"Do I clean up alright?" she said, not breaking eye contact.

He hesitated, then said, "You're beautiful."

It just came out. He meant to say something else, something safe like Yeah, you're okay, but he had drank half a bottle of strong wine on an empty stomach and was looking into Sandra Jensen's eyes.

He felt his face color, but couldn't make himself turn away. Her expression changed and she broke eye contact, searching his face for signs of sincerity. Even in the dark room, she saw him blush.

"Thank you," she said, nothing more.

He managed to tear his eyes away and sipped his wine, not knowing what to say or do. He blushed even more when he realized he had an erection. Beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead; he dabbed at them with a cocktail napkin.

"I didn't mean ... I mean I don't ..." he stammered, clueless about how to extract himself from an extremely uncomfortable predicament. He almost wished he was back in Brackston's office, battling canal-snakes.

She said, "That was a very nice complement, Detective. Don't worry, I'm not going to file an harassment claim."

"I'm sure you hear that all the time, anyway," he said, sipping from his glass.

"Not sincere like that. Usually it's part of a bad pickup line, like, 'Hey beautiful, you here alone?' Or, 'How come I'm sitting by the most beautiful woman in the room and I'm not buying her a drink?' "

She said the lines in a low, stupid voice that made him smile. He realized she was letting him off the hook. "Do guys really sound like that to you?"

"Guys who use lines like that do. And they always have a big stupid grin on their face. It must work some of the time because after I tell them to get lost, I see them use it on some bimbo ten minutes later."

"You don't go for guys like that, huh?"

"No. I require a little more than big teeth and free drinks."

He risked a glance at her, but was careful not to look at her eyes. He saw, again, that she was swirling, sniffing, and sipping. "You drink wine like a pro."

"Are you calling me a wino?" she said with mock offense.

"Winos don't sniff their booze, they guzzle it. You're swirling and sniffing, like you're a judge at a wine contest."

She smiled, and he felt more blood head south. What's happening?

"I went on a wine tour in Napa with some friends last year," she said. "We rode in a limo and pretended to be wine snobs. Well, at least I pretended. Napa's such a snooty place, they take themselves way too seriously there. When they found out we were from Modesto, they made snide comments about Gallo being in Modesto, like we think wine only comes in jugs."

He smiled. "Gallo actually makes some pretty good wines now. Most of them are from Sonoma County, of course, but they make some good wines out of local grapes, too."

"I don't think people in Napa know what's going on outside of their own little valley," she said.

Lawless emptied the bottle into her glass and held it up for the bartender to see. He came with another.

"Anyway," she continued. "I learned to swirl and sniff and sip by watching the snobs in Napa. It was a good time. No one had to worry about traffic or parking and no one had to be a designated driver. We drank until we were silly. I might do it again some day. Not in Napa, though. Somewhere else."

They quietly sipped wine for a minute.

Two middle-aged overweight men wrangled fat asses onto stools at Jensen's end of the short bar and ordered bourbon. They took turns staring at Jensen, and shot Lawless envious looks. He found himself feeling proud, as if he were out with this hot woman, as if they weren't just sharing a drink while she waited for a friend, probably a boyfriend.

"How's your stomach doing?" she asked, changing her tone.

Surprised, he exhaled and said, "Not so good this morning, but not so bad tonight. Maybe all the antacids I ate today cured me."

He could see her looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"You really need to see a doctor. What if you have an ulcer?" When he didn't answer, she said, "You said you had that dream again last night."

Caught off guard, he stammered, "Yeah. Same dream, I think."

"You still don't remember any of it? Nothing at all?"

"Nothing."

They sniffed, swirled, and drank together. The man closest to Jensen stared at her legs and elbowed his friend in the ribs. The friend looked and shook his head, then gave Lawless another look. Lawless smiled: let them think what they want. What could it hurt?

The wine was already working itself out, so Lawless excused himself to go to the men's room. After washing his hands and face, he looked at himself in the grimy mirror; his hair looked like it hadn't been combed since morning, because it hadn't; one eye was red; he needed a shave; and his suit looked ten days wrinkled, rather than one. Wasn't this suit fresh from the cleaners? He couldn't remember. And he was a jumble of nerves.

He'd come to the bar with the intention of getting drunk enough to sleep without dreaming, the old alcohol cure, and yet here he was drinking with a hot deputy who seemed to be interested in him; a scenario perhaps even more improbable than the canal-snakes. And, Get this, he told his reflection, he felt attracted to deputy Jensen, even aroused. He'd had a difficult time relieving himself because he still had an erection. He tried to remember the different departmental regulations he would be violating if he slept with her, and then laughed. Who was he kidding? She was just being friendly, and mooching free booze while waiting for a date.

Still, he ran his fingers through his hair a few times, straightened his tie, checked his fly.

He left the restroom but hesitated before entering the bar. He considered leaving without saying anything to Jensen; it would be easier for both of them, certainly for him. This was exactly what kept him from dating: the uncertainty of how to go about it. Relationships were confusing and he knew he would never understand women; better to avoid them altogether.

Then he saw her sitting alone at the bar, swirling and sipping, ignoring the now-drunk men two seats down. She looked better to him than any woman had ever looked. The drunk next to her got up, tried to suck in his belly, failed, made his move anyway. He wattled over to Jensen, stuck out his flabby chest, and gave her his best grin. The man's mouth moved, after a moment Jensen turned and said something back; his grin disappeared and his gut popped out. He hustled back to his stool and ordered a double bourbon. His buddy turned away so his friend wouldn't see him laughing.

Instead of making for the front door, Lawless found himself walking across the barroom, admiring how Jensen looked from the back. He took his seat. "That guy give you any trouble?" Then, with a terrible New Jersey accent, "You want I should kick his ass?"

She smiled into her glass. "He asked if I wanted to join them for a drink since you had left me 'all alone by my little 'ol self.' "

"What'd you say? He practically fell down trying to get back to his chair."

With a sly smile, "I didn't know you were watching."

He blushed, and she saw.

Desperate to change the subject, he said, "Your friend running late?"

She turned away. "Oh, she's not going to make it. She called and canceled while you were gone, said something came up."

Lawless glanced down at her purse; he didn't think it had been moved and she sure wasn't carrying a cell phone anywhere on her person. Hmm...

"So, you hungry?" he asked.

"Starved. I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"You want to order here, or see if they have a table?"

"Let's get a table. I'm tired of those assholes staring at me." She made to get off her stool but misjudged how far it was to the floor, either that or she, too, was feeling the effects of the wine: she stumbled a little and fell against him; a firm breast pressed against his arm. Trying to regain her balance, her hand fell on his thigh, just above the knee. He turned and looked into cleavage five inches from his face; it lit him up.

"Sorry," she said, removing her hand, but leaving her breast against his arm. "Too much wine on an empty stomach, I guess." When she moved, he felt her nipple through his jacket, hard like a pebble.

For once in his life he knew exactly what he wanted to do with a woman; he wanted to rip open her blouse, hike her skirt up, and take her on top of the bar. Instead, he tried to hide his erection with his jacket, sure everyone would see it anyway. He grabbed their unfinished bottle and followed her into the restaurant.

Every pair of male eyes turned and watched her as the hostess led them to a corner table. He thought to push her chair in for her, then felt foolish for doing so. Did men still push women's chairs in? Was he supposed to order for her? What else had he forgotten? What had he never known? He sat and hid his face with his menu. The hostess filled their wine glasses and left.

They chatted about the menu and sipped their wine. He ordered lasagna. She got the shrimp salad. Should he pay the bill when it comes? A bead of sweat roll down his forehead. He dabbed at it with the cloth napkin.

Jensen noticed and said, "Why don't you take your jacket off, Danny?"

Danny?

"I'm okay." He wondered if anyone else could hear how her voice dripped honey. Did she call me Danny? He was never going to make it through dinner: she would say something sexy, or even just pick up her fork, and he would explode.

"Anything new come up on the two killings?"

Saved by shop talk.

Their waiter brought bread and his dinner salad, and he wondered how much to tell her. His mind was fuzzy with alcohol and strange desire. He focused on the killing and was relieved to feel his erection ease.

He told her about the holes the divers had found in the grilles, looked to get her reaction while spearing a cucumber slice. She seemed troubled, even perplexed.

Then she blew hair out of her face and pursed her lips.

They made eye contact...

And he lost his hearing. He could see her talking, but no sound made it from his ears to his brain. He fell into her emerald eyes again, this time giving himself to them.

Time was suspended for Daniel Lawless. In her eyes, now, he saw and heard things he'd never experienced, things he'd never imagined. He saw them in bed, his bed, in his bedroom shrine to the shoe-god, writhing with passion. Their bodies moved in the primal dance of two; him thrusting, her lifting to meet his thrusts, their timing perfect. Their perspiration mingled with the perfume of intimacy; the smell of sex. Their passion was earthy and carnal, spontaneous. Lawless felt strong and alive, sure of himself, sure of her, sure of them. They grabbed at each other and clawed their way to orgasm.

Then his hearing returned and the vision vanished.

"Danny, what's wrong?" Jensen had the face of a young teacher witnessing her first epileptic seizure.

He looked down and realized he was gripping the sides of the table, yanking it. The couple sitting next to them was staring. Had he been thrusting into the table?

He let go and pushed his chair back. His erection threatened to tear through his trousers, a miniature Boy Scout tent, so he scooted back under the table to hide it. Exhaling, he decided to tell her - almost - everything. Either she would go home with him that night, or he with her, or leave him to finish his meal alone and report to the sheriff tomorrow that Detective Lawless had lost his mind and was unfit for duty.

"I'm okay. Sorry."

He looked to make sure their neighbors were minding their own business, then said "I had what I think is a premonition today."

She laid her fork down and leaned back in her chair. "A what?"

Lawless wavered. "Forget it."

She hesitated, then said, "No, tell me."

He reached for his wine and drained the glass. Setting it down, he picked up the bottle to pour more, but discovered it was empty. The waiter arrived with their entrees and he ordered a bottle of Chianti. He poked at his food, losing interest, and waited for the wine.

Jensen sat quietly, watching. "Did you just have another ... premonition. Just then, a minute ago? You're face was ... It was like you were here but not here."

Lawless avoided looking at her, tried to cut his pasta with his fork.

"I said I wanted you to tell me," she said.

"Yes," was all he said.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I just had another premonition. I think."

After a moment, she said, "Did it involve me? I don't know why I think that. It's just a feeling."

Aw, jeez...

"Yes, but please don't ask me to tell you about it, at least not right now."

She saw the look on his face and gave him a pass. She could always ask later.

The waiter brought the wine and poured two glasses. Lawless cleared his throat and told her about his premonition by the canal that morning, about the snake slithering through the farmland and his sense of foreboding. He left out the part about him running away in terror while hearing the ghostly echoes of his school bullies.

She looked relieved. "That's not so bad. I can understand that. You'd just been in an emotional situation, a man was dead-"

He cut her off: "There's more." He topped off their glasses, stalling. He was working on a solid drunk, she was keeping pace. He chewed a mouthful of lasagna, swallowed, and told her about Brackston's office, again leaving out the part where he ran from the building like a child from a spook house. He spoke without looking at her because he was afraid of what he might see in her face, and of what she might do.

He was afraid she would go away, and he wanted her to stay.

After finishing, he stuck another piece of lasagna in his mouth, expecting her to break out in horse laughter, loud, braying, and humiliating. He glanced at the nosy couple to see if they had heard anything; they were arguing, wrapped up in their own troubles.

After what seemed like half an hour, but was more like thirty seconds, she finally spoke. "Well, at least it's consistent with the premonition. You've definitely got snakes in your future."

Lawless set his fork down and gave her a look.

"I didn't mean anything by that," she said, defending herself. "I don't know what to say. I've seen movies and read about people who have ... visions or dreams. Premonitions. I've just never actually met anyone who had them. This is all new."

"You mean you don't think I'm crazy? On drugs?"

"No." Then, with a sly smile, "I can usually tell when someone's high but I'm not trained to recognize the crazies, so who really knows for sure?"

He saw she was playing with him and felt the tension lift. "It gets stranger. At least this one had nothing to do with me." He told her about the DNA results Brouchard had shared with him while he sat in the parking lot, stuffing his face with fast food.

"What do you mean 'reptilian-like?' Like an alligator or a turtle?" she asked when he was done.

"No, like a snake. What else? The DNA sample was similar to snake DNA, but it wasn't snake. It was something else, something not in their computer."

"Wow," Jensen said. She had pushed her plate away minutes ago, after picking out the shrimp, but still sipped at her wine. Just sipped; they were past swirling and sniffing.

Lawless was determined to get it all out. "There's one more thing." He saw the look she gave him. "Don't worry, this story doesn't have any snakes."