Leaning over, she splashed more water on her face. She needed to think. She twisted the faucet, cutting off the water.

Cora straightened, patting her face dry. She opened her eyes and froze. In the mirror behind her, was the shadow of a man, she could only see his lips moving, the rest of him was in shadows.

Her senses focuses, sharpened. He was hazy, but she knew who it was, the hunter...

His lips still moved.

She frowned and tried to hear what he was saying, but she didn't hear anything. She only saw his lips moving soundlessly. Whirling, she looked behind her. Nothing. There was just the wall. No man, no ghost, no shadow.

Cora squeezed her eyes shut. "You're not real. You're not real. Leave me in peace."

When she opened them again and looked over her shoulder in the mirror, he was gone.

Goose bumps prickled the skin on her arms, danced down her back, hardening her nipples.

She reached over, flicked the lock shut and stared at the bathroom door. Shower, she just wanted a hot shower and to forget. But she couldn't climb in. Instead, she unlocked the door and checked the entire apartment, surprised, as always at the slight mess in Kyle's room. He was such a neat freak, except in his room. She checked behind the doors, under the beds, in closets.

The apartment, other than her, was empty-like she'd known it would be.

That still didn't stop the fear from whispering around her. She fixed coffee and turned on the coffee maker.

In the bathroom, she stood beneath the spray as hot as she could stand it, hoping it would warm her. Finally, she felt the muscles in her neck and shoulders lessen their strangle hold on her stress points.

After her shower, she stood at the sink in her robe, cupping the hot mug in her hands. She sipped the hot brew and thought about her dreams.

Had a murder happened? What if she was confused?

She used to never be confused, but now she questioned everything. What if it was nothing more than a dream? What if she was wrong? Wrong like before?

But what if you're not?

If she wasn't wrong, then she was letting her own insecurities cost women their lives.

Two.

Two.

She shuddered, and could see in her mind's eye again all those jars lined up just so in the armoire, in a dark windowless room.

God help her. God help them all.

She stared at the building that housed the Sedona Police Department. These were good 'ole boys. Men who had grown up around here. They dealt with burglaries out at the multimillion-dollar homes, which flanked the many golf courses. They answered domestic disturbances, they probably even dealt with drugs and maybe, just maybe something worse.

But murder? At least not all the time. Not like this.

Yes, she could see their faces now. "Yes, I know there's been a murder, but I have no idea who she was, who he is, or where it happened," she muttered to herself. She checked her watch. It was just past seven. Perhaps she could get through this quickly. More than likely, she would. Most of these men and women believed in cold hard facts, things logically and scientifically explained.

Someone owning a new-age shop titled Mystic Moons would not endear her to them. The waiting would not make it any easier she knew.

Oh well. No time like the present.

She took a deep breath, then another, wishing she'd worn the larger sweater this morning. It was actually cold. Or maybe she was just cold. She looked down at her jeans, her boots, her turtleneck. Did she look normal? Serious?

She shook her head and slid the front wheel of her bike into the slot, locking it in place. She'd walked to the shop early this morning, retrieving her bicycle, then rode over here. She stared at her bike a moment more and realized she was putting off the inevitable. What difference did it make? They'd never buy her story in the end.

The police station was pretty much like most she'd been in. The glass doors on the front were nice, the officer manning the desk stuffing a breakfast burrito into his mouth. Stale coffee, cigarettes and some underlying scent she'd never been able to put her finger on, but always wrinkled her nose, permeated the air. The man behind the desk didn't see her as he sat up and turned to toss his wrapper into the trash can.

"Johnson!" Another cop hollered and jerked his head towards her. She smiled and the yeller strolled forward. He wore jeans, a button-up white shirt, his badge clipped to his belt. Boots. Well, this was Arizona and not Seattle.

"Can I help you?" both men asked.

Cora licked her lips and frowned, looking down at her hands. She quit fidgeting and remembered the best way to get through this was just to say it. Inhaling and hoping for some sort of guidance, she asked, "Who here investigates murders?"

They both blinked. She looked from one to the other. The plainclothes officer opened the wooden gate that swung between the waiting area and the den of awakening activity.

"Ma'am?" He held the gate opened for her. She looked at him and then to the sergeant at the desk. "I'm detective Rick Palacios. Why don't we talk at my desk?"

She took another deep breath and followed him to the far back wall. From the looks of things, he shared a work area with another man or woman who had yet to appear. Their desks were facing each other and spotless. His side more so than the other. A photo of him, a woman and a baby sat at the corner of his desk. On the wall beside him, she noticed the phone numbers to several city services, the number to a day care, and a calendar. He motioned her to have a seat on the blue plastic chair beside the metal desk.

Cora pulled her backpack around to her front and sat. He sat in his chair, but didn't pull it all the way up to the desk. His hands were folded atop his blotter, the fingers still. She fidgeted.

"You asked for someone who investigates murders. I have to say, you don't walk into a police department saying something like that. It generally doesn't go over very well."

She just looked at him.

He blinked and looked back, not bothering to apologize, but then she couldn't really blame the man.

"I don't really know how to explain this," she said, not looking away from him. She'd learned early on the best way to at least let them know she believed what she told them was to keep eye contact.

"The beginning is usually the best."

"Usually, yes, but in my case, it's not that easy. I don't know when the beginning was, or how or why, but I know it's been happening for a long time, and she's not the first."

He pursed his lips, then blew out a breath. "Okay, let me rephrase, why don't you explain to me why you came in looking for a homicide detective." He tapped his pencil on the calendar blotter on his desk.

"I know this is waste of time. You won't believe me, but fine, here goes." She fisted her hands and said, "I had a dream, or rather dreams about a man that kidnaps women with eyes the color of mine, or very close to it. Angel Eyes, he calls them."

She waited. He didn't say a word. She continued, "I don't know where he gets them, or how. When I dream, I only see..." She shivered, remembering the feelings of being trapped, of hopelessness, of knowing what was coming and hoping against hope she'd be able to escape. She licked her lips and leaned towards him, seeing not him, but the room. "It's dark there, very dark until he comes. I can't see his face, but he's tall. Taller than me, and very muscular, fit, like he must work out. He hurts them, can't stand for them to close their eyes. He taped her eyes open, she was missing eyelashes."

"Who?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know if he even knows, or cares. He just wants them because of their eyes. Angel eyes," she whispered again.

...the armoire...

Jars all lined up just so, waiting to see, waiting to be seen. So many, not enough. Never enough. Not for him. He needs more.

Ropes pulled tight against her wrist...

"This is my favorite part." His hands tightened around her throat.

She jerked when a hand touched hers. Blinking, she came back to the police office. To the man staring at her with gunmetal gray eyes. "You need something? You just sort of went away there for a minute."

She blinked again and looked down at her lap. Cora nodded. "Yes, could I have some water, please?"

He rose and walked away. She took a deep breath. When he came back, he handed her a bottle of water. "Here ya go."

She uncapped it and took a drink.

He stood beside her thrumming his fingers on his thigh.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"Palacios."

"Detective Palacios, I know you'll find this hard to believe. I don't know the whole story, I'm not shown the whole story."

"Shown?" He sat on the edge of his desk. "He shows you?"

She shook her head. "No, sometimes...sometimes I see things in dreams."

"So you dreamed this?" he asked, in a flat voice.

She glared up at him. "Look, I know what I sound like. I know what cops always think of me. And other than the one incident in Seattle things always turned out okay. I'm telling you there is a man out here somewhere taking women off the streets because of the color of their eyes. He terrorizes them, rapes them while he's killing them. He has them tied to a bed in a windowless room that echoes." She realized her voice was getting louder and took a deep steadying breath before continuing. "His favorite part is when he strangles them and they convulse." She glared at the cop silently staring at her. "Then, then the sick, twisted psycho cuts their eyes out and puts them in a jar. That way he can show his angels to the next poor woman he gets." Fear and helplessness washed over her. "He's already found her. The next one."

Cora sat there, waiting. Detective Palacios narrowed his gaze at her, she realized then how quiet the rest of the activity had become.

"He strangles them," he repeated, not asking a question, his eyes never wavering from hers.

"Yes."

"What does he do with the bodies?" He reached over for a pad.

She took another deep breath. "I don't know. I don't see that part. I know he doesn't think he'll be caught. He's never been caught before."

The detective sat back behind his desk. "Look, this is a little..."

"Weird? Off? Strange? Cooky?" She dug her card out of her purse. "Fine, when you want to know more, you can find me here."

He picked up the card and read the blue script with Celtic knots each corner. One brow rose as he cut her a look. "Mystic Moons?"

She stood and slung her pack on her shoulder. "Yes, I own it. Yes I sometimes tell fortunes as it is. And no I don't charge for it so you can't get me for scamming. The only money I take is from customers buying actual products from my shop."

He held up a hand and tossed her card on his blotter. "Look, I don't know why you're so defensive, I do have to ask questions."

Cora blew out a breath and nodded. "Yes, I realize that. And I apologize, but I haven't been sleeping well. Seeing and feeling that in my dreams..." She rubbed her arms. "It doesn't make for a well rested night." She shrugged and was honest. "Plus, I've dealt with disbelieving cops before. I realize there aren't hard facts to see and feel, but I know what I'm talking about. Instead of wasting time looking into me and bringing me in later, call the Seattle P.D. and speak to Captain Everheart. You can also see old articles at WSU, I helped a case there and the idiots wrote about it in the paper."

"Bragging Miss O'Donnell?"

"No, detective. Just saving you time." With that, she turned and started to leave.

"You said all. All of them have eyes the same color as yours. Yet you seemed focused on one woman."

She stopped and turned. "He shows his trophies to whomever he has tied down at the moment. A large armoire with shelves. It's lined with jars of pale blue eyes."

Without another word, she weaved through the desks, then back out into the outer hallway. Once outside, she pulled on her shades and climbed on her bicycle. As she peddled several blocks to the shop, she wondered how long it would be before Detective Palacios was at her shop, if for nothing else than to appease his curiosity.

She'd bet late today, just before closing. Otherwise, he'd catch her early tomorrow morning, thinking he'd make her sweat.

Cora shook her head. She'd done what she could. There was little else she could do unless gift-or her cursed blessing as she thought of it-decided to have an address scrawled in her dream. Wouldn't that be nice?

Chapter Eleven.

Rogan pulled his bike up in front of Mystic Moons. He hadn't been able to get the damn woman out of his mind all night. He was either thinking of things he wanted to do with her, in the bed he was laying in, or he was worried about her.

When he finally drifted off it was to dream about her, first making love to her, then of not being able to find her. He'd woken up around four not able to go back to sleep. He'd been trapped in a nightmare and hadn't been able to find Cora. He'd looked everywhere and just as he thought he knew, knew he'd be able to keep her safe, the police knocked on his door and took him away.

It had been just like before. Like before with Ginger.

He couldn't go through that ever again.

Never, ever again. He called Clayton this morning because with the time change, he knew the man was probably already in morning commute. Rogan vented his worries to his friend, but Clayton got tagged by dispatch and told Rogan he didn't have time, to call his shrink.

He thought about it, but to what point?

As he stood on the sidewalk and looked through the window, he could see her moving around inside rearranging things.

He pulled the bag, containing the breakfast tacos he'd charmed the B&B owner into wrapping up for him, off the bike.

Call his shrink?

God, he hated just the thought. He wanted to be the man who led others into danger again, who saved comrades from bullets. Not that he wanted to be a damn hero. He could care less about that shit. No, what he wanted, more than anything, was respect-in himself. He'd lost it along the way, had just gained it back when the nightmare with Ginger happened.

He hadn't found it again in the three years since.

It was like walking along a deserted beach, the water murky, the clouds low and gray. Sooner or later everything appeared one color. The water, the moisture off the water, the clouds, the beach. Everything was gray.