hair was always natural, her face more often without make-up than with. And her eyes. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes. So blue, so pale, so true. He wondered, just for a moment, if she knew, if she suspected? Since coming here, she’d been in his mind, though he tried to ignore her. He usually made it a point not to find his angels right where he lived. It made things…complicated, but in her case… -89-
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She was simply too perfect. He’d tried to ignore her, but couldn’t. He could only watch her, think of her. Hell the last woman he wished was Cora. He’d fantasized it was her face, her body. The thought brought his attention to the newest jar gracing his shelf. The kill no longer held the appeal it once did. It seemed lately he was searching, but for what he knew not. The unrest in him was so often appeased with the hunt itself, the search, the find and finally the kill. The keepsakes were his, a commemoration, but special because the angels still watched over him. Where before Cora merely caught his attention, now he found he could not get her out of his mind. He wanted her. And he’d have her. He smiled and leaned back, remembering the elation, the rush… In time he’d feel that again. A A A Cora looked at the dress. Lake held it, smiling and still yawning. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet, but they’d closed shop early for what Lake termed this momentous occasion. “I’m not wearing that.” The little blue and silver piece was just that, a piece of material. There was hardly much to it and what there was, left very little to the imagination. “What do you do, shop online at Sluts R Us?” Cora asked. Lake turned the dress to look at it. “No, this baby I got from screwmenow.com. It’s become my favorite site.” Her gaze raked over Cora. “Sweets, you should try it sometime. Come on. This will look fabulous on you.”
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“He’s got a Harley.” Lake grinned. “Oh, do tell.” “The bike.” Lake shook her head. “Hell I’d wear it. Nothing but his jeans between me and him and all the while the skirt covering what he can’t see. The giant rumble beneath.” Lake gave a shiver. “Yeah, this dress.” Cora jerked it away and tossed it amidst the growing mound of clothes on her bed. “No, not that dress. Regardless, I’d like to get to know the man before I jump his bones, ya know? I don’t want to seem desperate and all but throw myself at him.” Lake stood and rummaged through the closet. “Trust me, if you threw yourself at him, the way that man looks at you, he’d merely break your fall with himself under you and his hands up your skirt.” Cora rolled her eyes. A glance in the mirror made her wonder what she was doing. Her hair was in hot rollers. Curlers, for crying out loud. Cora couldn’t remember the last time she’d used curlers, hot rollers, or even a curling iron. But thanks to Lake’s magic bag of tricks for the lonely and long abstinent woman, she now stood decked out in female primping glory. “What am I doing? Dating?” She turned to her friend who was raking hangers over the rod, mumbling and shaking her head. “You know, I swore off dating.” Lake merely looked at her over her shoulder. “Where are cleavage shirts?” Cora shook her head and blinked. “The what?” “Cleavage shirts. You know, push up bra, low cut,” someone said from the doorway. Cora whirled. Kyle and Hanson stood grinning before they both walked into her room. -91-
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“One has to have cleavage for such a shirt to be named that,” she muttered. “Oh the blue dress,” Hanson said, pointing to the scrap of chiffon on the bed. “And if you don’t have enough for cleavage, dear, go without.” Without? As in without a bra? She only blinked. “Yes,” Hanson continued. “The dress, completely bare beneath, the man won’t be able to sit through dinner.” “No,” she strangled out. Kyle looked at it then at her. “You could always say you want to take a car. I trust you with my Lexus.” “I want to ride his Harley,” she said, almost whining. Kyle slung an arm across her shoulders. “Of course you do darling, why do you think I went and bought you a box of these?” He handed her a gift bag. She raised her brow and snatched it away, pulling the tissue paper out. She could only stare at the bottom. “Wow. I don’t think anyone has ever given me a box of condoms as a gift before.” “It’s a momentous occasion,” Kyle said, before darting away to join the other two at the closet. Giving up, Cora sat on the edge of the bed and watched as the others put together outfits, discarded other things and then decided. Cora actually couldn’t fault their decisions. Though the shirt she was certain she had given to Goodwill not long after Lake had talked her into buying it. The pants were another one of those buys she couldn’t remember making but was certain she’d been talked into. The light beige pants were wide legged, flat fronted and low hipped. The shirt was one of the go-withouts. Hanson was holding up the gold, cream and pale blue spaghetti-strapped concoction. -92-
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“I don’t have a choice in this do I?” “No,” they all answered. Laughing, she gave up and walked into the bathroom. “Fine. I’ll listen to you guys.” An hour later, standing in front of her mirror, she had to admit maybe her friends knew what they were talking about. The pants managed to look sexy even as wide as they were. The strappy sandals only added to the dressed, yet casual look. The top was tied behind her neck, the material stretched over her torso, and fit against her bare breasts. Her hair was tousled in easy, fat curls. Her make-up she’d left to Lake, assured it would be fine and wary she’d look like… Well, Cora didn’t know, but the end effect was…perfect. Not too much, but enough. “So, does it yell, ‘take me now? I wanna ride your Harley!’?” Lake asked. Cora smiled and shook her head. “I don’t know what it says.” “I do,” Hanson said softly. He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “It says, I’m sexy and I’m a woman. Don’t mess with me.” Laughing she looked past him in the mirror to Lake who was sprawled across the haphazard clothing. “I like his version better.” “Same thing, different wording.” “No it’s not.” Lake sat up. “Okay dear, you do know what to do with the condoms, right?” Kyle snorted. “Yes, fill them with water and toss them at passing cars.” Lake tilted her head. “I don’t think I ever did that.” “Hon,” Kyle commented, “you probably didn’t have any extras.” Lake shoved him off the edge of the bed. -93-
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Cora smiled at the group of them and then back at herself in the mirror. She hoped she’d have fun tonight. “You look lovely,” Hanson told her. “He’s liable to fall over from shock.” “I doubt that very much,” she muttered, turning this way and that. No man had ever fallen over from looking at her. “I lack those attributes that men fall over for.” “Such as?” Lake asked. “Charming personalities, great looks, longer legs and bigger boobs.” She tilted her head again. “But I’m pretty enough.” Hanson snorted. “Yeah the-girl-next-door has always been such a let down. One never hears of men falling for her.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Darling, you’ve got the most amazing eyes ever created. Most would have to get contacts to get that color. You shine, without question.” She patted his arm. “See, charm.” But his words made her pause. She gazed at her eyes, saw hers, saw others and her mind drifted. He’d been waiting, but he wasn’t waiting any longer. Soon she’d be his, and maybe he’d find that lost feeling he’d been looking for… The jars… The eyes, they all stared back at her. Some looking straight on, others floating to the side, or looking up. But beyond the eyes, she saw the faces of who they once were… Of who he stole away… “I’m coming soon, Angel Eyes.” “Hon?” The hand on her arm startled her and she jerked, blinking at the room around her. Her room. Hers. Not the other.
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But even on that thought, she fought back to the vision, to see beyond what she was shown, to see something, anything more than the eyes. “Cora?” Kyle’s voice floated to her. The doorbell chimed. She closed her eyes, as her knees trembled. “I’ll get it.” Hanson walked out of the room. Someone was rubbing her shoulders. “You okay, sweetie?” Kyle asked from behind her. She opened her eyes and looked at him in the mirror, nodding, she answered. “Yeah, I think so.” His worried eyes met hers. “You sure?” “Did I say anything?” she whispered. He wrapped his arms around her. “No, just went sheet white and your eyes went all round like they sometimes do.” He kissed the top of her head. “Well, whatever you saw, forget it.” “I agree,” Lake said, coming up next to them. “You’re a knockout. So forget the worries and concerns.” She handed her a little toy of a gold purse. “And go ride his Harley.” Kyle snorted. Cora shook her head and breathed deep. Rogan was so real, or felt it. But it was rare she saw such clarity when awake. So did that mean what she saw was happening now? Or was it something, those rare times of what was to be? “Sex. Harley.” Lake took her hand and guided her to the door. “Forget the worries. Just remember we’re having breakfast tomorrow.” Then she stopped. “Actually, who knows. Make that lunch. We’ll do lunch. I want to know all about it.” Lake handed her a sweater-jacket thingy, which
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would be useless as far as Cora was concerned. It was ivory, crocheted with enough holes, she just looked at it. “It’s sexy, goes with the outfit and looks great.” Lake shoved her out the door. Cora looked back over her shoulder to Kyle who stood with hands in his pockets, frowning at her. “Help, please?” A grin flashed across his face and he shooed her on. “Have fun, dear. And I agree with Lake. Safe sex and all that.” Rolling her eyes, she straightened her shoulders and walked out the door and down the short hallway to the living room. Rogan stood talking to Hanson. Both turned as she walked into the room. Rogan stopped mid sentence, his eyes narrowed and she saw him breathe deep. His hair was still long, the shadow had been trimmed and shaved to a goatee, but it still gave him a rough look more than a straight-lined, cleaned-up appearance. Maybe she should have asked where they’d be going. But though he wore jeans, they were black, and the blue dress shirt was button down, the jacket a suit jacket and not the leather one he’d had on. Simple. Nothing fancy, but she figured dressed up for him. Those dark eyes zeroed in on her and raked her from her hair down over her go-without top, down her legs to stop at her sandals before slowly rising to her eyes. The look might as well been a heavy caress of his hand. She fiddled with the strap of her purse. “Hi. You look nice.” One brow rose. “And you look fantastic.” Hanson smiled at her. “I told him he better treat you right or we’d trash his bike.” She smiled, ran a hand over her hair and strode to him. “Ignore them.” “You can’t ignore family,” Rogan said, walking towards her. -96-
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She tilted her head, looked at him, then at those around her and realized with a start he was right. “You’re absolutely right.” Lake sighed and draped an arm around Kyle, sniffing. “Hear that, Kyle. Our little girl is finally going on a date. This is a momentous occasion. I think we should have brought the camera.” “No, the camcorder,” Kyle said. Hanson shook his head. “Go before they start into the safe sex lecture.” He opened the door for them, and waited as they stepped into the outer hallway. A door down the hall opened and Mrs. Kovoski glared at them. “Too much ruckus this time of evening.” She scoffed. “Young people.” Then she blinked, looked them up and down. “Hmph. You taking this one out?” She motioned to Cora with her silver walking cane. Cora pulled the small sweater-thing on and wondered how Lake had found it in her closet because it wasn’t hers. “Yes ma’am.” He walked to the stooped woman, who was in her late seventies, maybe eighties—Mrs. Kovoski always changed her age—and introduced himself. “Rogan Duran. And what is a lovely lady like you doing out here alone? You should have a date yourself.” Mrs. Kovoski narrowed her beady eyes on Rogan’s and she snapped. “What makes you think I don’t, young ‘un?” But a smile played at the corner of her mouth and she smoothed a hand down her lavender and pink checkered blazer, which matched the polyester pink pants. “I’ll have you know tonight is bingo at the citizen’s center.” “And this young lady, I’ll tell you, Rogan,” said Hanson, coming to stand with them, “is just a man magnet. Beauty like hers and charm it’s no wonder the men are always giving her gifts, flowers, coming to see her…” “Who is it this week, Mrs. Kovoski?” Kyle asked her. -97-
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Mrs. Kovoski sniffed and raised her nose. “Well, if you must know, I’m going with Mavis. She and I are currently anti-men. Pain in the ass every last one of them. Think they can sit with you at bingo, looking at a bunch of numbers, eat across from you and bam, they want in your bed.” She pushed her rhinestone-studded horn rims up and raked Rogan over with a look. “You thinking of taking this one to bed?” He opened his mouth, frowned, then scratched the side of his head. Mrs. Kovoski nodded and hphmed again. “Good. ‘Bout time someone did.” “Mrs. Kovoski!” Cora wanted the floor to open and swallow her. Whole. Chewed, she didn’t really care. Mrs. Kovoski shook her head. “You make sure to get condoms. This day and age, and all that safe sex stuff. Never be too careful I say.” Without another word, Cora grabbed Rogan’s hand and all but dragged him down the hallway and out the door. Great. She’d reached a new low. She was receiving sex advice from her eighty-year-old neighbor.
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Chapter Thirteen Rogan watched her walk in front of him, the way those pants molded her ass, and the way her halter shirt left the top of her back exposed. At least, he’d caught sight of exposed bare back until she’d pulled on a short, sweater thingy that seemed more for show than warmth. Her hair was curled and partially pulled up, leaving just a glimpse of the curve of her shoulder and neck. He leaned over her to get the extra helmet he’d purchased. She was pressed in the front against his bike, her back to him. He couldn’t help but breathe deep. Her vanilla scent even heavier than normal. While he had the chance, he whispered, “You do look fantastic.” He kissed that bit of exposed skin along the column of the neck. She shivered and he wished, for a moment, that he’d rented a car. “Do you mind the bike?” he asked. She turned and looked back and up at him over her shoulder. “No. I wanted to ride it again. It was great.” He smiled and nodded. “I figured as much.” It seemed a shame to ruin such lovely curls, but helmets were helmets. He mumbled a sorry. She laughed. “Don’t worry.” He tugged the helmet on and leaned in to kiss her. She tasted as sweet as he remembered and he wished like hell he’d planned this better. Then the scene in the hallway burst into his brain and he smiled.
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Shaking his head, he helped her onto the bike and missed seeing her smooth leg beneath the skirt she’d worn last night. Climbing on, he revved the bike up, laughing with her as it rumbled to life. Minutes later they pulled up in front of a Mexican food restaurant the B&B owner claimed was the best in town without being ostentatious or catering to the four star, golf club crowd. The building was to code, or what he’d been terming as code in his mind. Stucco, arched windows and no tall neon signs. Actually, it kept things…neat, he decided. Leal’s beckoned, spices and roasting, grilled meats wafting on the evening breeze. “Oh,” she said behind him. “How did you know?” He climbed off. “Know what?” “This is my favorite place.” Her eyes twinkled up at him. For a moment he paused, something dark and unwanted moving over him. What if his coming here had put her in danger? Was he following the girls, or did they sometimes follow him. He had no idea what was going on anymore, wasn’t even going to try and figure it out. One thing he was certain of, he was sticking close to Ms. Cora O’Donnell and not just because of her eyes. The interior of the restaurant fit with the exterior, southwest themed and simplistic styles. He rather liked it. “Leal’s is touted as one of the best places in town. Or at least that’s what the brochure laying on my dresser claims.” She grinned and nodded. “It’s right. The prices are great and won’t break someone’s checkbook and the atmosphere is wonderful. Irene and Lo run the best place in town.”
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Once seated she didn’t even open the menu. He did, grinning at her over the top of it. “Eat here a lot, do you?” She shrugged and crunched into a chip loaded with salsa. “My favorite. Why mess with a good thing?” He closed the menu. “So what’s good?” “Everything.” Rogan ran his gaze over her again. The waiter came back and their orders were placed. He leaned back and said, “Okay, tell me something.” She sipped her water. “Like what?” He shrugged. “Two things. One that everyone knows about you and the other that no one knows.” “Ah, a secret. But if I told you it wouldn’t be a secret.” “True, but then we’d get an awkward moment out of the way. Nothing serious if you don’t want.” She thought for a moment. “Okay, I like stars. Shapes, little stupid things to hang on the wall, little twinkling star wind chimes. I like stars.” He nodded. “I like Harleys.” Her chuckle danced out between them. “As for a secret…” Her gaze dropped to the tabletop and she picked on the edge of her napkin. When she looked at him, he couldn’t help but see the fear shift in the blue depths. “What?” he asked, leaning up to grab her hand. She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing.” Then she shrugged and shook her head. “What the hell. Sometimes I see things.” Okay. He frowned. “Like out your window?” “Like in my mind.” The psychic thing. He sighed. “I’ll admit this is all very new to me. Very strange. But at the same time, it’s very believed in. So I don’t disbelieve it. I’ve gone on what’s called hunches before. What gave me -101-
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that? Some sort of sixth sense? Or what? I don’t know.” He took a deep breath. For whatever reason, he wanted to know more about this woman. Not just superficial stuff. Not just to screw. He wanted to know her. He didn’t know who would be more shocked if he admitted that. Him or her. So he kept that bit to myself. “What do you see?” Her face leached of color. “You don’t want to know.” With his thumb, he lightly rubbed the back of her hand. “Yes I do. And from what I’ve read some people see things that were, that are and what will be. Some a variation thereof. So which category do you fall into?” For a long moment she just stared at him. “I’m clairvoyant. For the most part I sometimes see things that are happening.” She frowned again at the tabletop and propped her chin in her other hand. He sighed. “I’d love to ask you all sorts of questions, but I already pushed for that one, so I guess I’ll just have to be patient.” “For what?” “For you to tell me whatever you feel like telling me?” “Memory serves I already told you to leave me alone and go away.” He smiled, reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, sometimes I listen and sometimes I follow those hunches.” Her eyes dropped to his mouth. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. Heady spices of cumin, peppers and roasting meat filled the air. Latin music thrummed through the night. “Where are you from?” she asked. “I told you, Washington.” She tilted her head and studied him with those wicked eyes. “Yes, but big city boys like you who ride Harleys are usually running from
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something or looking for something else, otherwise you’d be driving a perfectly good silver or black Volkswagen to your job that you love.” He couldn’t argue. “Maybe I’m looking for a change.” She leaned on the table, her elbows resting on the edge. “You’re looking for something.” He looked away, relieved to see the waiter beside them with their entrees. For the rest of dinner, he steered the conversation to safer topics. Like weather, local interests, activities, favorite music, movies. Halfway through the meal, she decided to take off her little, non-existent jacket. Rogan took a long drink of his water. “What?” she asked. “You look great.” A small smile played at the edge of her mouth. “Really?” She tilted her head to the side. “How great?” He studied her, then scratched his mouth before leaning closer to her. “Great enough I wish now I’d stayed in the hotel instead of in the bed and breakfast.” “Aw.” A twinkle lit her eyes. The waiter came and removed their plates and Rogan wondered again what she really thought of him. She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. He took a chance. “You know, I saw this great spot out riding today.” “Did you now?” His eyes locked with hers, and he leaned closer until he could brush his lips across hers. “Wanna see it?” “The place or something else?” she whispered. “Anything you want.” Her laugh was husky and real. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
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He sighed and stood, tossed a couple of twenties on the table, then held out his hand. She held his hand and he walked them out. In no time they were back on the bike, rolling through the night. He took the curves, remembering the road soon turned from pavement to an oiled dirt road. Soon they were parked by the river. He cut the engine and waited, felt her warm and pressed against his back, her thighs cradling his, her arms around his waist. “I love this bike.” He stood, then turned and sat back down on it, facing her. Rogan didn’t say a word. She licked her lips and unhooked the helmet from under her chin, pulling it off and tossing her hair. He reached up and unpinned it, let the rest of it fall around her face. “You’re very beautiful.” She smiled faintly, the full moon shining down on them. The river trickled near by and something howled in the distance. “You scared of coyotes?” she asked. “Nope. Not much scares me anymore.” She leaned closer to him. “Such a guy. I bet you have all sorts of lines you feed to girls.” “You’re very distrusting.” She shrugged. “Maybe so, but then I don’t have to worry about being crapped on or betrayed, do I?” He tsked and cupped her face, running his thumb from her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth. Back and forth, until finally she leaned into his palm. “Would you believe me if I told you you’re the first woman I’ve been interested in in almost three years?” She blinked. “Going straight again?” He chuckled. “No. Always have been straight. Just went through a rough patch.” -104-
Angel Eyes
She frowned. “Sorry, that wasn’t very nice of me. Everyone is entitled to their privacy.” “So we are.” “You want to talk about it?” He thought about it, then shook his head. “No. You?” She closed the distance between them and stopped just short of kissing him. “No.” Her breath whispered against his mouth. Then her lips pressed against his, opened and she teased the seam of his mouth with her tongue. Rogan tensed then relaxed, his blood warming and humming through his veins. He opened under her exploration and let her lead. She kissed like she did everything else. Full of passion, with just a hint of hesitation. She angled her head and scooted closer. Cora pulled back for a moment and looked at him. Then she picked one leg up and draped it over his, the other quickly followed, so that she straddled his thighs. “Are we going to tip over?” He jerked her closer so she was sitting right on top of him, his erection cradled against her. “With the kickstand down and my feet on the ground?” He shook his head. “No. Not unless we get to rocking on the bike.” Her smile dimpled her cheeks. “We’ll have to try that some day. Maybe when I’m in a skirt.” He cupped her bottom and leaned in, nuzzling her neck, smelling again the scent of warm vanilla that surrounded her. “You know, I didn’t bring you out here to make out.” She laughed and he felt the rumble against his lips. “Didn’t you?” He shook his head. “Hoped, but planned on, no.” He kissed a trail from her pulse at the base of her neck to ear. He gently pulled it between his teeth. “Why, you want to make out?” -105-
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She wiggled against him, tilted her head even more. “Does this answer your question?” “You’re a complex woman, Cora O’Donnell.” He stroked his hand up her back to cup the nape of her neck. “Are you always this chatty?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair. He licked the swirls of her ear, made sure the stubble of his goatee rubbed her neck, and was rewarded with her shudder. “I’m a reporter, remember?” “So will everyone get to read all the details of our time at the local make out spot in tomorrow’s early edition?” He kissed his way from her ear, the corner of her eye, to her mouth. “We’re not going to be up for the early edition.” He licked her top lip, her bottom lip, smiling when she opened for him. “And if we are, I’m sure as hell not going to be writing.” The kiss went from teasing to demanding on both their parts. Tongues met, demanded, and slid away to return and demand more. Hands fisted in hair. He held her with an arm around her, while he caressed her waist, finding the bottom of her shirt. He just wanted to feel her skin. Bare skin against his hand. The side of her stomach tensed as he eased the edge of the shirt up and gently raked his fingers over the exposed flesh. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss. Rogan met her kiss for kiss, not sure if he wanted to lead or see where she’d lead him. He moved his hand from under her shirt to rub the silky material between his palm against her skin. Up her torso, over her ribs, to cup her breast. The nipple was already pebbled and hard against his palm. -106-
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He wanted it more so. Easily, gently, he rubbed the cool silk against her distended peak, kissing her, holding her. When he took the nipple between his fingers and rolled it between the silk and his fingers, she shuddered and moaned in his mouth. “Easy,” he whispered. She pulled back and licked her lips, then kissed him gently, whispering, “It’s been awhile.” He smiled against her. “Good, then we’re on equal ground.” Cora moved to wrap her hands around his neck, but he shook his head. “No, lean back against the bitch seat.” A frown creased her brow. “The bitch seat?” She chuckled, but she slowly leaned back so she was almost laying down, her shoulders propped up by the incline of the back seat. Her wide eyes watched him in the moonlight. She still straddled his widespread thighs. He ran his palms from her thighs up over her hipbones, over her torso to circle around her breasts. She lay watching him, her arms up and holding the curved bitch bar above her head. He grinned at her as he raked his fingers back down to her waist and slowly raised the bottom of her shirt. Cool air brushed over her skin, making her shiver. But she wasn’t cold. It had been too long. Way too long. Desire thrummed through her blood stream and she wished like hell they’d planned better and brought a blanket or something. But she wasn’t about to mention it now. He pushed her shirt up, baring her stomach, her ribs, and finally her breasts. She wanted to cover herself, but kept her hands on the smooth curve of metal.
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She licked her lips. “If I’m laying on the bitch seat, what’s the bar called?” His hands didn’t pause. “Bitch bar.” She grinned. In the moonlight, his hair was black, a bit too long, his profile unforgiving and chiseled. Then he shifted and moonlight glanced off his eyes. Her blood heated even more. His hands, warm against her cooling skin, rubbed softly, then harder. He cupped her breasts, traced the undersides with his fingers, around and around the centers. Rogan leaned over and blew warm air across her stomach, then licked a path up and around until he pulled a nipple into his mouth. His tongue was warm. She arched. The coarse hair of his goatee and mustache tickled and scraped her skin. One hand still held her, squeezing her hipbone. She’d always been sensitive on and around her hipbones. He squeezed again as he pulled her nipple harder and deeper into his warm mouth. The wind chilled down the fertile canyon and across her. She shivered and reached for him, running her fingers through his hair. “Rogan.” The hand on her hipbone was working the side fastener of her pants. She could feel it and wondered, but he easily unhooked the clasp and slid the zipper down. His hand was slightly chilled as he caressed over her lower abdomen. She wanted this. Looking up at the moon, she knew she wanted this. His fingers, long and deft, found the edge of her panties. He slid back and forth until he was under the elastic and through her curls. The cool of his fingers contrasted almost violently to the hot, wet heat of her. -108-
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She moaned and arched. “Here. I want you here.” He pulled away from her breast to lick his way to the other. “Here?” Without warning, a long finger pierced her just as his hot mouth closed over her cold nipple, sucking deep. She gasped. “Now. Now, Rogan.” He only looked up at her from under his lashes. “Good things come to those who wait.” “Screw that,” she hissed as his thumb feathered across the bundle of nerves straining for release. “Oh, I plan to screw something.” She laughed and went to work on his shirt, quickly unbuttoning it, jerking it from his slacks. When she could feel the heat of his skin, she jerked him down or tried to. But still it didn’t work. With a frustrated mutter, she reared up, almost unseating them. Her cool chest met his much warmer one and she smiled at his quick intake of breath. “Did you bring a condom?” He arched a brow. “I listen to my elders, thank you.” His hand was still buried between her legs and she felt him add another finger to the first deep inside her. “Oh God,” she moaned, and threw her head back as he started to stroke her. “You’re so ready.” “I know!” Frustration laced with need. “Shhh.” He kissed her neck, up her chin to her mouth. “Just relax. Enjoy.” “I want you,” she said, just as he stroked deeper and flicked his thumb again over her sensitive center of nerves. “You’ll have me.” He stroked her deep, circled her nerves.
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Straining, she thought she could hold it back, thought she could wait for… Without warning, she came, pulsing and clasping his hand. Cora dropped her head on his shoulder, panting. Still he stroked her, easing her now instead of building her back up. Then he was pulling free, jerking her to her feet to stand on one side of the bike and pulling her clothes off. The wind, cool before, was cold now. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Reason might be slow in coming but… Rogan unbuckled his belt and his pants. His chest was muscled, toned with a thatch of hair between his pectoral muscles, veeing down to his groin. She could only watch as he dug in his pocket and pulled out a foil wrapper. She cocked a brow and waited, though cold. “Hurry up.” He shook his head. “All the time I’ve had this bike…” In no time, he was sitting back on the bike, still dressed for the most part, and she was naked. It was strangely arousing. He pulled her back down on top of him. The denim of his jeans was warm and textured beneath her smooth thighs. “I’d planned to do this in a bed tonight.” She smiled against him, as she shifted, raising enough to position him. “Oh we’ll do it in a bed too. You said something about early and not writing.” Cora shuddered out a breath and slid down on him, gasped when he grabbed her hips and surged inside. “God,” they both said. He filled her. A muscle twitched near his jaw and she leaned over to kiss it. Rogan groaned. She was so damn tight, so freaking hot he’d loose it in a few strokes. -110-
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Reaching between them, he played her against him, smiling when she shuddered in his arms. Wanting more, he laid her back on the seat again and took her breast in his mouth. Buried deep inside her, he moaned as she tightened around him. Still he played her until she was writhing, panting. “Please, please, Rogan.” He suckled her harder, pinched the bundle of nerves between his fingers and felt her clamp down on him like a vise. Her scream filled the night. Coyotes barked in the distance. He stroked once, twice more and the world fell away around him as his blood thickened, surged through his body and burst into a mind numbing orgasm. He shook, a groan ripping from his throat. All he felt was her heat, saw her staring up at him. Spent, he stared down at her, and saw a satisfied smile on her face. Rogan sat back, pulled her into his arms and ran his hands up and down her back. For a long moment, he could only hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears, feel her heart slamming against her chest. “Wow,” she whispered, licking his neck. “I always knew I wanted a ride on a Harley.” He slapped her naked ass. “And you got one.”
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Chapter Fourteen He looked at the ceiling, blowing out a lazy stream of smoke. Where was she? What was she doing? Music drifted from the speakers and he hummed softly to the classical piece, dark as it was. He imagined her in her room, in her bed, alone and asleep. Sleeping beauty, like an angel. Her eyes were so damn perfect. It was stupid he’d wasted so much time on others. He should have just taken her first thing and been done with it, moved on. He glanced over to the armoire and wondered what he should do. Today? Tomorrow? Next week? He’d have to plan carefully. After all, this was a local, lots of people loved her, liked her and she’d be easily missed. Not like the other. Not saying the other one, or any, hadn’t been missed. But he hadn’t been there. Well, with the exception of one. He’d been there, but no one had known. They’d all thought he was dead. Idiots. Now, though. Now, he found her again and he wanted her. Wanted to see her look at him with those eyes. Wanted to feel her skin under his. He knew she smelled of warm vanilla. He’d seen her, smelled her, been in her shop enough to know she wore what she sold. -112-
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He’d heard she was really psychic. He had to admit it added to the spice of things. Did she know? Did she suspect? He hoped she did. It added to it. Upped the stakes so to speak. He’d seen her talking to the cops. What did she know? The game was even better with the added danger of being found out and caught. Yes, he liked the danger. And this time it was so much closer to him than ever before. Before, it had been so easy. This added a bit of spice. The suspense. Would he win? Or would the cops? Cops, he’d learned, only found what he left, and even then they only found something that shouldn’t be found. Games were so much fun. Not that he did it for the game. He did it for him. For the excitement. To have them. They had to be his. His angels. He stood and flicked the cigarette into the ashtray. He’d have to get rid of it, it was rather trashy and a habit he no longer let rule his life but indulged in from time to time. But he’d felt the need for something calming. And yoga was out currently. He couldn’t sit still long enough. Couldn’t think of anything but her. He’d only find solace in the meditative plane after he had her. The need to have, to possess, hadn’t ridden him this hard in a long, long time. -113-
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He walked to the armoire and opened it. The shelves gleamed at him. Dust free and carefully catalogued. Alphabetically, of course. Chronologically was nice, but he had the dates listed on little stickers on the shelves. Name, date, location. Always good to be organized. There was Analise, Ballena, Bettie, Candice, Daniella, Ginger… He pulled out the pen he kept in the empty jar to the side. On a clean white sticker he wrote his next angel. C-o-r-a. He smiled. She would make a wonderful addition. He closed his eyes and imagined the fear, the anger, the hope in those perfectly pale blue eyes of hers. He knew what they’d look like in his jar, on his shelf. Opening his eyes, he pulled the sticker off and made room on the shelf for her. He had to rearrange things of course, but that was okay. He made new labels for the others, which were then shifted and moved. Maybe he should put the labels on the jars? No. That would mar their view of him, and he of them. He ran his finger over her label. “Won’t be long now, Angel Eyes.” He smiled and traced the letters of her name. C-o-r-a. A A A Cora bolted and screamed, fighting the demons of sleep. “Hey. Hey.” Hands reached for her. She jerked and stumbled from the bed, dizzy and cold. “Cora?” A light flipped on.
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She blinked and leaned against the wall, watching the man sitting in her bed… A man in her bed… …smoke…jars…C-o-r-a… She froze and stared at him as he frowned. Rogan! Cora took a deep breath and tried to relax. Looking at him, now swinging his legs to the side of the bed, her sheets rumpled, her quilt half off the bed. “Cora?” “I-I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. He stood and led her back to bed. “You’re cold, freezing.” Her knees buckled when she hit the edge of the bed. His warm hands rubbed up and down her arms, over her shoulders. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The look on his face was so…serious. His dark eyes were narrowed in concern. “Cora, talk to me.” She licked her lips and opened her mouth to tell him… What? What in the world did she tell him? “You want some water?” His hands continued to rub along her arms to briskly rub her hands. She shook her head. Rogan crawled into bed with her, leaning against the headboard and pulling her to him. She nestled up against him, his warmth seeping slowly into her, heating away the cold of the dream. His presence keeping the terror at bay. “What is it, baby?” He kissed the top of her head, his hands rubbing up and down her back, as her arms were trapped between them. “He has my name,” she whispered. “Who does? What are you talking about?” He stopped rubbing her back and allowed a bit of space between them. -115-
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She immediately missed his warmth. Cora opened her mouth to tell him, but then closed it. “Tell me,” he whispered, staring into her eyes, his dark and intense. She licked her lips. “Sometimes I-I see things.” He continued staring at her, but his hands once again rubbed up and down her back. “Since I was little, I’ve had dreams. Dreams that turned out to be true.” A slight frown creased his brow. “When I was six I dreamed my grandpa died. We were miles away and it was around nine at night. But I was asleep and dreamed it, woke up crying and screaming.” She shook her head, remembering. “My mom freaked, dad was just telling me it was a dream, that they’d call. But I think my mother knew. My grandmother is the same way.” She shrugged again with one shoulder. “He’d gone out onto the porch, apparently walked down the lane a bit. It was warm that night. He had a heart attack.” He raised up on an elbow and looked down at her. “Okay, so you’re gifted. So what did you dream tonight?” She blew out a breath, rolled onto her back and looked up at him. His hand, warm, brushed the hair off her forehead. She didn’t want to go into it. “Will I see any of this printed up tomorrow morning?” The skin tightened over his face and something changed in his eyes. “Is that what you think?” Cora reached up and cupped his cheek. “I don’t know what to think anymore. No, I don’t think you’ll make some story out of me, plaster my secrets in the Enquirer, but then I don’t really know you, do I?”
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Did she? The answer, she already knew, yet for some reason, her stomach still twisted at the thought she’d slept with a man several times and knew very little about him. “You know my favorite foods, color, where I’m from, what I do.” She just looked at him. “You know what I meant.” Rubbing her forehead, she muttered, “I never do stuff like this. Never.” “Talk to yourself? Or talk to someone else? Or talk to a naked man in your bed.” She grinned, she couldn’t help it. “The last two, most definitely the last.” “Yeah, well, I can say the same. So you tell me your secret, and I’ll tell you mine.” Cora tapped his chin before he lay again beside her. “You have a secret? They always do. Sleep today, gone tomorrow.” He snorted. “I don’t remember getting much sleep. Now quit changing the subject.” “I’m not.” “Yes you are.” She huffed a breath out and crossed her arms over the sheet covering her. “Fine, I dream.” “Yes, you’ve established that. What I want to know is what had you screaming out tonight.” She grinned. “Besides me,” he added. “What the hell, you already think I’m weird anyway.” “No I don’t. Eccentric maybe, but not weird.” He shrugged. “Weird is for…well, the weird.” “There’s women missing.”
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He frowned, the normally teasing glint gone from his eyes, eyes now shadowed by a flatness and pain she’d witnessed in him in passing moments. “Women?” he asked. She nodded and stared into his dark eyes. “Women. He takes them because of the color of their eyes. I have dreams about it.” His eyes widened, then he frowned and glared at her. “What?” “Someone is out there taking women with pale blue eyes. He’s been doing it for a long, long time.” He stilled, not that he’d been moving, but it was as if he’d frozen. His face, normally handsome, if rugged and brusque, seemed carved of marble. “Tell me.” The intensity in those two words rolled off him and slammed into her. She licked her lips. “I don’t know. I can’t see it all, not him exactly. I know he smokes. I know he’s Caucasian. I’m not sure why he does it. I don’t think they’re the same. Not all of them. Not like hair or whatever.” She struggled to make sense of it all, an old frustration rearing its head to tangle with her mind. “It’s like…like…” She shook her head and sat up, keeping the sheet tucked under her arms. “It’s like those commercials or the scene in a movie where someone is dying and images flash quickly past each other. So if you had to stop and think, it’s hard to see, but you know what you saw.” She raked a hand through her hair. “I’m messing this up. I can’t think. I just know that…that…” A jar with her name… That meant… “He killed her,” she whispered, staring down at the mess of tangled sheets. “Who?” Rogan asked, his voice deep, commanding.
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She shook her head again. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what her name was, or which jar she was.” She muttered the last, more to herself than to him. And she remembered again what he’d done to the first woman she’d dreamed of. “He’s killed so many. So many all over the place. And he keeps them…” She trailed off and looked at Rogan now sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, his back to her. “Do you see him?” he asked quietly. She frowned and took a deep breath. “Sort of, but nothing clearly. I know that doesn’t help. That’s what the detectives think, it’s what they always think. It’s not like I can control it for God’s sake. I just see what I see.” The need to pace tapped through her, but she knew her legs just weren’t quite steady enough. Rogan twisted at the waist and looked at her, piercing her with those dark eyes. “Start at the beginning.” Cora thought of how to begin. “It’s always in dreams. I don’t see it otherwise. It’s not like a flash of foresight or sight or whatever. It just comes to me when I dream. I think that’s when he does it. At least that’s the way it feels to me.” He didn’t say anything. “The room echoes like it’s…empty, or a basement or something. There aren’t any windows. I see the women tied to the bed. The first had red hair, red hair that was tangled and messy. The other had dark hair. Both had eyes the color of mine.” And she told him the rest of it.
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Chapter Fifteen Rogan listened as she spoke. Her voice soft, monotone. He listened as she described women bound, captive and terrified. How the bastard taunted them, teased them, and in the end killed them. He stood and paced. Where earlier he’d been warm and as content as he’d been in years, now he was cold, chilled. His heartbeat thrummed against his ears. He listened, the possibility of finally having answers thrilling through him, just as the rational man in him fought it. Who was this woman really? She advertised as a psychic, made no bones about hiding that fact. Yet he couldn’t help wondering if she was just a fluke, just playing him. And if she was, what the hell was her con? What was she after? He’d picked her out, he’d found her. Her friend had set them up, but hell, he was honest enough to know he’d clicked onto something with Cora from the first moment he laid eyes on her. So where did that leave them. Then something she said registered and fell into place. He stared at the floor, took a deep breath and looked back to the woman sitting on the bed, her face as pale as the moonlight. “What—” Rogan cleared his throat. “You said—” He shuddered against the thought. Cora sat still and waiting, the sheet wrapped and twisted around her. “You said he liked their eyes. That was the way he chose them.” He shut his eyes. “Jars? He keeps them in jars?” -120-
Angel Eyes
When she didn’t move, he opened his eyes and stared at her, willing for just a moment to believe she was the real deal. “You said he keeps their eyes as souvenirs in jars.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended. She nodded, not looking away from him. “Yes. His angels. He likes them watching over him.” “Jesus.” Rogan continued his pacing. The blackouts… He shook his head. Then he whirled and stood in front of her. “You said you know it’s happening right now?” She nodded and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Shifting so her knees were pulled to chest, she answered, “Yes.” “Is it always at the same time?” he asked, digging. A rueful grin tilted her lips. It wasn’t amused. “That would be real convenient wouldn’t it? Then I’d know exactly when to go to sleep if I wanted to help, or just stay awake so that I wouldn’t have to mess with it.” He raked another hand through his hair. If she dreamed of it happening now… Just moments ago… For just a second, he allowed himself to believe, really believe and a dark cloud that had hung over his head for the last three years lightened. Maybe she could help him clear his name—if she was real. “When you woke up, you said something about he had your name?” Did she just dream that? Her eyes dilated until the black seemed to shove the pale blue away. “Names, neatly labeled, to go with the eyes.” She licked her lips. “Analise, Bettie, Ballena, Candice, Daniella, Ginger… Such a pretty angel. Cora. Here’s her place,” she muttered.
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He jerked at the name. Without realizing it, he grasped her shoulders and glared at her, bending down so they were eye to eye. “Who? What were the names again?” She blinked and frowned, repeating them. Ginger… Cold iced him. Tied. Terrorized. Eyes in jars. Bile rose up the back of his throat, but he clamped down and fought against the nausea. “Who is he?” he strangled out, knowing his fingers were digging into her shoulders. She pulled against him. “I don’t know.” “If I find out you’re lying to me…” She put her hands up and shoved against him. “Let me go!” He raised his hands palm up. “Sorry. God, I’m sorry.” His heart slammed against his ribs, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He leaned over, grabbed his pants off the floor and jerked them on, not bothering to button them as he stood looking out her window. The dawn was still hours away, but he wouldn’t be sleeping anymore tonight. He looked at her over his shoulder. “If I find out you’re conning me, or the police in some misguided idea, I swear I’ll make your life a living hell.” She struggled to get out of bed, the sheet tangled around her and not letting her go. On a huff and muttered curse, she ripped it aside and stormed from the bed. She marched up to him and poked a finger in his chest. “You ass! I can’t believe…” She took two steps back from him. “After everything…” Whirling, she stormed to the bathroom and slammed the door. Rogan closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool glass.
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What the hell was wrong with him? This situation just reaffirmed his long held belief his life was shit. Plain and simple. He was, as Clayton often said, a shit magnet. Cora O’Donnell. He’d have Clayton run her. See if he could unearth anything. If he could, fine. Rogan would deal with it. Part of him wanted her to be a fraud, wanted to hold onto his anger. For if she was, then she’d be wrong about this bastard having Ginger. The stupid idea it could be another Ginger, another woman with pale eyes flashed momentarily through his brain. But he’d never been one to put a lot of stock in coincidences. He dealt with facts as his job, on instincts and training from his past. Facts said Cora O’Donnell believed herself to have psychic abilities. Facts said she was talking to the cops. Facts said a woman was missing. Fact was he was already falling fast for the weird woman. He smiled, surprised at the ease of the thought. Instinct told him she was as honest as she was eccentric. That she saw and felt what he’d heard and seen as pain in her eyes. Instinct knew Ginger was long dead, she’d never been the type to just up and leave. His head and his heart. Facts and instincts. Hell. He took a deep breath and blew it out in a rush as he heard the water running in the bathroom. He at least owed the woman an explanation. When the door opened, he waited, watched her reflection in the dark window, then turned. “I have a story to tell you, then I want you to go over everything again.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Everything.” She stood glaring at him from the bathroom doorway. “Why should I? So you can call me a liar again?” -123-
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He nodded, sighed and sat in her wide, worn chair, covered in some sort of yellow material. “I deserve that. And I’ll apologize again.” He leaned over and held his head in his hands. “In my defense, you shocked the hell out of me.” For a moment, there was only silence across the room, then she padded across the room to sit on the edge of the bed across from him. “I’d already told you, sometimes I see things.” He scoffed. “Yes, but seeing things, like what your friend might be doing and knowing who’s on the end of the ringing phone differs slightly from seeing some wacko torturing women before he kills them and keeps their damn eyes.” She didn’t answer, and he hadn’t expected one. Rogan closed his eyes, inhaled and leaned his head back against the chair. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, raking another hand through his hair. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I was in Special Ops in Afghanistan. Four years ago our team was hit hard. I survived, not sure how. Lost two others. And another guy and me, well, we were going to be discharged. I woke up at Ramstein in Germany, hardly remember the stay there. Shrapnel in my head.” He remembered the spikes of constant pain in his head when he woke up. The sound of voices, the images of explosions, of his comrades flying through the air. The muscles in his shoulder and across the back of his neck tightened. “My commanding officer talked to some people and I ended up with a suit job, more or less. I worked for the Army Unit of Criminal Investigations. I was stationed at Ft. Hood, Texas when everything fell to hell and back.” He took a deep breath, laced his hands between his knees and continued to look at the floor.
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“I was dating a woman, with eyes the color of yours, except different. She was tall, worked in computer programming on base. Dark hair— didn’t take crap off anyone.” He smiled at the memory. Then he looked up to Cora who sat calm and still on the edge of her bed, anger no longer pulsing off her. “We’d had a disagreement, nothing serious. She said she was going shopping at the local mall.” Now he couldn’t even remember what they’d bickered over that long ago morning. Marrying probably. She kept pushing the date back and he’d wanted to push it forward. “She didn’t come home. I called her phone, the mall, the cops, the base MP’s. Nothing.” He took another deep breath and separated himself from the memories. He looked at the woman now sitting across from him. “For two days she didn’t come home. I was frantic, called her parents, called everyone we knew. Then Colonel McClafferty showed up on my doorstep and I knew it could only get worse. Since I was the last to see her, and admitted to our disagreement, I was apparently put at the top of their list. There was also the fact that while stationed at several bases before my tour, women had gone missing on or near the bases where I was stationed. But I also had a tight alibi for other women that fit the profile and were missing as well. Seemed to be their only glitch. But when I was asked to leave, I was too angry, too mired in self-pity and fear for Ginger to fight them. I didn’t care. So I resigned without another look back and a cloud over my honor.” He watched her, waited as she sat still and silent. When she didn’t speak, he added, “I came out here because two months ago, a woman down in Phoenix was reported missing. Granted there was another in Idaho that might have fit the bill, but I decided to come here to Arizona. I was actually on my way out to California to talk to the families of some missing women there.”
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His heart was hammering still and he wished he were outside to get some fresh air. “Why did you sleep with me?” She motioned to her face. “Was it because of my eyes?” He smiled and stood. “No. Your eyes are very beautiful. And since you’re wondering, they’re similar, but not like hers. Yours are more…” He knelt on the floor by the bed, his hands over hers in her lap. “Yours are more pure blue. Hers had yellow flecks in them. Not that it matters. Different as night and day.” “What was the first thing you noticed about me?” He wasn’t going to lie. “Your eyes.” “Great.” She tried to pull her hands away, but he didn’t let go. “But then I noticed your outfit and thought you were kind of weird.” She pulled harder on her hands, still he didn’t let her go. “Then I noticed how caring you were, worried about your friends, strangely vulnerable,” he admitted, rubbing a thumb across her cheek. As he’d anticipated, she moved her head and tilted to the side, almost laying down. He followed her. “Yet at the same time, you gave as good as you got. You kind of remind of a cactus.” She frowned. “Wow. The girls must just flock to you.” He shrugged. “You do. You’ve got this sort of unappreciated beauty and grace about you.” Her small chin jutted out. “I don’t know if I want to knock you on your ass or not.” He raised a brow. “I was trained, babe. I could take you any way I wanted.” “Didn’t you already do that?” she asked peevishly. “I want to be mad at you.”
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“Then be mad at me.” He cupped her face, remembering what she said. “You said, when you woke up, do you remember? You said he had your name. What did you mean?” Though he suspected. She relaxed somewhat and looked away from him. “I never know what triggers these dreams, visions, whatever. I just get them sometimes. And I knew. I remember the first dream I had where I could see her eyes, where I saw the jars and realized…” “Realized what?” he asked. “Realized I had the same color of eyes. And I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I just feel like he’s getting closer, or something and then tonight I dreamed he wrote my-my name.” She licked her lips. “I go between Candice and Daniella.” A slight tremor went through her. He kissed her forehead. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. There is no way. No way, he’s getting anywhere near you.” “No one can stop things that are meant to be,” she whispered. He leaned up on his elbow and stared down at her, rubbing his hand over her silk covered arm. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. For three years I’ve lived in some sort of frozen… I don’t know…” “Wasteland?” He nodded. “Yeah that’s about right.” He touched her lips, her cheek. “I’m not losing you. Not to him.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Not to anyone.” She shook her head. “Look, let’s just say I’m willing to believe you’ve got special gifts, that several people are blessed with special gifts. However, I’ve been in situations where I know things were not happening the way they were meant to. I’ve seen cases where guidance is one thing, set in stone is another.” “But you can’t—” -127-
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He shook his head. “No, I know. I’m not going to let this bastard take another thing from me. He’s stolen enough.”
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Chapter Sixteen Cora and Rogan strode into Desert Cup, neither smiling, both tired and exhausted. Monte was behind the bar serving several customers. Chris was glaring at them. Rogan motioned towards the sulking man. “What do you know of Chris?” She shrugged, leaned closer and whispered, “Not much, he’s new around here. Just got here a bit before Christmas, supposedly started classes at the college. I don’t know. He’s always glaring at me, but then I think he probably glares at everyone.” Rogan studied the man. “How old is he?” She shrugged again. “I don’t know. Lake and I were talking about it one time. He’s older than you’d think. I forget. I think Lake may know. For some reason I remember us talking and I said I thought he was in his early twenties, but she said he was more into mid thirties. I don’t know how she knows these things, but she does.” For a moment he paused, looked at her and smiled. “You’re doubting her psychic capabilities?” She rolled her eyes. “How’s my girl this morning? How’d the date go?” Monte asked, handing over the large to-go cups to the group at the bar who then shuffled to a table. “Jeez, everyone knows about my love life now, huh?” -129-
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Monte only smiled, his mustache twitching. “So you have an official love life now?” He grinned and wagged his brows at Rogan. “Shut up, Monte,” she said, and pulled her wallet out. Monte, still ruthlessly grinning, shook his head. “Oh no. This one is on the house. A reason to celebrate.” Good God. Cora leaned over the bar. “True it is. Spectacular, mind blowing, completely exhausted the next day—reason to celebrate.” She motioned to Rogan. “Send my coffee with the sex god.” Rogan’s chuckle behind her was deep and sexy. She was still confused and not sure what to think or do about him. What they should do. How they should go on. Doubts still swam in her mind, dark and elusive. Should she believe him? Was it just her? Or was it the fact she reminded him of a lost love? She walked out of the coffee shop. “What no details?” Monte shouted. She glared at him over her shoulder and strode across the street. Lake was leaning against the doorway of her shop with shades on and slouchy pants and a tie-dyed button-down shirt with rhinestones on it. “I knew it. Mr. Harley can ride can he?” Lake asked. “What the hell?” Cora asked, shoving her key into the door. “Do I have it tattooed on my forehead?” Lake tilted her head. “Why yes, there it is, clearly visible now. In flashing scarlet. I was well and truly fucked last night.” “You are so bad.” “And from the stupid grin on your face, you’re not so good either. Or would that be he’s so damn good, he makes you bad?” Cora threw her hands up as she flicked on the lights. “Fine. I had sex. Sex in the open. On his Harley! Then on the ground. Then in the apartment in bed and again this morning in the shower.” There was also
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that quick pop he’d given her in the kitchen while the coffee brewed, but she figured Lake didn’t need to know that one. “Damn. He can ride.” She sighed. “Wow.” Cora grinned, then giggled. “Wow does sum it up, huh?” “On a Harley?” Lake laughed outright, the sound throaty and real. “I want details, girlfriend. Details.” Cora shook her head. “Don’t think so.” “I always give you details.” Cora cocked a brow. “Yes, but I never ask for them.” Seeing Lake was going to ask again, she added, “No.” “I just knew you were going to say that. I love to live through fantasy. Come on. Just one itty-bitty detail?” Smiling, Cora booted up the computer. “Okay, one itty-bitty detail…it’s not itty-bitty.” Lake laughed and slapped the countertop. “Well, I’m glad I impressed someone,” Rogan said from the doorway. This was one of those times the floor could just open up and swallow her again. “I’ll just leave you two, to…um…” Lake trailed off and nodded to Rogan on the way out the door. “By the way, your aura is lighter,” she said to Rogan. He frowned and looked at her as if she’d just spoken to him in Russian. “Uh—thank you?” he answered. Then Cora realized something. “Wait. What about you and Simon? Isn’t turn about fair play?” Lake froze and the laughter died from her eyes. “Simon and I…” She shook her head. “Since when have I been a serious girl? I think I’m going to break it off with him. Fun while it lasted right?” -131-
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Cora frowned. “You know best.” Lake nodded then looked up and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Honey, sometimes I clearly don’t know shit. Clearly don’t see it either.” Then she shook her head. “Look, I’ll catch up with you later. I need to think and meditate.” “Okay.” Rogan and Cora watched Lake walk out the door and turn down the sidewalk to go to her own shop. “So I can ride and am not itty-bitty. Given you’ve also called me a sex god in front of witnesses I feel empowered. And my aura is lightened. Which I have no idea what the hell that means.” He set her coffee down on the counter in front of her. Her mind was still on Lake and the darkness that seemed to shadow her friend just before she left. What had brought it on? Had it been the sex talk? No. Simon? Maybe they just had a fight. But she’d seen Lake before, after she and her current lover had a fight. Or when she broke up with one. Or when one dumped her. Cora had never known her friend to be pensive about it. Lake rolled with the punches and often threw them herself. “Come in, Cora? Do you copy?” “I’m sorry.” She blinked and focused back on the man before her. “What did you say?” “I asked what you were doing today. What your plans were.” He leaned over the counter. “Why, so you can post a guard?” He raised a brow. “I’m thinking about it. I still know people.” She shook her head. “I don’t want a guard. I’ve gone to the police. I need to call Detective Palacios this morning and talk to him again.” She
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shrugged. “After that, it’s up to him, to them, to find him and for me to help anyway I can.” He shook his head. “I don’t like this.” He caught the back of her neck. “Personally, I think you need a vacation.” She watched him. “To where?” “Nova Scotia?” She laughed. “I’m not going to some very cold place clear across the continent to get away from here.” He sighed and only studied her for a minute. “Fine. I had a feeling you’d say that. How about this, I make a call and get a friend to check things out and see what he can dig up.” “Dig up?” “Yeah, a cop friend back in D.C.” “You have lots of friends?” He shook his head. “Many I did have are either dead, overseas, no longer acknowledge me, or I’ve just lost contact with.” “Dead?” she asked, taking the flowers she’d put on the counter yesterday to the back room to refresh the water and clip the ends off. He followed her. “Yeah. There was the explosion and two good friends were killed.” “What happened?” “Well,” he said, scratching the edge of his mouth. “We went in to get some of our boys out. Got them out too. Several of us were supposed to capture the terrorists. Then everything just lit up. I remember flying, hearing the others yell, something sliced into my skull and that’s all I know. I woke up in Germany.” She wanted to hug him, but knew he wouldn’t want that. Instead, she dumped the clipped ends into the trash and refilled the vase, shoving
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the purple tulips into it. She’d give them another two days and that would be it. Turning, she walked up to him. “I’m sorry for your friends.” He nodded and crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorway. “I am too.” “What were their names?” She eased past him. “Why?” He followed her down the hall. “Because they shouldn’t be forgotten.” She set the vase beside the computer monitor at the counter and moved the necklaces and toe rings closer to the flowers. People tended to notice fresh flowers in this day and age, and then they’d notice the merchandise. Cora realized he hadn’t said anything and looked up at him, pausing. He stood staring at her, a muscle bunching in his jaw, his eyes narrowed. “What?” she asked. He shook his head. “You’re special, Miss Cora O’Donnell.” She smiled, hoping to lighten his serious mood. “So I’ve been told all my life.” “Like a cactus.” She shook her head. “What were they like?” She heard him sigh, even as she rearranged the candles yet again. “They were loyal, I guess. Hard workers.” “So are pack mules.” She shook her head. “Men.” When she turned, he was watching her, his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, it’s just…never mind,” she said, giving him her attention. He tilted his lips and shook his head. “No. I just don’t talk about it.” “Maybe you should.” For a moment, he said nothing, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, maybe I should. I talked to a couple of shrinks, but…” Again he shrugged. “I didn’t like it.” -134-
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The smile caught her off guard. “Of course you didn’t.” “What are they really going to tell me I don’t already know about myself? And they can’t tell me the best way for me to deal with it. They can tell me how they think the best way to deal with it would be, but only I really know that. Not anyone else. I could spend thousands on therapy only to end up putting a bullet in my brain. I’ve seen it happen before. Other guys go through required counseling and go on with daily and normal lives. Who’s to say but the person themselves?” She nodded. “Yep. Just as I suspected.” “What?” “Stubborn.” He took a slow sip of his coffee. “Babe, you have no idea.” Then his gaze narrowed on her, the edges of his eyes crinkling. He smelled of soap, her soap more or less, yet traces of his cologne still clung to him. “You know, I should talk to the police. If for nothing else than to seem cooperative.” She thought about his words, about the meaning behind them…of her nightmares. Then she looked right at him. “You didn’t do this. I’ve seen what he does to women, and I know how you’ve treated me since you came here. You’re not this man.” “It’s nice to know my lover believes in me.” One dark brow rose as he took a longer gulp of the espresso shot brew. “You’re telling me, your cops take you for the real thing? Have no doubts about you?” Then he half frowned and reached across the counter, cupping her cheek. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you.” For a moment, she could only stare at him. Then she blinked, then anger at his words rushed up, but she shoved them aside. “Yes, I was just thinking the same thing. I need to find another sex god. I think there’s a few more things I’d like to—” -135-
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“I’ve put you in a hard place. They’ll wonder now if you’re real or if you’re working with me. And trust me, they will run me to see who I am. And when they do, they’ll find my past, the old police reports and then…” He kept rubbing his thumb across her jaw and chin. “And then they’ll hound you with questions, and more questions, until even you don’t remember or care. They’ll say you’re a fake and a liar, only distracting them from what they really could be doing in the investigation and you’re doing for the sole purpose of aiding and abetting me.” She jerked her head away. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Movement out on the sidewalk caught her attention. Two women stood staring at her shop window, another girl, dressed mostly in black was pulling on one woman’s arm and speaking to her. Cora pegged them. Goth teen searching for self and mother who had no clue what her daughter was about these days. The mother’s friend might be an aunt, friend or whomever. Rogan glanced over his shoulder. “And there are prospective customers.” He sighed, gulped more coffee and grinned at her. “Poor mom has that look on her face,” he muttered. She pulled her attention away from the group and shook her head. “Go away. You’ll distract them.” Still grinning he wagged his brows. “Yes, we sex gods have that effect on women.” Laughing, Cora shoved him towards the door. “Go away. I have things to do.”
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Chapter Seventeen He watched them. The way she walked with her lover across the street to the coffee shop, the smile on her face. Oh it was sweet. Wonderfully sweet. More than he would have thought otherwise. But, just like before, her lover would have to leave her. For some reason or another. The angels were always alone at some point in time. And when that moment arose, he’d be there to take her, to claim her, to possess her. It was only a matter of time. It was always just a matter of time. He sipped his coffee and grinned at the thought that none ever saw him. Very few ever saw past what was projected to be seen. He should know, he’d made a point of being so many different people, he’d mastered the art of letting people see what they wanted to see. Hiding what they didn’t, shouldn’t see. Most never even bothered to look past the outer shells. But he did. He, he looked into souls. The only ones allowed to see his soul were his angels. They saw the deepest, saw the truest, and saw who he honestly was. Still they were with him. Not that he gave them much choice. He wouldn’t give her a choice either. They weren’t allowed choices. They were told. And they did, or they paid the consequences. He smiled again and looked down at his paper because he was supposed to be reading it. He listened as she walked in and talked, smiled when the others laughed and all the while irritation grated within him. -137-
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How in the hell, out of all the people, did she end up with that man? It was some fluke of fate. It had to be. Interesting to say the least, but still it was a complication he’d rather do without. Of course, the plus side was he knew exactly where the police would look. Sex god? He breathed deep and took another sip of his dark roast. He’d show her a sex god. He’d teach her things she never knew existed and enjoy every last moment of it. When she was tied and helpless beneath him, she’d know him, he would be the last thought in her mind. He’d be the one who left that very last imprint on her. No one else. Not the sex god with her. Part of him wished they saw him as he was. The power he truly held. The angels who gave him that power. The angels he kept in his power. He was like demons and gods of old. He held that power in his hands. The thought was rather profound. Perhaps that was why he survived when others hadn’t. He’d never really thought of that before, but it made a strange sort of sense. He’d have to meditate about it later. Then he’d come back for her. The police would be all over this and with Mr. Sex God and his past, they’d be very close to his angel. That couldn’t happen. It would ruin his plans. He wanted her. No, he needed her. And by heaven or hell, he’d have her. A A A
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Cora listened to the current customers in her shop. The mother and aunt of the Goth girl had purchased several bath products, rather relieved when they walked in and saw her shop wasn’t draped in black or had pentagrams hanging from every available surface. It often amazed her the preconceived ideas most had when entering her shop. The couple right now was here on a weekend getaway. Up from Phoenix. Cora played her own game at pegging people. Her gift was in dreams, but she sometimes got a feel for people, or maybe she’d just been here long enough she could read people. She wondered where Rogan was. She hadn’t seen him since lunch. He’d brought her a chicken salad wrap from a local dive. The afternoon seemed to stretch in front of her She looked across the street and saw Chris smoking a cigarette outside the coffee shop. That guy seriously gave her the creeps. He was always looking over here. Always watching her. Cora shook off the worries about Chris and concentrated on matters at hand. She’d called Palacios for a meeting this afternoon, but he said he’d stop by around closing time. Which was only about an hour away. The images from her nightmares haunted her. Why they wouldn’t leave her be, she didn’t know. Didn’t know why or how and she was tired of trying to figure it out. Maybe one day she’d lose her gift. She wouldn’t miss it. She knew that much. No, she wouldn’t miss it. To know, she’d sleep and not have nightmares about crying children, screaming women, begging men, or the bottom of society. The couple, as she assumed, bought the sensual bath supplies, complete with a gift certificate to a local restaurant and dinner for two. She overheard some of their plans, watched as the man whispered in the woman’s ear, kissed her neck. Way newlyweds, or then again, maybe -139-
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they were a couple who had reconnected. Either way, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of envy watching them. She was currently with a man, but let’s face it, it wasn't what it needed to be. For one, they were from two different sides of the continent. She wanted more. She wanted to have a place to come home to, someone to count on, someone who didn’t judge her or try to fix her, or least of all, take advantage of her. Sadly and strangely enough it, she could sense that in the Harleydriving-ex-special-ops. But then, that was the breaks and if she’d learned anything at all, she learned you rolled with the breaks or you broke yourself. No matter what life threw you. Shaking off the morose thoughts, she bid the couple a good afternoon and settled to wait for the police. God she was tired. She should probably head over to Monte’s to grab another espresso of some sort, double, triple shot…didn’t matter… Cora laid her head on her crossed arms and thought about how she needed to call the lady in charge of local ads on the city website and local magazine that was published. She wanted several spaces and was trying to figure out layouts… Maybe she could create it herself on the computer instead of paying the local graphics place to do it again… Might save… She could see her shop across the street. Saw the cars go by, saw the sidewalk… C-o-r-a… Such pretty, pretty angel eyes. One step. Two steps. Down the curb. Over the street.
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Car horns blared. A woman behind the wheel of a coupe flipped him off. He paid her no heed and walked on across the street, looking both ways then to the window. From here he could see her, her head on her arms. Sleeping. So pretty. So precious. So his. He felt the injection of sedative in his pocket. Quick, painless and then when she woke up… He cleared his throat and stepped onto the sidewalk. A car pulled up to the curb and he glanced over his shoulder. Something made him pause, stop and window gaze into the shop next to Mystic Moons. “I can’t believe you’re taking this woman for real, Palacios,” a woman said, climbing out of the car. A door shut. “I didn’t say I believe her, I said I didn’t disbelieve her. There’s a difference.” “Yeah, well, the cops from back home seem to think she’s for real. I want solid facts. This hocus-pocus shit is just that, and she’s dating the biker man. What did the report say on him?” The man with her shrugged. Great. Cops. “Don’t know, didn’t get time to read it. Figured, we’d meet with her and talk and then see.” He glanced back into the shop and wondered what the hell they were talking about. Believe what? He’d been going this long, no one would stop him. Least of all some pretend psychic. She called to him and he could all but see her now, now as he would have her. Tied to his bed. Her eyes staring only at him. “I’ll be back for you, Angel Eyes,” he muttered, and turned and walked down the sidewalk. -141-
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A A A Cora bolted upright as the bell over her door jingled. Her heart hammered, a caged bird begging freedom. “Ms. O’Donnell,” a man’s voice said. She stumbled off the stool and slammed back against the counter behind her, wrapping paper and supplies scattering onto the floor. “Hey,” he said, coming closer, someone else with him. “Detective Palacios.” “Very reliable,” the woman with him muttered. Detective Palacios. She shuddered and rubbed her hands over her face. I’ll be back for you… He was here. Right here. She shook off the fatigue her visions always blanketed her with and tore around the counter. “Is there a fire?” the woman asked. She shoved them out of the way and hurried through the door. On the sidewalk she scanned the area. Tourists shuffled and moved about. Her gaze darted one way then the other, hoping to see, hoping to find… Across the street, she saw Chris sweeping the sidewalk for Desert Cup. A dry breeze blew down the street. Damn. She sagged and leaned back against the wall. When she felt the detectives beside her, she asked, “When you drove up, did you see anyone outside my shop?” “Tourists.”
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She shook her head and pointed to the art gallery next to her shop. “No, he was standing here looking into this window.” “Did you see him?” the woman detective asked—what was her name? Cora shook her head again and raked her hands through her hair. Without another word, she walked back into her shop and waited until the policemen came in. Then she flipped her chalkboard Closed sign to face out and locked the door. Inhaling deeply, she tried to calm her raging nerves. He’d been so close. So very close. Cora rubbed her arms, today’s sleeveless, black button-down doing little to ward off the chill. “I have some water in the back.” “We’re fine,” Palacios said. She nodded, then pulled the large blue cardigan off the hook behind the counter and pulled it on. “Cold?” the woman asked. Cora shook off the thoughts and tried to focus. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.” “Mesler. Detective Mesler,” the short blonde woman stated. She might look like a fairy with her tomboy haircut, but her attitude was all cop. Those large brown eyes missed very little. “Care you explain what happened when we came in?” Palacios pulled a notepad out of his jacket pocket. Today he wore a pullover and jeans. She nodded and motioned them to the back. “I have some chairs and a little table back here.” They followed her through the back and to her small kitchenette. There was a microwave, a small wire shelf with canned soup, a box of theater-super-butter popcorn, and a case of bottled water. She grabbed one of the blue bottles of water and asked, “Would you like some water?” When they declined, she sat at the table, opened her -143-
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own and took a drink. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she said, “I called you because I had another dream last night, but then…” Cora raked a hand through her hair. She sensed Palacios might, at the very least, be willing to see this through, but Mesler seemed like a see it, feel it, touch it, type. “Look, I know you both have your doubts about me. I don’t care.” She set the cap of the water bottle on the table, twirling it. “Last night I dreamed the woman he had been holding was dead. I sensed he felt elated.” “Really?” Mesler asked, getting out her notebook. “And how did you sense this?” Cora narrowed her gaze on the cop. “You can believe me or not. I’m only trying to help. I see what I see, I know or interpret what I do. I don’t know how. I’ve tried to figure it out.” She sat up and leaned on the table. “The point is, in his armoire of horrors, he has things…labeled, organized. Alphabetically. I saw names.” “Names? Do you remember them?” Palacios asked. She turned her attention to him. “Yes. I didn’t see them all, and there weren’t any last names. Only first names.” “At least it’s something for us to check out.” Mesler muttered something acutely sounding like, “Waste our time.” Palacios threw her a look, and the woman shrugged. Cora shoved a strand of hair behind her ear and said, “Yes. I remember from A to G. Or the first G anyway. Analise, Bettie, Ballena, Candice, Daniella, Ginger…” Palacios wrote then asked, “Can you spell them?” “As he had them printed, yes.” She frowned. “There were other things written on the labels, smaller, under the names. Maybe dates, maybe not. Maybe he has some numbering system as well, but anyway…” She carefully spelled the names she’d seen, waiting as he wrote them down. -144-
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Mesler was making notes as well, but Cora suspected she was either doodling or writing her perceptions of Cora herself. “Okay, what makes you think he’s already killed the woman he’d been holding and do you have any idea who she might be?” Cora thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Not really. I don’t think she was in the names I saw. I think maybe she was further down, but I can’t be sure about that.” “Is there anything you can be sure of?” Mesler asked. Cora sighed. “Yes, detective I can. I know the man already has his next victim picked out. He’d already found her, but apparently had been trying to not go after her as he doesn’t like to hunt too close to home. Makes things complicated. He likes to go out, bring them to him, so to speak, after he’s found them. But his next angel is just too perfect. Her eyes are just the right color, or so he thinks.” “You know who she is?” Cora took a deep breath and another sip of water. Looking back at Palacios, she asked again. “Are you certain you didn’t see anyone standing by the gallery window when you drove up? When,” Cora said, pointing to Mesler, “she asked if you really believed me and you answered you didn’t disbelieve?” A small grin lifted the side of Palacios’ mouth, but she didn’t bother to see what Mesler thought of her remark. “Why?” he asked. She felt it again, the cold seeping over her, looking past him, she said softly, “He was looking into my window. Saw me sleeping. Had something in his pocket.” She frowned trying to remember. “Something in his pocket? Like a gun?” Mesler asked.
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Cora shook her head. “Quick and sharp, then they wake up. So easy. So simple. Never see it coming.” And she could see him, sense him, feel him. “Then the angels are mine…” She shivered and separated herself from the vision, or memory of it. “You’re saying he was standing right outside your window looking in? When we drove up?” Mesler asked. Cora took another sip of water and nodded. “Yes, detective that’s what I’m telling you.” “You’re his next victim,” Palacios said. Cora only smiled, and knew it held no amusement. “Haven’t you noticed? I have pretty, pretty eyes. Just the color he wants.” “Blue?” She shook her head. “Angel eyes. He calls them angel eyes.”
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Chapter Eighteen “You’re actually buying this shit? You?” Clayton’s voice laughed through the phone. Rogan sighed and flipped back through the file he’d accumulated through the years. “Yes. I do. You weren’t there. She couldn’t have known, Clay.” “Couldn’t have known what? About Ginger? Sure she could have.” He shook his head and lit a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked in almost a year but today he’d already had three. “Look. I know you think she could have found out from old articles. Maybe. But the other things. Women here in Arizona are missing. And she sees, or senses—” “Through psychic dreams. My God, I never thought I’d see the day. Freaking amazing,” Clayton muttered. Rogan saw no need to respond. He wanted to end this, grab the info he’d come back to the B&B for and head back to Cora’s shop. She’d wanted space, but he didn’t want to leave her alone. “Are you drinking again?” Clayton’s voice held an edge of warning. “No. Nor am I on anything. I’m not blitzed, not loaded, I’m sober and thinking. And for the first time I have a real fucking lead, Clay.” “Yes, from a psychic lover.” His laughter grated against Rogan’s nerves. “Look, buddy. Sounds like this lady is pulling your dick. Con artist. How many times have we seen this? Or me anyway? Psychic finds weak spot and makes a profit off it.” -147-
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“She hasn’t asked for anything.” “So she fucks you instead. Maybe it’s been awhile.” Anger bit through him. “She’s not a goddamn whore, Clayton. I don’t know what she is. I know she’s weird. I know she’s emotional. I know she’s—” “Certifiable?” Clayton popped off. “Clay,” Rogan warned. Clayton sighed. “Why are you buying into this? God, this woman pisses me off. How could you, you who are the most level headed man I know, most logical individual that half the time blows holes in any theory I have, believe this?” “I’m telling you, she’s real. Check her out. She’s worked with the Seattle Police Department and she just sees things. There are lots of women, Clay. He takes them for their eyes.” “And then does what?” Clayton asked, skeptical. Rogan stood, looked again around the secluded deck built next to the river and then whispered, “He takes them.” “Takes what?” “Their eyes, Clayton. He cuts their eyes out and keeps them. Thinks of them as angels that watch over him.” “Jesus.” Clayton paused. “You’re still in Sedona?” “No, I hopped the first plane I could and am in Bermuda.” He took another deep drag and exhaled. He’d missed this. Damn it. “I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you did. And you quit smoking so ditch the pack you bought or I’ll kick your ass.” Rogan didn’t answer him. “Fine. I’ll check her out. Then get back with you. What’s her name again? And her shop?”
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Rogan scratched a hand through the stubble on his jaw. “Cora O’Donnell and she owns Mystic Moons. I also want you to run the other names I gave you.” He’d spent part of his afternoon tracking down pertinent information about her closest contacts to pass on to Clayton— everyone from her roommate to the coffee shop owner. Anyone she seemed to have contact with. “You’re celibate for as long as I’ve known you, yet here you are banging a chick that will lead you to the end of your quest. I never believed
in
fairy
tales,
Ro.
Watch
your
damn
back.”
Clayton
disconnected. Rogan stared at his phone. He couldn’t very well blame his friend for his view. Clayton hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Had he gone over the deep end? He sighed. The afternoon sun was still high, but dropping quickly behind the wall of red bluffs, the air chilling. The sound of the creek trickled over the rocks, soothing him. He had to admit, if not for the thought of a killer hiding here, it was relatively calm. Laid back. He thought of Cora. It was true. He’d been alone for so long, he’d all but jumped at the chance to have her. Not just for sex either. But for a connection. A connection to something alive, something real again. Something he missed, something he hadn’t even realized he really wanted again until that elusive connection was there staring at him in the face. Cora. Where did all this leave them when it was all over? He didn’t have a clue. He didn’t know where they were going to go, but he knew one thing, now that he’d found her, regardless of how or
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where or when or why, he wanted her. Wanted her in his life. Wanted the connection he felt between them. But, his vacation wasn’t indefinite. He’d have to go back sooner or later or make a change. On a deep breath, he felt the day, the area relax him. Maybe it was the way the wind seemed as though it could blow away any problems. Not battering at you—though he suspected it would and could—but simple, constant. So what did that mean? Hell, maybe he’d put his resume in at the local paper. Worth a shot. It wasn’t like he was honestly tied and bolted to his job in Washington. It wasn’t politics. And regardless what happened between him and Cora, maybe he’d found a place he could settle. Sedona, Arizona… What the hell was he thinking? As far as she was concerned, he was probably just the right guy for a time when she needed one. It hardly meant fairy tale, damn Clayton anyway. He wasn’t deluded enough to think the local cops, or the Feds for that matter once they learned of all this, would just pat him on the back and say, “Sorry for the mix-up.” Hell, if he were running the investigation, he sure as certain wouldn’t. Any suspect at this point, years…years…later was better than none. And Rogan knew he was looking really, really damn good as number one suspect. Maybe it was time to call his brother, Sean, the lawyer whiz in Baltimore, and have a chat. His mother would be so proud. One in law, one behind bars. He wondered where the future was going to lead him. Clipping his phone to his pocket, he grabbed up his files, shoved them in his bag along with his not-needed pack of cigarettes. He held the package and -150-
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decided to hell with it. On the way up to his room, he dumped the pack— minus two—into the wicker trash basket near the front desk. Rogan quickly changed his shirt, and called his brother Sean with the intent of filling him in. Sean, was currently working on gathering evidence in Los Angeles for a case he needed back in Baltimore. He’d planned to fly out in a couple of days, but thought he could swing up to Sedona for a day or two. Rogan figured he should tell Sean everything was fine, but something stopped him. “Whatever you want to do, bro.” Sean laughed. “I’ve looked at all the old court records I want to for this stupid case. I need a break. I’ll be there either later tonight or tomorrow morning.” For a moment, Rogan didn’t say anything. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.” Sean sighed. “This hasn’t been easy on anyone. If I can help you clear your name, you know I’ll do it. Don’t be an idiot.” Rogan smiled. “Fine.” “See ya. I’ll call you when I get there.” “Okay. Be safe.” “Always.” With that his brother hung up. Feeling better, Rogan shrugged on his jacket. His watch told him it was almost five. He didn’t want to leave Cora alone to fend for herself. He’d spent most of the afternoon across the street at the coffee shop. Watched people come and go. Chatted with the owner, Monte. Stated his interest in Cora loudly enough so the weird guy—Chris—would get the picture. Hell, he’d even mentioned it to Chris’s weird girlfriend who wore bared wire around her neck. Course he’d pissed the chick off when he asked her if she was ever worried about puncturing her jugular, but then he was also known for pissing people off. -151-
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Rogan spoke to Lake and her current-possible boyfriend. This morning, he knew she’d mentioned breaking it off with the guy, but then he’d seen them together for lunch. Rogan chatted stocks and politics with the man and then left the coffee shop coming here. Now it was time to return. He wondered where she wanted to go tonight for dinner. A A A Cora listened to the police, spoke with them for a bit. And waited patiently while they asked more questions. She told them of the armoire, of the basement, of the colors she saw, little details they were digging for. “Amazing, you can see all this, but have no idea what he looks like,” Mesler muttered. A headache throbbing behind her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose and then took a deep breath. “You know, forget it. I’m done. Figure it out on your own. When you can pull the stick out of your ass, detective, you know where to find me. Please leave.” She walked back into the shop and saw Rogan pull up to the curb, climb off his bike and pull off his helmet. His dark brown hair shifted with the breeze. Relief seemed to swirl off him, smoke through the air to wrap around her. She blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Cora glanced over her shoulder to see the two detectives whisper to each other as they walked back to the front of the shop. “Ms. O’Donnell,” Palacios started. Cora merely ignored him and strode to the door, unlocking it. She had no idea what Rogan would think of the cops, especially after what he’d been through in the past, but they couldn’t hide him forever.
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“Mr. Duran, wasn’t it?” Mesler asked. “I’ve seen him around here a few times already.” Rogan stepped into the shop, ran a gaze over her, then asked, “Okay?” She nodded. He didn’t so much as glance at the policemen. Instead he stepped closer, bent his knees so they were eye level and ran a thumb between her brows. “You have a headache.” She couldn’t help but smile. Motioning to the detectives, she nodded. “Yes, talking to narrow-minded people after dreaming tends to do that.” The thumb paused. “Dreaming?” She patted his arm. “We’ll talk about it later.” Those dark eyes not looking away from her, he nodded. “Yes, we will.” Then his attention focused on the policemen. He offered them his hand. “Rogan Duran, we met before.” “You know Ms. O’Donnell?” Mesler asked. The woman grated on Cora’s nerves. She wasn’t only narrow-minded, but judgmental as well, or maybe Cora was just tired and having a really, really bad day. “Something like that,” Rogan admitted, putting his arm around Cora’s waist. Tired, she leaned into him. “Thank you for your time,” Palacios stated, then took his partner’s arm and steered her towards the door. Palacios paused and turned back. “When did you get into town, Mr. Duran?” Rogan shrugged. “A few days ago.” “Reason?” She felt his muscles tense, but he smiled. “Personal.” -153-
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Palacios cut her a look and then said, “We’ll be in touch Ms. O’Donnell.” “Don’t bother,” she muttered. She watched as her door shut behind them, as they climbed into their car and the car sat for a moment, the detectives talking on their radio. “They’re running my plates,” Rogan said, nodding. The hand on her shoulder lifted in a wave as Palacios turned and looked back through the window at them. “They’re going to be back very shortly.” “Because of you?” She turned into his arms and wished they’d met under other circumstances, that he’d just been a guy, and she’d just been a shop owner. “Probably. They want to know who all might be involved in this.” His hands rubbed up and down her back. “Did you tell them about your latest dream?” She nodded against his maroon shirt, the scent of his dark brown leather jacket mixing with the spice of his cologne. His nightmare of a past, became her nightmare of the present. Angel eyes, murders. Two strangers who probably shouldn’t be… She shook her head. “What?” he asked, looking down at her. She licked her lips. “I was just thinking how this seems to have come full circle. At least for you.” He nodded, his eyes intense, a muscle bunching in his jaw. She reached up and smoothed her fingers over the tense muscle. “Yeah. And I can’t figure out why.” He sighed. “Or more importantly, who.” “Yes, the who would be helpful. I’ll worry about the why later.” -154-
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He grinned. “Ah, but sometimes if we learn the why, it’ll lead to the who.” She thought about it. Searched her jagged memories from visions. But her head, already throbbing, spiked viciously with pain. She closed her eyes. “I don’t even know if he knows why. It’s just the eyes. That’s why he takes them.” The hands on her back rose so that the fingers gently rubbed her shoulders and neck. “Yes, but why does he take the girls and women with beautiful pale blue eyes. If you learn that, please let me know.” One brow rose. “I’ll let the cops know.” He tapped her chin. “Same thing.” “Uh-huh. I believe that.” She felt him kiss the top of her head. “I’d planned to take you to dinner, but I think you need a hot, relaxing bath and bed.” He watched her as she stood there, pain-etching lines between her brows and around her mouth. She smiled but it held little amusement. “Not tonight, dear, I have a headache.” “Wench.” He slapped her ass and grinned as her eyes shot open. “You up for a ride?” One brow quirked. “On the Harley?” He glanced over his shoulder, out the window at his bike. He figured they had an hour, maybe two. He knew they’d run his name through the system and then they’d be looking for him and wondering why he hadn’t come in to talk to them. Rogan glanced back down at her and grinned, wiggling his brows. “I didn’t say on your Harley.”
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“Did I say you did? And correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that bike out on the curb, mine. So whether you ride the bike, or me, you’d still be on mine.” Her small fist hit him in his biceps. “You hit like a girl.” “Shock. Gasp. I am a girl.” He pulled her closer and kissed her, teasing her mouth with his tongue. “Yeah, I think I noticed.” She shook her head and shoved against him, then grabbed her purse and turned off all the lights. Locking the door, she said, “Let’s go. I’m tired and cranky.” He couldn’t resist. “I’m told a ride on my Harley cures all.” She strode to the bike and climbed on. “You do know the only difference between cures and curse is a matter of misspellings.” He ignored that as he climbed on and revved the bike, pulling out and weaving through traffic with her holding tight around his waist. His thoughts shifted from her to the matter he’d be facing very shortly. He needed to get in touch with Clay and see if he could find if the Feds were involved yet or if the local boys were keeping it between them and the state boys. He was not looking forward to what lay ahead, but saw no way around it. He could hardly leave and let her fend for herself. He wasn’t about to waltz in and make it easy on them either. So he’d stick, play the game, walk the line, make certain he didn’t speak without his lawyer present and go from there. In the mean time… “How about take out?” he hollered over his shoulder to her. He felt her nod against his shoulder then she leaned up just as he pulled to a stoplight. “Italian? Go left at the next light. Riggio’s.” -156-
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Half an hour later, they stood at her apartment holding bags of steaming bread, containers wafting of garlic and basil. “Are your roommates going to be here?” he asked. Inside the hallway, she grinned and tried to open her door. A door down the hallway opened. Rogan turned and there was Mrs. Kovoski. He grinned and nodded. “Evening, ma’am.” “That it is. Going for my evening walk.” He frowned and watched her limp over to them. Should someone her age be out walking alone? She cackled. “Young people are so easy to read. Don’t worry, I just walk the hallway. That way if I fall, I can yell and someone can hear me.” All he could do was nod. “Maybe you should get one of those little things that go around your neck to press if that happens.” She waved the idea away. Her gaze raked up and down Cora and she cackled again. “Good round of sex always puts color in the cheeks.” Cora’s eyes popped wide. “But we haven’t…that is we didn’t…” “Honey,” the elderly matron said, waving her silver cane in Cora’s direction, “you go as long as you did, the color’s gonna last a long damn while.” She thumped and limped passed them. “Y’all don’t have too much fun. And remember the kitchen is one of the most enjoyable places to have sex.” “Oh my God,” Cora muttered, shoving the key home and all but dragging him into the apartment. She shut the door, then opened it and hollered, “Thank you, Mrs. Kovoski. Have a wonderful evening.” “I got new batteries. I will.” “Ohmigod.” Cora shut the door and all he could do was laugh. Her face was priceless, shock, awe and curiosity shone in her eyes, in the way her brow creased, the lines around her mouth. -157-
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He leaned over and kissed her. “The kitchen is always fun.” Cora shook her head and set the packages of food on the kitchen table. “My life will never be the same. I’m happy with the woman I am, but feel like I suddenly need therapy.” He watched her as she set the containers of food on the table. He walked up behind her and leaned closer, trapping her between the table and him. He lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck. “Oh but, honey, didn’t you know. All you really need is a ride on my Harley, it’ll put lots of color in your cheeks.” Her laugh danced out and she turned to look up at him, her eyes alight with amusement. Rogan closed the distance between them and kissed her.
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Chapter Nineteen He turned her and kissed her, his mouth nibbling on her lips, demanding and wanting more. He wanted her as he’d never wanted a woman before, wanted her more than his next breath. Rogan tilted his head and kissed her deeper. Then he picked her up. Cora wrapped her legs around his waist, her skirt pulled tight between them and riding high on her thighs. Rogan walked her backwards, kissing her all the while. He tilted his head and deepened the kissing, taking from her instead of asking. A need clawed through him to claim her, to make her understand this wasn’t just some quick weekend-fling for him, or any fling for that matter. The old fears from his nightmares threatened to darken around them. He cupped her bottom and lifted her, setting her on the counter. “Do you have any idea what you make me want to do?” She tilted her head back, giving him access to her neck. “No. What?” He kissed his way down her neck, felt her pulse warm and thick beneath his mouth. “I want to make love to you, over. And over. And over until you can’t think.” A soft chuckle vibrated against his mouth. “I already can’t think.” “I so love being a sex god.” She parted her thighs, the skirt riding high on her thighs. Rogan pulled her to the edge of the counter and stepped closer. Just as he rubbed against her, the unmistakable sound of a key in the door had -159-
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him stepping back. He quickly jerked her skirt lower to cover her hot pink underwear. He knew the bra matched. His blood hummed through his veins and he wanted to have her naked and laying on the countertop. He’d start at her mouth and work his way all the way down to those cute little toes then back up to her… “Hello, guys. Hope I’m not interrupting.” Kyle threw his keys into a bowl on the little side table with the phone and a round glass globe. “No,” Cora said, swinging her legs from side to side. Rogan sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “We were about to eat,” Rogan offered. “Want to join us?” Cora asked, motioning to the bags. “Riggio’s. Our fave. I even ordered some calamari.” Kyle, his hair disheveled and a frown between his brows, shook his head. “No thanks, sweets.” He walked over to Cora and pulled her into a hug. “Men are creeps. We should stay away from them.” She pulled back and kissed his cheek. Rogan knew the guy was gay, but he found he really didn’t like Cora being kissed by other men of any kind. Losing his freaking mind. Too much sex. Or maybe sex overload? Too much in too little time. He snorted at the thought. Cora glared at him over Kyle’s shoulder. “Kyle what happened?” “Hanson and I had a fight. I think he has a thing for you,” the man muttered, and kissed her forehead before turning to the fridge. “Prick.” “Maybe you got confused?” Cora asked. “I mean, come on, Kyle. He’s hot for you. You guys have been together forever.” Kyle opened a beer and swallowed half the bottle. “Yeah, so I thought. I mean, you’re with someone that long, you think you know them, right?”
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She nodded and scooted off the counter. “Why do you think he has a thing for me?” Kyle shook his head. “I’m jealous of my own best and longest friend.” “Kyle.” “He’s always wanting to know more about your dreams and what they mean and asking stuff about you.” Rogan tried to wade through the information he’d never before encountered, at least not in this context. He opened his mouth, but Cora beat him to it. “Well, why wouldn’t he ask questions? I have all sorts of questions about Rogan’s family and friends.” That caught his attention. “You do?” She rolled her eyes. Kyle stopped, his beer halfway to his mouth. “You mean you don’t know all his little secrets and yet you slept with him?” One brow cocked. “And from the looks of things when I walked in you would have again. Way to go.” Again the frown appeared. He turned to Rogan. “You hurt her and I’ll make your life hell.” Rogan only sat at the kitchen table and started to unload the bags of food. “Kyle, sit down.” He didn’t look to Cora. “We need some plates.” “Aw, what? Not going to eat spaghetti off each other’s naked bodies?” Kyle asked. Rogan didn’t even pause. “The idea does appeal.” Cora bopped him on the back of the head. “Men and their dicks.” “I did not mention dicks, thank you, sweets. I said naked bodies. There is a difference. And spaghetti,” Kyle said. Cora grabbed three plates, and set the table, adding flatware and glasses. He noticed she again preferred water while Kyle took another beer. Rogan followed her suit. -161-
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“I can’t believe y’all fought over me.” She sat with a sigh and put her hand on Kyle’s. “I’ll go, get my own place. I’ve told you before I should probably do that.” “Why? Half the time I’m not here anyway. I’m with Hanson. And he has no right to decide who I live with.” Cora grabbed a bread stick and bit off the end. Looking at Rogan, she asked, “So if we were together for say…three years, would you have an issue if I were living with another man?” He looked from her to Kyle. “You already are.” She waved it away. “That’s not what I meant.” Then she frowned. “Okay, maybe it is.” Rogan paused, didn’t bother to play nice. “I have issues with sharing.” He opened one container and scooped out some shrimp Florentine. “And it wouldn’t take three years.” “What wouldn’t take three years?” “For God’s sake, Cora. The man is hot as hell over you and is so alpha it’s straight out of those novels you hide under your bed.” Kyle sighed. “If I wasn’t in love with Hanson, the prick, I’d give you a run for your money,” he told Cora. Rogan intent on taking a bite, thought of how to reply, and went with simple. “Thank you, I think, but I’m straight.” Kyle sighed again. “I know, more’s the pity. Hanson wants to play games, I can play games too.” Rogan took a deep breath. “You know, maybe you did misread the situation. Can that be possible? I mean, like Cora said, as the other half in a relationship, he’d be interested. For instance, why would you live with her? Why have y’all been friends so long, that sort of thing.”
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Kyle shook his head and opened the calamari box and inhaled, spearing several of the battered rings on his fork. “He already knows all that, but lately he’s just…I don’t know…different.” “Since when?” Kyle thought about it. “I don’t know, since about…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Things seemed fine, but then they didn’t, little things. I’d notice him watching Cora when he thought I wasn’t looking. And another time I got out of the shower and he was lying on your bed, granted my sheets were in the washer, but still. He couldn’t lie on the couch?” Rogan listened, but was objective enough to know this wasn’t anything huge. “Still not enough to condemn him to prick. Stupid ass, maybe,” Cora acknowledged. “But prick?” “He also has pictures of you,” Kyle said, frowning. Rogan glanced at Cora, but she didn’t seem phased by this. “What pictures?” Rogan asked. Kyle smiled and turned to Cora. “See? He has a problem with another man having pictures of you. Prick status stands.” “I gave him those pictures of the two of us, though,” Cora said, thinking. “Other than you and Lake, he’s my friend.” He shook his head. “No, not the Christmas photos, or the one where you’re shoving the camera away. These are black and whites. Eight by tens.” Now she frowned. “When were they taken?” Rogan forgot his food. “He says over time. Over the last year.” “Well, he does take photos in his spare time,” Cora offered. “Yes, but these are different.” “How?” Rogan kept his voice calm. -163-
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Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean it’s not like she’s naked or anything like that. Well, there’s one when we went to Tahoe, but you’re in that nonexistent bikini.” Rogan closed his eyes. “Anyway,” Kyle continued. “He talks of lighting and you being this perfect model and though I’m glad he likes you, I can’t help but be…” Cora laid her hand on Kyle’s and squeezed. “I’m sorry about coming between you.” “You didn’t step there,” Kyle said, picking up her hand and kissing it. “He did. You don’t have a damn thing to apologize for.” He wrinkled his nose and scratched his chin. “You know what? I think I’m going to take off tomorrow. I haven’t taken any sick or vacation days and have them built up. I’ll take off tomorrow and go somewhere and relax.” She nodded and smiled at him. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” “We’re a sad and lonely pair. Thinking we found our happily everafters only to have it ripped out from under us whenever the significant other messes with us for no better reason than they seem bored.” They grinned at each other. “Pricks,” they said and laughed. Conversation lightened. Rogan knew he’d never come between them. Friends were often like that. Old relationships might move over and make way for new, but they were never crushed, or diminished. Not true ones. He realized suddenly that though they’d joked about being lonely, they were lucky. Lonely was his world. Or maybe there were different layers? “You’ve got a deep thinker there. Care to share?” Kyle asked. “Just thinking how lonely might be like hell, all differing layers of it.” Kyle laughed. “Yeah. I like that idea. So which layer are you at?”
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Rogan speared a shrimp on the end of his fork and held it up to Cora’s lips, still slightly rosy from his kisses. “I’m a lot higher than I was.” She smiled at him and opened her mouth. “You ever notice, we locals tend to leave Sedona to think and relax?” “Your point?” Kyle ate more calamari. “That most people come here for the spas and relaxation.” Kyle shrugged. “I’m really not into earth chakras or mojo stuff, thanks. You believe all you want. But if John Wayne hadn’t filmed several films out here, it would be quieter. And few would give a damn about the earth out here being magical or some such.” She laughed and leaned over and kissed him. Licking her lips, she glanced at Rogan. “I should have gotten that dish. The shrimp is really good today.” He grinned and held another up for her to eat. She smiled and he wanted to kiss her, watched the way she licked her lips yet again. Just as she closed her mouth over the shrimp, he let out the breath he’d been holding. “I’m telling you, nothing like spaghetti and naked bodies. Wine. Don’t forget the wine.” Kyle stood and walked out of the kitchen, and back to his room. They stared at each other, grinned, and Rogan had to lean closer to kiss her. He had to have just one taste. Just one more. She stood, grabbed a bottle of wine and then glanced at him over her shoulder. “Grab the food.” A A A The water sluiced down her skin.
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“You missed a spot of marinara sauce,” Rogan said, his voice gruff as he stepped into the shower behind her. Cora turned and smiled. “Really? Where?” She leaned back against the tiled wall. The shower was an older porcelain, tub-shower number with a blue and white checked shower curtain. “I heard Kyle leave earlier,” he said, leaning in to kiss her neck. She shivered. “We should have waited to play those food games,” he muttered, trailing hot kisses over her skin, to her ear. “Then you could scream as loudly as you want and not worry about who might be listening.” She pulled back. “He might not be here, but I’m still not screaming.” “You did the other night.” She felt a blush creep up her chest, to stain her cheeks. “We were outside.” A devil-may-care smile lifted his lips. “We’ll see.” She squirmed as he set his hands to her, his mouth clamping over hers. This wasn’t a playful kiss, a teasing kiss. His mouth was hard, hot and demanding on hers. His hands, long fingered and wicked, rough and calloused, raked her body. “I could make love to you, over and over and over and never get tired of it,” he told her between bites. She hissed as his hands found her breasts, tweaking, pulling, speeding her along the path he’d chosen. He licked a path down her neck. “I love the taste of you all hot and wet.”
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She chuckled. “I seem to remember you saying that earlier this evening.” She tried to reach between them to wrap her hand around him, but he grabbed her wrists. “No touching.” “But—” He looked at her, his gaze heated and direct. “No touching, Cora.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. He played her body like a well tuned instrument until she was arching against him. And still he only played. “Rogan,” she begged. “What do you want, Cora?” He parted her slick folds, sliding first a lone finger, then another along her, into her. She closed her eyes. “What do you want?” he whispered. “You.” She opened her eyes. “Just you.” He clasped her bottom and lifted her. Cora wrapped her legs around his waist and held onto his shoulders. Then he was sliding into her, hard, hot and thick. His dark eyes closed, a muscle bunched in his cheek. “Why can’t I get enough of you?” he hissed as he thrust into her. Cora could only moan, as he stroked her higher and higher. Water beat down on them, steaming the air. Their moans, whispers filled the air. Then he changed the angle and every thought flew from her head. All she could feel was him, all she could taste was Rogan, all she could hear was the thunder of her own heart as he pushed into her faster and faster. She arched her neck and yelled as she shattered around him.
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“Yes,” he groaned, and pumped into her. Then he stilled, his hands tightening on her hips even as she felt his release pulsing through him. Cora sighed, her heart still hammering, her vision still blurred. She leaned up and bit the side of his neck. “I didn’t scream.” She giggled as he only shook his head. “Next time. I don’t care who’s around.” “Promise?” He slapped her bottom. “I’d cross my heart, but then I’d drop you and that wouldn’t be good.” They carefully climbed out, laughing at the other’s unsteadiness. Wrapped in towels, they made their way back to bed. As she drifted off to sleep, Cora knew that this man could really, really hurt her more than some deranged killer ever could. With Rogan’s heart beneath her hand, she hoped he wouldn’t break her own. She hoped he wouldn’t, but only time would tell what the future brought them.
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Chapter Twenty He waited, staring at the photo he had of her. God, she was beautiful. So close now. He’d been so damn close. He wondered if the cops were finding anything out. He’d doubt it. If they had, they’d already be at his door. But he knew his time wouldn’t last forever. He’d have to act quickly, or all might be lost. Something about Cora O’Donnell left him hard. More than her eyes. More than the chase itself. He loved the chase, the hunt, the victory—in and of itself. But, it had been a long time since any of his prey held his attention past the point that they simply filled a need within him. An instant gratification as it were. Her eyes called to him and he’d tried to ignore her. She was what he considered trouble. Too close to him. Too easily accessible. Too…available. The hunt of it was out, the chase…but the victory? The victory, he knew would be even better. Sweeter… More fulfilling. Maybe like the fist time? He sighed as he remembered the first time. The way her eyes had bulged, the way she’d struggled against him, the way he hadn’t thought or planned ahead. He hadn’t taken her eyes.
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He tapped his fingers on the tabletop and picked up his wine, sipping it. More’s the pity. She should have been a part of his collection. After all, the woman had been his first. But mistakes lead to learning. And because he kept dreaming of those icy blue eyes watching him in his dreams. Always watching, he’d started to take them. Several years ago, he realized they weren’t watching in condemnation over what he’d done, but because she wasn’t truly one of his. He hadn’t taken her eyes. He still remembered the first pair of angel eyes that graced his shelf. Safe and forever his. Forever watching over him. Keeping him safe. His gaze shifted again to Cora’s photograph. Her blue eyes stared at him from behind the framed glass. “Won’t be long now, Angel Eyes.” A A A Cora, dressed and feeling like she was late, grabbed the juice glass Kyle handed her as he kissed her cheek. “Where are you going again?” “I’m gonna let the road take me.” He turned to Rogan behind her. “I’m thinking of renting a bike and driving where the road takes me.” Rogan nodded. “Works for me. I think you’d like it.” Cora rolled her eyes. Dramatic didn’t begin to describe her oldest friend. “Kyle. You’d get tired of it. There’s not an air conditioner. You’d get hot, sweaty and then what? No shower? And then just as you’re driving along and thinking the guys think you’re hot and you might find a weekend fling, a giant bug is going to slap you in the face and bug guts will fill your mouth, be splattered all over your forehead.” He frowned and thought for a minute. “You have a point. I think I’ll stick to my Jeep. Doesn’t matter the sex. Jeeps are unisex. Everyone loves them. I can pick up dicks or chicks, whatever mood strikes me.”
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“You’re not bi.” “I’m thinking of trying it out.” Laughing she leaned over and kissed him. “Let me know what the drunken orgy is like and call me when you get wherever so I know you got there safely and when your mother calls I’ll have a better bullshit story to feed her when you don’t call her for four days.” “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll call her and tell her something so you don’t have to fend off her calls.” Then he motioned to the two of them. “Go, you will be late. Then Cora will have a nervous breakdown because she’s anal about her schedules. Likes things just so.” Rogan looked at her, his brow raised. “Is that right?” She shrugged. “I might look like a flake, but I do like organization.” He glanced around the apartment. “I got that. Everything has its place. You hang your clothes up when you take them off.” “Yes, even when they’re going to the cleaners or she’s about to wash them. They’re always hanging. It’s just not normal.” “Wrinkles aren’t normal.” “Schedules should go out the window.” Kyle leaned over and whispered, “You want to know how to really mess her up? Take away her black book.” Rogan’s brows danced. “You have a black book? I will have to find this and investigate.” “Touch my planner and you die.” She grabbed her tote and opened the door. Two detectives stood on the other side, their expressions grim. They looked past her to someone behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Rogan standing there with a rueful tilt of his lips. “Miss O’Donnell, Mr. Duran. Maybe you’d both like to come down to the station with us?” Palacios asked. -171-
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“Is that a question or a statement?” Cora asked. Palacios tilted his head and studied her. “Does it matter?” She crossed her arms. “I think it does. I like to know what I’m walking into.” “You don’t already know?” “Sarcasm this early in the morning, is about par,” Cora muttered. Then she looked over her shoulder at Kyle. “Won’t this be fun.” “I’ll call your lawyer,” Kyle said, already grabbing the phone. “Cora,” Rogan said behind her. “Does she really need to come?” He asked them, his hands on her shoulders. “Well, considering we found you both together and you’ve both been seen numerous times in each other’s company, yes.” Rogan opened his mouth as if to say something else. She patted his hand. “Such a waste of time. But let’s play along.” She huffed out a breath. “Now I’ll be late opening and that just pisses me off, but can’t be helped.” The police officers stepped back. “Why is it, I thought you might listen? I wasted my time coming to you. You should know by now, I’m what I claim to be. And someone is out there killing innocent women and disposing of their bodies. Probably out in the desert. And,” she continued, her heart thrumming, “it’s not Rogan.” Palacios took her arm. Rogan walked behind. Once they got to the curb, she jerked her arm free. “Can I take my bicycle? Or are we supposed to ride with you? His dark brow cocked. “It’ll be easier if you ride with us.” Rogan opened his cell phone and dialed a number. Neither one moved. “It’s me. Where are you?” Pause. “Good. Glad you decided to fly in
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last night after all. I need you at the station as I’m being asked to come down now. Thanks.” He hung up. “My lawyer. I like to cover all bases.” Mesler shook her head and nodded to the car. “Yes, we just bet you do.” Cora tried to remain calm. She turned and cupped his face. “It’s going to be all right, Rogan. Don’t worry.” He smiled and tweaked her nose. “You just worry about yourself. Don’t worry about me. Maybe between all of us, we’ll get this figured out.” A A A She waited and listened as they asked her yet again. She looked up at the clock. “Are you going to charge me?” Palacios sighed, Mesler opened her mouth and Cora held up her hand. “The good cop, bad cop is getting old. Maybe to throw me off, you should have switched rolls.” Tired of this, she glared at them. “You’re wasting your time.” “What do you know of Mr. Duran?” Mesler asked. “I know he drives a Fat Boy, knows how to ride, and can be a little territorial. He also is a great lover, but what information did you have in mind?” “Did he tell you he’d been arrested in regards to a similar crime in Texas?” She nodded. “And now it’s time to see if the fake will change her story. Can we get her to trip up over the details?” A knock at the door and they all looked up. Sedona’s Chief of Police Joel Valenquez stood at the door glaring in.
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“That glare doesn’t look good and look, there’s my lawyer.” Rose Walkwood strode into the room, dressed in jeans and a tie-dyed shirt. “Sorry, had my phone on silent. I tend to like my yoga to be uninterrupted.” Rose walked like a ballerina, blonde hair and brown eyes, she often looked like a laid back beach bunny. Of course the boob job did nothing to help that impression, but few underestimated her a second time. “Palacios, Mesler, I’ve talked to the chief. This is amusing and time wasting. Until you have more, my client is free to go, unless you have some hard evidence to link her to these crimes.” No one said anything. “Didn’t think so.” Rose held her hand out to Cora. “Come darlin’. The big mean cops were just doing their jobs.” “I know that,” Cora said, standing. At one time, she might be scared. But considering there was a real killer out there who wanted her eyes, the police seemed tame. As she walked out of the interview room, she looked to the side and saw Rogan in another room with a man with a similar profile. He didn’t look at her and she knew he had a lot on his mind. “Thank God,” someone said, and she was suddenly grabbed in a bear hug. Kyle. “I’m okay,” she said, patting his back. He set her down and looked her up and down. “What’s going on, Cora? Why are you here? I knew that man was bad news.” “Kyle.” “Rides in on his Harley and turns your head. Sleeps with you…” “Kyle—” -174-
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“I ought to—” “Here,” another voice said behind her. She turned and found Hanson holding a cup of water for her. “You look like you could use this.” Knowing Kyle was watching and after their conversation this morning, she took the cup and grinned up at Hanson. “Thanks.” Kyle sighed. “It’s okay, Cora. We’ve talked and we’re calling a truce.” “Jail tends to do that,” Rose said. She pulled Cora off to the side. “We need to talk about this all. But, I have another meeting here in—” She checked her watch. “Shit I’m late. Drop by my office this afternoon. I’ll tell you this. They’re looking hard at the missing women around the state, and more are popping up. They want this pinned and closed. State boys are already calling and the District Attorney knows this would look great as a sterling red feather in his cap. Watch your back, Cora and if they are lenient enough to let Duran go, stay away from him.” Cora looked back over her shoulder and saw Rogan shaking his head at something his lawyer said. He looked up then and their eyes met. A charge thrilled down her spine. She wondered if he needed anything. “Cora, did you hear me?” She looked back at her lawyer and nodded. “Yes I hear you. I need to get to the shop.” With that, she turned to leave. “We’ll drive you,” Hanson said. She looked at Kyle. “I don’t know if that would be a good idea.” Kyle smiled. “We’re fine, sweets. We called a truce when I told him what was going on. Besides, I’ve had time to think and we’ve had plenty of time to sit out here and talk.” A A A
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She nodded and they walked out of the police station. Once in the car they started down the road, back to the older part of town. Kyle said something to Hanson, but she ignored them. They dropped Kyle off at the apartment, but she wanted to go to the shop. In minutes Hanson was parking in the alley behind Mystic Moons. Sighing, she wished her nerves would calm. Hanson had been silent the entire time. “Coffee?” She turned and looked at him. “Why do you have pictures of me?” she asked as they climbed out of the car. Both walked around the corner of the building and across the street to Monte’s. “You should be more careful, Cora.” “You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “You’re a fascinating subject, Cora. Even in black and white, your eyes are startling. And the contrast between your innocent appearance and the knowledge in your eyes is wonderful. Truth.” On the sidewalk she heard her name and turned just as Hanson held the door open for her. Lake and Simon were walking towards them out of Lake’s shop down the block. Lake hurried over. “Oh, thank God. I swear. I never would have set you up on that date if I’d have known he was a monster. I never saw, never felt…” She frowned. “At least not about him. Oh, sweetie, are you okay?” Cora nodded and smiled as they all trooped into the coffee bar. Lake leaned close and whispered, “I really need to talk to you later. Can you come by my shop around closing time?” Cora looked at the clock. It was already twelve-thirty. Then it hit her. “It’s Friday.” “So freaking close early,” Lake hissed. “It’s important.” Open late, close early. This would be good. “Fine.” -176-
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“Five then. Okay?” Cora nodded and ordered a coffee. Chris was manning the bar and only sneered at her. “Where’s your sex god lover boy?” “Learning some new tricks, I’m sure,” she answered, then turned and ignored him as Simon put his hand on her arm. “Are you okay? Lake and I were worried about you.” Simon’s face creased in worry. “I’m fine. Just off schedule.” Lake snorted. “Oh forbidden things.” Simon looked between them. “Forbidden can be fun.” Hanson grabbed their drinks and walked her back across the street. She stepped to her sidewalk and opened the front door. A chill danced down her spine and she glanced over her shoulder wondering where the feeling came from, wondering what it was that caught her attention. From here, she could see them all in the coffee shop. Chris was staring at her, and Lake and Simon were talking about something as they walked out and started down the street. Lake waved at her and then Simon did as well. She realized Hanson was talking to her and tried to focus on what he was saying. Something was going to happen. An energy hummed under her skin and she wished she knew what it was, but nothing congealed in her mind. Dark and sinister, it slithered through the air and wrapped around her. She wished Rogan were here.
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Chapter Twenty-one Rogan sat silently as the cops tried to get him to talk. Since he’d been through this all before and had come out on top, he knew to be patient. Besides the fact he also knew he was innocent. The blackouts were a medical fact. Just because he couldn’t account for his whereabouts on certain dates, had no tight alibi on some, other dates were rock solid and no way he could have committed the crimes of missing women. At least if their files matched his. They both glared at him before walking out the door for a minute. He wondered what they were discussing. Of course he was sure they’d already gotten a warrant for his room, probably found the file and his laptop. Which would just be wonderful. “I can’t believe you still keep a damn file. What information is on your laptop?” Sean asked. His brother was busy scribbling on a legal pad and tapping something into a PDA. Rogan started to ask what it was but kept silent for a minute, trying to think what all was on the laptop and how it could be used. “Basically the same thing that’s in the file. More notes and questions on one part, yet other notes and questions on the other part.” He shrugged. “Lists I’ve compiled on those who fit the missing girls.” The more he talked, the more still his brother became, until Sean shoved his glasses up his nose. “This ought to be fun. And to be honest, I -178-
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have no idea what all we’re getting into. I do corporate law, Ro, not criminal. And trust me when I say you need another criminal lawyer.” “It’s not my fault the last one died.” Sean merely raised a brow. “No, just another example of the fact you’ve become a shit magnet. The case gets thrown out of court and your lawyer drops dead of a massive coronary.” Sean muttered under his breath, then said, “I’m telling you, I’m going to need help.” Rogan nodded. “Fine. Find out who I need to get.” Sean grinned. “Already done and already called. Just figured I’d give you a head’s up.” Rogan rolled his head, trying to stretch the kinks out of his neck. “They’re really going to try and pin this shit on me, Sean. I know they will. Probably harder than they tried the last time.” “Probably.” He didn’t want to admit his fear or the fact that he doubted he’d get out of it this time. Crossing his arms, he sat back, partially glad Cora was out of here. They let her walk out with her lawyer—which meant they either believed her or they didn’t have enough to hold her. Either way, she was almost lucky. Almost—if not for the fact he did believe everything she told him. Rogan had no idea when he started to believe her, not so much partially thinking she might be onto something, but really believing her. He looked to his brother. “I need you to call Clay and ask him to get some guys to watch out for Cora.” Sean raised a brow. “Mind if I ask why? And please tell me you don’t believe in this hocus-pocus ‘I see eyes’ crap.” Sean gave him the Durannarrowed-eyed look. They weren’t twins but the resemblance was there for any who gave them a passing glance. They took after their father with
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dark hair and eyes, though Rogan’s hair was a bit longer and darker, his features harder, or rougher. Sean was clean, slick—the epitome of a lawyer with his clean-cut hair, clean face and bronze-rimmed reading glasses. He wore buttondowns and slacks complete with power ties. Sometimes Rogan wondered how they could be so much alike and so very different, but they’d always been that way. “Who’s coming to help?” “Retired lawyer from Scottsdale. Mr. Lacey. Retired from criminal law. He’s agreed to look over your case and meet with us later this evening.” “Great.” Rogan wondered what evidence they’d have. What they had other than his laptop and the fact he was with Cora who claimed to “know” about the killings. Circumstantial at best. “Did you tell Mom?” he asked his brother. Sean snorted. “And have the wrath brought down on me? I’ve never been that stupid.” “Golden boy.” “Shit magnet.” They grinned at each other. Sean shook his head. The cops opened the door again and he wondered how much longer this would take. He knew Cora was with her friends, or he assumed so. But the fact was he didn’t know exactly where she was. Didn’t know exactly what she was doing, or who was watching her. Or if anyone was even with her. What if it was someone she knew? Someone she might not think twice about going with or having around?
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He might be a shit magnet, but the truth was, this was the first in a long, long time he felt…anything. Felt alive at all. Felt more than selfpity, self-loathing. For the first time in a long time, he not only felt a connection, a reality with another person, but something else, something more. Fear. The distant fear that many would write off as a lingering effect of losing a loved one the way he had… He shook his head and looked at Detective Palacios. Good cop or bad cop, no matter the routine or reality, he knew that out of the two, Cora felt easier with the man. “Do you have anyone watching Cora?” he asked. Sean put his hand on Rogan’s arm and squeezed. “Why do you ask?” Palacios crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He jerked his head to the door and Mesler shrugged then walked back out. “Ah yes, the man-to-man talk. Last resort, you’ll send your partner back in to see if she can either appeal to my softer side, or if she’ll push my supposed buttons and I’ll hopefully confess to the crimes you want me to be responsible for.” Sean squeezed harder. Rogan continued. “But for now I’m stuck with the buddy-talk-to-meI’m-only-trying-to-help routine.” Palacios smiled, but it held little amusement. “You know, we found your file. Did some checking. You were awfully close to the action on many of those missing cases. Which, I might add, are still open.” Palacios pushed away from the wall and walked to the table, leaning down on it. “On others, no one can seem to find you at all.” “And on even more, he has airtight alibis. If that’s all you have on him…” -181-
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“Where were you when missing?” Rogan only grinned. “That is still classified information, detective.” Those dark eyes narrowed on him. “Really?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Yes, really. I can, or rather my lawyer can give you the contact information. But General Lattimore is a very busy man. You might talk to him through Colonel McClafferty.” Rogan shrugged. “Chances are, they’ll give you a run around. But feel free to try them.” Still more questions were asked, some answered, some fielded by Sean. Through it all, he wished Sean would leave to get hold of Clayton. He wanted someone watching Cora. And apparently this detective wasn’t about to listen to him. A A A Cora stepped inside her shop. The day was practically wasted, which pissed her off. “You okay?” Hanson asked. Cora shivered and turned to study him, walking behind the counter so something was between them. “No, but that’s neither here nor there.” She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded the man she’d considered friend and wondered if he was going to hurt Kyle any more than he already was. Hanson, always the charmer, smiled at her. “Look,” he started, leaning over the counter. “I probably owe you an apology. Okay, I do. But I wanted you to know I don’t have any feelings for you, the way that Kyle’s worrying I do. About you. Feelings, between…us or whatever.” She frowned. “I’m so tired and I think it says a lot that I followed that sentence.” She took a deep breath and tried to roll the kinks out of her
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neck. “Fine, you don’t have fantasies about me. I’m crushed, Hanson. Now what’s really going on between you and Kyle?” For a moment, something dark shifted in his eyes then he blinked and looked away. “Nothing.” “Nothing?” She felt a headache throbbing at the base of her skull and rubbed her neck, wishing the tension gone, and knowing until this was all over that wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t know how to tell him.” Oh shit. Cora shook her head and looked at the guy. “Tell him what?” He just looked at her, misery written in the lines creasing the corners of his eyes. “I wasn’t totally honest with you. I mean, I was, but wasn’t.” “About?” They were both leaning on the counter. She decided to ask another question. “Why do you have pictures of me?” He nodded. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” “You said you didn’t have fantasies about me.” She straightened and smoothed her hand down the front of her pink pull-over. “Were you lying?” His gaze didn’t move from hers. Finally, he said, “You have the most amazing eyes.” Cora jerked back, the gift wrapping counter behind her. She carefully moved her hand along the smooth surface until she felt the scissors. “What?” He motioned to his own eyes. “Your eyes. They’re incredible. I take photos of you for that. I mean, you’re gorgeous anyway and no matter in black and white, sepia or color, hell, ghosted, you look great. Your eyes just…bam. Stand out.”
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She gripped the scissors, fear pumping through her. Some noise from the back shivered down her spine, but she ignored it and focused on the man in front of her. “You like my eyes?” He nodded. “I know it sounds nuts, but that’s the reason for all the photos.” Tilting his head, he frowned. “I’ve freaked you out. Sorry. Look, you want to come look at them?” “Look at them?” He held his hands out. “I thought you might want to see them. They’re just photos. But I thought of using them in an exhibit. I’m still working with the idea but…” Cora tried to understand what he was talking about. He had pictures of her eyes. The killer loved eyes. She was alone with Hanson. “You’re going to hurt Kyle aren’t you?” He didn’t answer her. “I shouldn’t have taken them without your permission and I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help myself.” She reached for the phone with her other hand, easing down the counter in the other direction, where the cordless base sat at the edge of the doorway leading to the back. “Hanson…I want you to leave,” she said, stretching for the phone. Where the hell was it? He moved around the counter and started towards her. “No. Stop.” He held up his hands and frowned. “I would never hurt you. I don’t plan on hurting Kyle, but the thing is, I’ve already sent off proofs to New York and Los Angeles. Two major galleries are already wanting the prints.” She shook her head. “What?” He stepped closer to her. -184-
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The phone. She needed the damn phone. She felt the cool countertop until finally her fingertips grazed the base.. A hand grabbed her wrist and she whirled, bringing the scissors around automatically with her other hand, warning screaming through her. Her eyes met familiar ones the moment she sliced across his arm. He hissed and hit her. Cora slammed against the counter with her hip. Heard Hanson yell but the buzz in her ears… She shook her head, just as someone stepped up behind her, pressing her into the counter. Cora slashed out with the scissors. A sharp sting bit her neck. The last thing she heard was, “If anyone admires her eyes. It’ll be me.” A A A He looked down at the body sprawled at his feet, worry gnawing his gut. Normally he only struck once. And it was always an angel. He glanced back over his shoulder to see her still lying peacefully on the floor. His blood pounded in his head. He always loved that part, but this time it was tarnished. He loved to look in their faces as he injected them. To watch those angels fall. But this time… He kicked the prone body on the floor. “Stupid idiot.” Had the man actually thought he’d help? Win? A chuckle danced out in the still charged air. He glanced to the street in front of the store and noticed it was still as quiet as it had been only
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minutes before. He walked to the front door and flipped the closed sign back over, and threw the bolt. Anticipation hummed along his nerves. Almost time. Almost. But he knew he’d be stupid to linger here. To stay longer than necessary. He needed to get her to his place. To the angels’ den. His SUV was parked in the wide alley next to the man’s car. All he had to do was get her there. He hissed at the sting in his arm and looked at the ripped sleeve. The blood on the scissors. Great. Just wonderful. He checked his watch and looked again at the wanna-be hero on the floor. Something warned him this was his coup de grace and finale all at once. If only he’d been able to steer from this path, from this driving need to have her. He stepped over the man’s body and quickly lifted Cora in his arms. The scissors, still held in her hand, clattered to the floor. It wouldn’t matter. Sooner or later they’d find him. Once it was known she was missing, the cops would let Mr. Rogan Duran go. He quickly walked through her shop, opened the back door, the lock picked, and glanced out. No one stirred in the alley. He hoped and prayed it would stay that way. The silence of the alley itself seemed to press in on him. He felt the moisture on his forehead, felt it slide from his armpit, down his side. He glanced at her head hanging lifelessly on his arm as he carried her. He shifted her so that he held her closer to his chest. Glancing around he saw the alley was still empty as he opened the back door of his SUV and laid her across the seat. So easy. So simple. It often amazed him how
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no one ever even noticed when someone disappeared right under their noses. Once in the vehicle, he cranked the air conditioner to full and let the cold air blast him in the face. He glanced in the backseat, assured she was where he left her. Not that he imagined otherwise. The dose he gave her would keep her out for at least an hour. The moody strains of Saint-Saens jabbed from the speakers. He hummed the tune, giddy, anxious and more nervous than he’d been in a long, long time. Normally, there was no threat of the police. Only once before—well, he amended, thrumming his fingers on the wheel as he stopped at a red light—twice if he counted the very first time he strangled his angel. The other time had been in Ft. Hood, Texas. So easy then, so simply and so wonderfully satisfying to see the man he’d always hated under the microscope, to watch him lose not only his rank, but his entire military career. He smiled and drove on through the late Sedona afternoon. He glanced again in the rearview mirror. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, realizing he hadn’t checked to see if the target he’d left behind was indeed dead or not. Stupid. Stupid oversight. Again he looked over his shoulder. It was all her fault. If not for her and her stupid visions, her now boyfriend and the damn cops, he might have had more time to plan. Not to wait for her and then grab her. Most of his women he took with care, with careful preplanning, to make certain no mistakes were made. But there hadn’t been time. He’d planned to take her yesterday, but then the cops had come. The music stirred the anger within him. Fuck. His hands shook. If he turned around and went back, he’d only draw more attention to himself. -187-
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Rolling down the window, he took a deep breath and then turned onto his road that led out of town. Five minutes later, the driveway to his house shadowed by the large cactus and yucca growing in the sculpted beds, he shook the tension off. Now the fun began.
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Chapter Twenty-two Rogan sat in the cell where he’d been moved not long after the interview ended. Sean was supposedly working on his release. He knew it was dark now. He’d seen it was twilight when they led him down here. Now, he glanced through the bars at the far wall to the industrial black and white clock, almost an hour later, he knew it was dark. What was Cora doing? More importantly what was the killer doing? A feeling he’d always heeded when on missions, or before, hell, through his whole life…pricked along his skin. Something was wrong, something wasn’t right. He prayed it wasn’t Cora. He couldn’t go through that again. Never again. She was smart. She was resourceful. He knew that. A commotion up the hallway drew his attention. Detective Palacios, along with a man he’d learned was the Chief of Police here in Sedona walked into the holding area quickly with Sean and some suit he was talking to. Rogan didn’t bother to stand. The chief strode up to his cell and unlocked it, the door sliding open. “We need to talk to you again.” “Oh the fun.”
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“Rogan,” Sean said, cutting off his own sentence. He motioned to the man beside him. “The district attorney. Look, they were set to charge you when news came in.” The prickle turned to needle pricks along the back of his neck. He still didn’t say a word. No one said a word. Finally, Palacios cleared his throat. “Did Cora mention going anywhere?” Panic slammed into him. Rogan grabbed the detective by the shirt front and said very quietly. “I told you to watch her. I warned you what he was after. Where is she?” “Rogan!” Sean yelled. “Mr. Duran, set my officer down. Now,” someone ordered in a deep voice. Rogan assumed it was the chief. Taking a calming breath, he jerked his hands away from Palacios and pointed a finger at him. “I warned you. Did you listen? No. She warned you. Did you listen? No. Instead you were all in a hurry to pin it on me. I told you of the old case. Told you of the circumstances. I wasn’t playing you then, I’m not playing you now. I tried to save you time. Time to find him so that we wouldn’t be…” He trailed off, chills crawling down his back. “He’s got her doesn’t he?” Rogan fisted his hands on his hips in an effort not to deck the smart, job-following detective. “Sedona’s finest,” he sneered. He looked up at his brother, who took a step back. “Am I free to go?” At first no one spoke. Then the D.A. stepped forward. “Yes, Mr. Duran.” He saw then the chief held the clothing he’d been wearing. He jerked his clothes away from the man, stormed to the nearest bathroom and -190-
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changed. Stupid pricks. Some rational part of his brain knew he shouldn’t piss them off, shouldn’t really blame then, but damn it all to hell and back. He couldn’t think of them right now. Now he had to focus on Cora, and where she might be. He paused, in the middle of tucking his shirt in. Blue eyes. Pale blue eyes in glass jars. Her voice came back to him then. He keeps them…keeps them in glass jars so that his angels are always watching over him. Not her. He braced his forearms on the sink. Never her. Bile rose quick and hot in the back of his throat, but he closed his eyes and shut off his emotions. He’d done it enough. Opening his eyes, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He’d find her. He’d find her before everything went to hell. You’re already there… the fear whispered. A knock at the door made him finish dressing. He jerked the door open to his brother and the chief, who motioned for them to head up the stairs. They went past the interview room he’d been in before and into another larger room. Inside were two people. Kyle and Lake, both had tear streaks on their faces. Kyle was pacing like a caged animal. He turned and said to no one in particular, “I need to leave. I need to get to the hospital.” Rogan raked a hand through his hair. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Lake shuddered and Kyle opened his mouth, but the cops both held up their hands. Palacios answered. “Mr. Duran, we’re sorry for the confusion, but we need your help.” He didn’t take his eyes off of Lake. “Does he have her?” Lake jerked a shoulder, shrugged, then burst into tears. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know. I just went over because we were going to meet about -191-
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closing time, to talk. Girl stuff and I wanted her advice, but then…” She shook her head. “Then I went, cause she didn’t show and then the door was still locked, but I could see the computer on and then I saw the legs.” “Legs?” “Hanson’s,” Kyle offered. “He’s at the hospital. Fractured skull, but they think he’ll make it.” “He was in Cora’s shop?” Rogan asked. His brain flipping through possibilities. “He went back with her. Wanted to explain the photos to her.” “What photos?” Palacios asked. “The ones you were pissed about?” Rogan asked. Kyle nodded. “A gallery show. Already galleries out of New York and L.A. are bidding to see who gets them.” He waved it away. “He was going to explain them to her.” Rogan turned to the cops and asked, “What else have you got. You have to have more than that.” “We’re hoping you’d be able to help us,” the chief admitted. Have more? Had he just said that? How stupid could he be? They’d arrested him. He raked his hand back through his hair. “Look, Mr. Duran, I don’t blame you for being pissed at us. Point is, this is all new to us. State boys are on their way because apparently there are two other cases in the state that match this profile.” He sighed. “And from the looks of your files and notes there are many more.” Rogan nodded. “He’s been all over the U.S. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Feds don’t come in.” The chief held out his hand. “We could use your help.”
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“You mean I’m off the list? You no longer think I’m your bad guy or Cora is an accomplice?” The police just looked at him. Sean squeezed his shoulder. “What the hell else would I be doing?” Rogan asked, and stood staring at photos of missing women that were taped to a dry erase board. He couldn’t go through all this again. “There has to be something. Something,” he muttered. “I think I better put an order in for food,” Palacios mentioned. Lake sniffed, but Rogan only looked at the board, his hands shoved in his pockets. If ever he believed, it was now. He wanted, and needed something more. Something. Anything. Cora. “Angel eyes. They all have angel eyes,” he muttered. A A A Cora groaned. Pain slithered through her head, like the slow glide of the tide. Ebb and flow. She tried to grab the thought, but it fled away. Cora licked her lips and realized her mouth was dry. She took a breath and the pain in her head returned, cloudy but there. What happened? She tried to open her eyes, but they too were dry and felt like sandpaper. A light above her seemed to blur around the edges, to grow and shrink. Focusing her attention on it did little good. Dream. It was a dream.
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Wake up. She drew a breath and realized her arms were sore. And above her head. Cora tried to lower them. They wouldn’t move. Something held them…something… Why couldn’t she think? Pain from her head was pushed back with panic that fluttered inside her, turning her stomach. A mumble rolled through the haze of her mind and she tried to focus on that. Focus on the sound…the words… A man’s voice… “Angel Eyes.” The light brightened, sharpened and she tried to blink. “No. No. I hate that. I like to see those pretty, pretty eyes,” the voice said. She blinked again, or tried to, but something held the lid of her left eye. “Angel eyes should never be hidden.” The words shivered through her, tumbling, then sliding and locking into place. Angel Eyes. Cora’s heart slammed against her ribs and the blood iced in her veins. Angel Eyes. No. No. A chuckle from him. “Yes. Yes.” She tried to focus, but couldn’t. That voice. She knew that voice… “I know this is strange, but it’s a pet peeve of mine and since I know the drug,” he said, holding her other eye open. She moved her head, tried to dislodge it. Something sticky pressed against her eyelid, then pressed up her eye past her brow.
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He continued, “Since I know the drug is still swimming through your system, I know you’d try to close your eyes. Dry mouth, dry eyes, it’s a side effect of the sedative.” He ran his hand over her arm that was secured above her. Or was it? She tried to move her hand again, tried to blink but couldn’t. Tape. Images, disjointed and jagged from memories or dreams, bounced in her mind. Taped the eyes. Angel eyes. Eyes in jars. Women on the bed. Screaming. Screaming. Hands around the neck. Squeezing. Gasping. No breath. No life… Eyes in jars. Her breath hitched, and trembles started deep in her. “Awww, don’t be frightened.” She knew that voice. Knew it. “Nothing to say? Would you like some water?” She thought about the question and finally nodded. Water. Her tongue felt twice its normal size. A straw touched her lips and she opened, then sipped. Water dribbled down her chin, but it wet and soaked into her dry mouth, a cool slide down the back of her throat. “I would love to enjoy you, like I did the others,” he said, running his hand from her face, down over her throat, over her breast. She shuddered. “Please.” Again he chuckled, the harsh bright light glaring into her eyes. “They all say that.” The trembles wracked her body. Think. She had to think.
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The drug swam through her brain, threatened to pull her back. Had he drugged the water? The light dipped and seemed to swirl. A dark form leaned over her. “Yes, I think you’ll be feeling it about now…” The hand on her breast squeezed, fondled. Part of her tried to shy away, but she couldn’t move, her chest heavy. The light. A A A “What?” Lake asked, sniffing hard. Rogan didn’t turn from the board, just pointed. “All these women, plus Cora, plus all the ones in my files, plus I’m sure some I’ll never even learn about, all have the same color of eyes. Angel eyes, Cora called them. Or said that’s how he saw them.” Her picture grinned out at him. “Oh my, God. Oh my, God,” Lake said. “Ms. Hamilton?” someone asked. Who was it? Who could be this close to him all this time, in so many places and he never even saw them? “I think…” Lake muttered something under her breath and then jerked him around. Rogan looked from her hand on his forearm, the knuckles white, the purple nails strange and biting into his arm. “Lake?” “What did you say? Did you say angel eyes?” She was trembling. He nodded. “Yes. Their eyes are what attracts him, what…” She shook her head. Then shook it again. She stumbled back and grabbed the large woven tote and dumped the contents onto the conference table. “Lake?” Kyle asked.
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“Angel eyes. I’m supposed to know things. Thought his dark aura was sexy, tangling with a bit of danger, didn’t know…” She mumbled and muttered, stumbling over words. Her hands shook as she raked through the various contents her purse contained. Then she pulled up a small container—contact container with one white lid, one green one. Her eyes locked to his. “I swear, I didn’t know. I didn’t…” She looked back to the board, her normally swarthy complexion pale. “Ms. Hamilton?” the chief asked. Her trembling hands fumbled as she unscrewed the caps and set the little container on the table. “Contacts,” she said as if that was explanation enough. Rogan glanced inside the container, then looked at her. “I see that. Blue ones.” She shook her head. “No, he said he special ordered them. Wanted me to wear them when we made love. Said…” She took a deep breath and swallowed rubbing her arms. “Said they gave me angel eyes.” Chills danced over his skin. Rogan grabbed her by the arms. “Who? Who the hell told you that?” She licked her lips. “S-S-Simon.” She shook her head. “Simon Jenkins.” No one in the room breathed. Very quietly Rogan asked, “Where does he live?” She stared at him. “I don’t think that’s his real name though. Little things bothered me. A feeling I was toying with something dangerous, fun at first, but it would wake me up at nights. One night I woke up and didn’t find him in bed. Went to the kitchen. Basement door is always locked. I opened it, but he was on the stairs and pissed I had opened it. Really, really pissed about it. Made me wonder, but I was already halfway through talking myself into calling it quits.” -197-
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“Where?” Rogan yelled, shaking her. She shook her head and rattled off the address. Rogan gripped her arms. “Thank you. Thank you!” The cops were rushing, he heard the chief barking orders. Sean was right behind him. “Mr. Duran, you either come with me, or you stay here,” the chief said. “Rogan!” He turned to see Lake running down the hall towards him. He didn’t have time for any of this. She grabbed his arm. “I don’t think that’s his name. Details were off, when he’d tell me things, from other times he told me things. I never asked, didn’t push it. But one thing he mentioned several times. He hates you. I asked him why, he just said he knew you from several years ago and it was just like you not to even see him.” Rogan frowned and wracked his brain. “Let’s go.” He turned to see the chief. “Thanks, Lake. I’ve got to go.” She nodded and kissed his cheek. “Hurry and bring our girl back safe.” He and Sean ran out the door and climbed into the Chief of Police’s SUV. As they raced through the night, the sirens blaring, he prayed she’d be all right. Prayed the sick bastard hadn’t killed her yet.
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Chapter Twenty-three Cora tried to concentrate, but thoughts seemed to float away. She could hear him talking to her, knew what he was saying, made sense of it, but things were like smoke…just floating away. Yet at the same time, it was as if sounds were sharper, more intense, smells tighter, stronger. She smelled antiseptic, something sour. The lemon scent of his soap. Simon. She remembered. Simon…why? A finger smoothed between her brows. “So pretty, so perfect. But you know what? We better hurry, knowing Rogan, he’ll be on his way soon.” His dislike of Rogan dripped from the words. “Not that the damn man can see what’s right under his nose. Twice now I’ve taken what’s his and I must say, there is just something wonderfully sweet about that alone. Of course, he wouldn’t see. Contacts are helpful, as are plastic surgeons. But still, he should have sensed, don’t you think?” She didn’t think he wanted an answer to his question and remained quiet. “Rogan. Always was so damned quick, faster, smarter, better. I didn’t care. I should have been promoted, not him. Should have been me with Ginger, not him. I asked her first. But she only saw Rogan Duran, moving up the ranks.” He chuckled. “I cursed him at first, when things began blowing up around us, but then I realized it was perfect. I could finally be out. I didn’t want the fucking military. And if I wasn’t going to -199-
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be the best, was going to be consistently passed over by wonder boy. Fuck it.” The finger kept rubbing with just enough pressure it started to burn. “I saw an opportunity and took it. Everyone assumed I was dead. I thought Rogan was dead. Leaned over him myself. He was staring up like a dead man. Figured he might just have a few minutes. Hell, he had a piece of shrapnel in his head. What were the chances?” Tsking. She tried to stay alert, to focus on his words more, so they didn’t sound like they were coming down a long tunnel. He sighed and leaned over her. “I simply walked away into the desert. Changed clothes and from being over there, I’d heard the rumors on how to get fake ID’s. So freaking simple. Did it. Flew to Venezuela and got a new face. Docs down there are phenomenal. Thought maybe with everything, I was cured. I hadn’t had the craving in so damn long…” He sighed and the warm breath caressed her cheek. Cora shuddered away, tried to turn her head, but it was clasped in his hand. “But there was this little, hot Brazilian woman on the beach one morning when I went for a run. Angel eyes, she had them. Stood waist deep in the waves, dripping with salt water. I had to have her. Had to.” She licked her lips. “But why? She was innocent.” He tsked her again. “When I was younger, my mother always told me that angels watched over me. As a child I believed. When I got older I wondered. But then, then when I was a freshman in college, just before enlisting, I found out my mother was right. I was out with a girl from home. Old girlfriend. It was storming and I knew she liked kinky sex. Bondage games, strangulation. So I played along and got carried away. Killed her while lightning flashed all around, and thunder ripped the sky apart. But that moment…” He sighed again and the breath again warmed her cheek. -200-
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Cora shivered. “If not for her. I would have been at the trailer park with my mother and been killed when the tornado blew through. For months I dreamed of my first angel, mostly of her eyes. And then one night I just knew. She was my angel and would always watch over me. Just like my mother had said. I lasted almost a year that time before I saw another angel. And I just wanted her for my own.” His hand brushed over her hair. “That time, I knew I had to keep her eyes. Otherwise, those eyes would haunt my dreams.” Cora pulled her head to the side, tried to blink yet again, but she couldn’t. Her eyes burned. “After that I saw them over and over. Those special ones with angel eyes. Just for me. To find. To have. To take.” He leaned down and whispered against her lips. “To keep.” “No,” she whispered. “Oh yes. I’ve kept them all after the first one. They go everywhere I do. Except for on tours. Enlisting was hard. Boot camp. But it’s all worked out. I’m free now to do what I want. And I have my angels. Always watching over me.” She prayed, wished and hoped someone would find her. Help me! A A A Help me! Rogan jerked, swearing he’d heard her right beside him. “We need to hurry.” “Any idea who this man might be?” the chief asked. Rogan shook his head. “No. No, or we wouldn’t be here.” Tremors shook his gut. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t go through all that again.
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They roared into the driveway. Cop cars pulling in behind them. Rogan reached for the door handle. The chief grabbed his shoulder. “You stay here. I don’t want to have to worry about you and shouldn’t have brought you along.” “You couldn’t keep me away. And excuse me for saying this, but I could get in, kill him, and get her out without anyone even seeing me.” The chief nodded. “I’m sure you could, once upon a time. Talked to your colonel in Ft. Hood, who patched me through to some general who only sang your praises and commendations. Point and fact is, this isn’t the army. I know what you want to do. However I have a job to do. He gets out, fine. Go for him. Now stay here.” Rogan watched as the cops swarmed the house, some staying behind with the cars. He counted to twenty after the chief went in then ripped his door open and ran across the yard and through the front door of the large adobe house. Yells and shouts filled the kitchen. A battering ram hit the lock on the basement door and it swung inward. He hung back, let the cops go down first. But he was already thinking ahead. He hurried down the stairs after them. “What the fuck?” one of the cops asked, holstering his gun. The room was empty. The basement only holding a desk and computer against one wall and a bookcase against the other. Rogan thought about the layout. The basement should extend further along in either direction as the kitchen was the center of the house. Or from what he saw coming in. The cops were grumbling. “Shut up,” Rogan said. The chief turned and raised a brow. The walls were plain concrete. Rogan shook his head. -202-
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He and Palacios said, “Bookcase.” One of the other officers moved the bookcase aside. Sure enough there was a door. “Now how do we get in?” “Top of the bookcase?” the chief asked. Sure enough there was a key. One of the officers slid the key into the door. The others positioned around the outside of the door, their guns drawn. Rogan, his eyes locked on the key, watched as the officer turned it ever so slowly. The other cop slowly pushed it open. Music floated, out something disjointed and classical. From here they could see a room beyond. A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. A bed. On the bed was a woman. And sitting beside her naked body was a man. “Put your hands where I can see them,” Chief Valenquez said in a low, calm voice. The man turned and looked over his shoulder, petting Cora on the bed. Rogan locked eyes with him and the man smiled. “Aw, Rogan, you made it this time.” He laughed as he stood up, glancing back down at the woman on the bed. “I knew I should have taken her yesterday. Then, then she’d be mine. Completely, totally, and forever.” The cops rushed him, pushing him to the ground. He didn’t resist, just lay calmly on the hard, cold cement floor. “Can’t say the same for the time I took Ginger.” The cops jerked him to his feet, reading him his rights. “That woman turned out to be a real bitch.” Rogan leapt forward, but the chief locked him in a choke hold. “Easy, Mr. Duran. Easy.” To his officers he yelled, “Get the bastard out of here before I let Mr. Duran kill him and save us all a lot of damn trouble.” -203-
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Those eyes locked with his. A different color from what Simon had had before. No, these eyes were a weird yellow color. Only one man had ever had those. But he’d died in the explosion in Afghanistan. Or hadn’t he? Simon Jenkins… Jerry Simons. “You son of a bitch.” Simon-Jerry just laughed. The sound echoed and grated across the confines of the basement. Rogan’s heart slammed against his chest. He hurried to the bed and cursed when he saw her tied and trembling. He reached for his pocket knife and realized they’d never given it back to him. Someone held one out. He took it and cut the ropes on her arms, at her feet, then sat on the bed. Her lids were taped open. “Oh, baby.” Carefully, trying not to hurt her, he gently pulled the tape off. Her eyes slid closed and she shook. A bruise darkened her jaw along the left side of her face. He reached down and pulled her against him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered against her hair. “I’m so damn sorry. You’re safe now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” “R-R-Rogan. Kn-knew you’d c-come.” Someone tossed him a jacket. He tucked it around her and picked her up, holding her against him. “Damn, look at this,” one of the officers said. They all turned. “I said wait for the crime techs,” the chief snarled. “You might be with the sheriff’s department, but your ass is mine,” he told the young officer. Rogan though, paused, looking at what the brash idiot had done. He’d opened a door to an armoire. Inside were shelves. And on the shelves were jars. -204-
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Rogan didn’t need to get any closer to see what the jars held or who they held. Shaking and sick, yet relieved, he walked them out of the basement and out of the house of horrors. He didn’t want to release her to the medics, but finally set her down. Cora wouldn’t let go of his hand, so he merely glared at the EMT and told the kid—who couldn’t have been more than nineteen—that he knew how to kill in the most efficient amount of time and energy. The kid didn’t utter another protest. On the way to the hospital, Rogan held her hand. Thank you, God. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, brushed her hair back. “You’re going to be all right, Cora. You’re going to be okay.” She barely nodded. “You’re here.”
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Epilogue Two months later Cora opened the paper and grinned. “Nice layout,” she commented. “You think? I don’t know if Patrick likes it, but he offered to try the new layout and see what the readers thought.” Rogan studied the paper over her shoulder. They were in his house, the one he was currently renting, eating dinner out of the containers from Riggio’s. “I still can’t believe you took the job. Washington Post for Sedona News.” She shook her head and picked up her fork, laden with chicken marsala. He grinned at her and touched her head, tilting it back. Leaning down and kissing her, he pulled back. “Rat race for the calm desert winds.” “No regrets?” she asked, softly. “About moving here?” He shook his head and licked the seam of her lips. “Nope. I do regret the fact I haven’t seen much of you in the last two days. How’s Hanson?” “Better today. Kyle said Hanson’s almost back to his old self, but Kyle won’t let him push it.” She shrugged, threw off the guilt that still ensnared her when thinking of how an innocent person had almost been killed because of her.
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“It’s not your fault,” Rogan said, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “I know, it’s just hard sometimes.” Again she shrugged. “I just gave that same bit of advice to Lake.” He frowned and shook his head. “How is she?” Cora took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Says she’s fine, but she still blames herself, questions herself, wants answers.” He nodded. “Sounds normal. Where is she?” Cora grinned. “Taos, says she may spend the summer there, find herself, realign her inner spirit. Who knows.” “Think she’ll ever come back? I thought Sedona was her home.” He ran a hand over her hair. “I don’t know, Rogan. I’m worried about her, but she says she’s fine and she’ll keep in touch.” She lifted one shoulder and stared at him again. “I guess that’ll have to do. Lake is not one to be pushed.” For a moment neither said a word, the tense air settling into comfort between them. “I’ve missed you.” “We’ve both been busy,” she said on a grin, as he pulled her chair back and began kissing her. He nuzzled her neck. “Maybe so. But we’re in the kitchen now, and you know what they say about kitchens…” A A A He sat staring out at the desert night from the prison outside of Tucson. He had his trial coming up, here in Arizona. He couldn’t remember where they said it was. Didn’t care.
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His lawyer said he was up for court-martial as well for an entire list of charges that he couldn’t recall just now. He sighed and closed his eyes. Where were they? His angels? They weren’t watching over him now. Who were they watching over, he wondered. Who was sitting looking at all those pretty, pretty angel eyes? He smiled. One day he’d get out one way or another. And then he’d have them again. If not, he’d simply start over, find more. Pale blue eyes. Sweet and innocent. Just waiting for him…
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Enjoy the following excerpt from Arianna Hart’s new romantic suspense, Dark Heat, available May 9, 2006 from Samhain Publishing. “Well, Cassidy’s not here. I think I’ll head home. I didn’t figure she’d be in a place that didn’t have thumping bass or gyrating trendsetters, but it was a nice break from all the other clubs I’d seen so far.” She took her purse out to pay for her tea, but Finn beat her to it. “I’ll get that, Tiger.” “I can pay for my own drink. Honest.” Her teeth were clenched and her face was tight. “I know, but I was raised to be a gentleman so I’m honor bound to pay for it. C’mon, I’ll walk you to the subway.” “Let me guess, you’re honor bound to walk me home too?” “No, but since I didn’t drive here, and it looks like my partner over there isn’t going to be leaving any time soon I figured I’d head home too. I need to take the A train, how about you?” “I’m fully capable of getting to the subway all by myself.” “Maybe I’m not. I need a savvy, independent woman like yourself to protect me.” Talia eyed him up and down with a brow raised. “Yeah, right.” Somehow the streets didn’t seem quite so cold with the solid bulk of Detective O’Brien beside her. Finn. What a name. He reminded her of some ancient Celtic god. He was good-looking enough to be one. Talia shivered in complete sensual awareness. She could smell him, feel him, and man oh man, did she ever want to taste him. She quivered
at the thought of running her tongue across the column of his throat before diving in for a kiss. “Are you cold? You’re shivering.” Ha. Cold? She was burning up. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt this much hunger for a man. “No, it was just the change from the cozy bar to the street, that’s all.” No, I’m not cold, I’m just thinking about attacking you. “Yeah, O’Malley’s is a good place to go for a beer and some companionship. They usually have a band on Friday and Saturday nights.” “I’m glad they didn’t this time. My head is still ringing from the music in the other clubs I went to. I’m surprised Cassidy has any hearing left after going to those places night after night.” “What? You don’t like to be smashed next to hundreds of other people, drinking high-priced, watered-down drinks and screaming above a thumping bass line? Where’s your sense of adventure?” Talia felt his laugh right down to her toes. Being with him was better than thermal underwear; she hadn’t been this warm all winter. “It’s tough, but I can usually manage to hold myself back.” Absently, Finn put his hand on her lower back to steer her around a pile of garbage bags on the sidewalk. It was ridiculous, but she could swear she felt the imprint of his fingers through her heavy winter coat, sweater, tee shirt and tank top, straight to the skin underneath. Did he have any idea the havoc he was causing to her dormant libido? Talia bit her tongue as they approached the subway station. How did he feel about her? When she was shielded, she could only feel really strong emotions. The regular play of emotions that went on around her bounced off her mental walls without much notice.
Her mother had taught her to keep her shields up at all times. Probing someone’s emotions without permission was like reading someone’s diary. You didn’t do it unless it was absolutely necessary. But would a peek really hurt? She’d just take a quick glimpse before she caught her train. He was going in the opposite direction, and she might never see him again. He wouldn’t know either way. “Here’s where we part ways Miss Talia. It was a pleasure bumping into you.” “Likewise. Thanks for walking me to the subway. You can shine up your boy scout badge now.” Without thinking any more about the rights and wrongs of what she was doing, Talia opened her shields just a crack—and felt nothing. Nothing? She opened them a little bit more. It was like there was a blank spot where Finn was standing. Duh. He’s a cop. Shielding his emotions probably came naturally to him. Lots of people who worked in human services—firefighters, doctors, and nurses—had natural shields. They needed the protection to survive the emotional wringer of their jobs day in and day out. Well, that’s what she deserved for trying to sneak a peek anyway. As she replaced her shields, a wave of need and anger hit her. “Look out.” Talia didn’t have time to think, only react. She pushed Finn away just as a knife came arching towards him. A kid in baggy clothes and a skullcap pulled low over his forehead waved a knife around wildly. Talia tried to stay out of the way and put her shields back up at the same time. Her head hurt from the emotional punch she received, but she knew enough to get the hell out of the way. Finn was much better at handling this type of situation than she ever would be.
Finn circled the kid, keeping his distance, and staying light on his feet. His hands were up in front of him, but he didn’t move in to attack or try to disarm the little thug. “C’mon kid, there’s nothing for you here. Run while you can.”
Samhain Publishing, Ltd. It’s all about the story… Action/Adventure Fantasy Historical Horror Mainstream Mystery/Suspense Non-Fiction Paranormal Red Hots! Romance Science Fiction Western Young Adult http://www.samhainpublishing.com
