The hand on her breast squeezed, fondled. Part of her tried to shy away, but she couldn't move, her chest heavy. The light.

"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.

"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."

"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.

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 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.

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!

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.

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.

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."

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.