His shrink would say he was depressed. His shrink could kiss his ass. He really didn't have time for any more counseling sessions. Nor did he want on chemicals. Call him stubborn, but that was who he was. He wasn't in danger of going postal as far as he was concerned. So all the worriers could just worry to their heart's content.
Right now, he knew, knew with an inner instinct he hadn't felt in years that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He was doing what he was supposed to do.
He'd felt this way when leading men, when knowing a mission was going to go right, or to move. Instinct or something else, he really didn't care. It had saved his life more often than not, so he learned early in training to follow that inner voice to the letter.
Now that voice-or was it libido-was telling him to stick close to Ms. Cora O'Donnell.
He smiled as he sat on his bike, watching her. She moved around inside dusting. The place was spotless, why she needed to dust he didn't know, probably had a spotless house as well.
He liked neat and orderly-for the most part.
But he rather liked the air of scatteredness that came over her at odd moments. He loved to fluster her, watch her eyes darken and flash.
Deciding to start the morning off right, he walked over to the coffee shop and ordered then asked Monte for Cora's usual. Chris, the young man he'd caught watching Cora last night, glared at him. Rogan had no time for the punk. He merely stared back until the kid looked away. Back across the street, he knocked on her door, careful not to spill her coffee creation, which looked like some sort of chocolate milk but had three shots of espresso in it. Woman would be wired all day.
She just looked at him through the glass for a moment before unlocking the door and pulling it open to allow him in. Her shop smelled like her, herbs and vanilla. He handed her the cup and she took it, smiling. "Thank you."
Without another word she walked behind the counter. He watched her, noted the way she didn't move as fluidly as she normally did. Even in her dim shop, with the morning light slanting through the front windows, he could see she was pale. Her freckles stood out on her face, worry creased her brow and she frowned down at the cup before shaking her head.
"What's wrong?" He sipped whatever dark brew the coffee shop owner had given him. He winced, but it beat the hell out of the sludge he'd made in the hotel coffeemaker.
Her frown grew and she looked at him, opened her mouth then shut it again, shaking her head. "Nothing."
"Yeah, I can see that."
Again she shook her head and pasted a smile on her face.
"Fake smiles don't really work on you, you know."
Her eyes narrowed on him. "You know, I'm not in the best of moods."
He could see that. "How come?"
"Long night."
"Tell me about it," he muttered.
She leaned on the counter and glanced at the clock.
"You don't open for another half hour," he told her. He studied her more, noticed her hands shook and the skin beneath her eyes smudged a darker blue than her eyes. "Come on, tell it to the biker dude." He leaned closer. "We're known to be able to take on trouble and blow it to the wind."
A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. Then she tilted her head. "Yes, but you don't believe in all this." She waved her hand around the shop.
Did he? "Let's just say I don't disbelieve in it, and leave it at that."
For a long moment, she stared at him.
"Come on," he whispered. "You look like you could get it off your chest."
She took a deep breath and he decided the cute white turtleneck looked as great on her as the flowy skirts and tops he'd seen her in before.
"I've just had some really bad dreams lately."
Okay, that wasn't what he was expecting.
"You're frowning," she muttered.
"Well, it wasn't what I thought you'd say."
"And what did you think I'd say?"
He thought for a moment. "Fine, tell me about the bad dreams."
Her eyes stared past him out the windows, he watched her as she seemed to go somewhere else.
"Sometimes, sometimes I see things in dreams."
He scrambled through the info he'd read in the books he'd purchased. "You mean like precognitive?" Or was it clairvoyant?
She blinked and then looked back at him with a slight question in her eyes.
"I do read, why else buy the books?"
That faint smile pulled again at the corner of her mouth. "Touche."
"So tell Dr. Duran about the bad dreams."
Her eyes went almost blank again. "I see him killing them," she whispered.
He leaned closer to hear her. "You what?"
She looked directly at him and he could have sworn he saw the secrets of the world in her eyes. "Nothing. Just forget it." She edged passed him and walked behind the counter. "Thank you for the coffee." She set the cup on the counter and dug in her pocket, pulling out a five.
He shook his head. "Keep it. Consider it a peace offering." Deciding to follow her lead, he dropped the conversation. He'd try again later. "So, are you busy tonight?"
"Tonight?" She propped an elbow on the counter and he couldn't help but notice the way her shirt pulled across her breasts. A white bra, lace. He closed his eyes.
"Yes. If you're not busy. You know, dinner and..."
"And?" she pressed.
He smiled and leaned across the counter so that his mouth was only inches from hers. "I don't know. What's there to do around here? I'm the new guy in town. Got any ideas?"
Her lashes hid her eyes from him as her gaze dropped to his lips. Her tongue darted out and he could no more stop from closing the distance between them than he could his next breath. Her lips were cold, unlike the night before. He slowly licked them, hoping to warm her up. Her breath sighed and mixed with his. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her closer. "I thought of you all night."
She opened her mouth and he kissed her like he wanted to, slanting his mouth over hers, asking, a begging demand for what he didn't know.
Her hand rested on his forearm and she moaned.
Rogan gentled the kiss and pulled back, sliding his fingers through her hair, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear.
Her lips were no longer pale, but rosy and wet from his kisses. He wanted another taste.
"I guess we can do something tonight," she whispered. "I must be stupid." She shook her head. "I know nothing about you."
He smiled and said, "I'll tell you whatever you want to know."
"What are you doing here?"
"Looking for a man," he blurted out, not sure why. It was the simple truth.
Her gaze raked over him again. "Are you a bounty hunter or something?"
He laughed and realized it had been awhile since he'd found humor in anything. A bounty hunter. "No. I'm a reporter for the Washington Post. Just on vacation for a bit."
"Ah." Then she shrugged. "What the hell. Fine. What time?"
He cocked a brow. "Seven?"
She started to say something else, but a knock at the door caught her attention. "We're cl-" Her pallor grew. "Damn."
Rogan glanced over his shoulder. Two people stood on the other side of the door. Both plainclothes, a gray Crown Vic sitting at the curb behind his bike. Well hell. He'd know cops anywhere. He wondered what they were doing here.
Cora sighed. "I'll meet you tonight at seven. Where?"
He didn't take his eyes off the police. Great. He wondered if they were here because of him or because of her...
The woman of the pair pressed her badge against the door.
Cora walked to the door and opened it up. "Detective, I'd say it was a surprise, but I'd be lying."
The man smiled at her and Rogan noticed it was a real smile, not a placating one most cops used to put people at ease.
"Miss O'Donnell, we'd like to ask you a few questions," he said, his gaze quickly raking over Rogan and missing little. One dark brow rose.
Rogan leaned against the counter. Frankly he didn't need the hassle of cops, not at this time. Then he'd have to answer questions and more questions and that just wasted time, in his opinion.
But he wondered what they were doing with Cora. She was as far from criminal as a kewpie doll.
He remembered her sassy attitude, maybe kewpie wasn't the correct term.
"Detective Palacios," the man said, offering his hand. "And this is my partner, Detective Mesler."
Rogan's attention went from Palacios to Mesler. She was dressed in slacks, a jacket and a tight pullover. Nicely put together if one went for the kick-ass, get-out-of-my-way woman. Blonde or not, she did nothing for him.
"Rogan Duran." He shook hands and waited.
"Seven tonight?" Cora asked him.
He turned to her and nodded, then without a care to the policemen, leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Seven. Your place."
She smiled. "You bringing the bike?"
"Well, I didn't rent a car if that's what you're asking."
She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "Good. Tonight then."
And he was dismissed. One last look between her and the policemen and he let himself out of the shop and climbed back on his bike. He needed his laptop, time to search the entire area for anymore missing women.
Cora watched as he drove away on his Fat Boy. She sighed. What she wouldn't give to be on the back of the damn thing with him. But that wasn't to be.
She turned to the detectives. "I'd offer you coffee, but I really don't have any." She pointed across the street. "Monte keeps me supplied."
Palacios smiled again. She wasn't put at ease. "That's okay, Miss O'Donnell. My partner, Mesler."
"Yeah, I caught that."
"Why did you come in again this morning, Miss O'Donnell?" the woman asked. She was blonde, tanned as the sunbaked Arizona landscape and wore her hair lopped off in a tomboy haircut. Somehow the style remained feminine on the woman. Her brown eyes were hard, flat, suspicious.
Cora couldn't blame her, but she still resented it.
"You know why I came in this morning. Let me save you the trouble of requestioning, hoping I'll trip myself up. I'm a psychic, clairvoyant for those that want particulars. Generally I'm not precognitive, but I have moments. However my dreams, nightmares, visions, as you will, are happening."
Palacios held up his hand. "We checked you out, Miss O'Donnell."
Cora scoffed, turned and picked up the utility knife, slicing through the tape of the box already delivered this morning.
"You've helped on many cases. Why'd you leave Seattle?"
Without turning, she said, "I wanted something new. I was tired of being fucked for visions." Now she turned. "Does that answer your question, Detective?"
He smiled. "The captain up there said to tell you hello and that your old friend is no longer with the department."
She shook her head. "Huh. Isn't that a surprise."
"So, you see things?" Mesler tried again.
Cora opened the box and dug through the foam peanuts finding the wrapped candle globes she'd ordered. "Yep."
"We're just trying to understand," Mesler offered.
Cora put down the blue and green globe and gave her attention to the police. "Look, I dream them. Not all my dreams are actually happening." She frowned. "But others, I just know." Then she shrugged. "Or suspect."
"As in this case?"