"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."

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-"

"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."

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.

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.

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 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 Harley-driving-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.

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.

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.