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."

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 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.

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.

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."

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."

"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?"

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 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.