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."

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.

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.

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 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 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.

"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."

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."