What if it was someone she knew? Someone she might not think twice about going with or having around?

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 self-pity, 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-me-I'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..."

"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.

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 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."

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.

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."

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 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 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.

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.

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.