PRAISE FOR CJ LYONS:

LIFELINES

“A spot-on debut...Lyons delivers a breathtakingly fast-paced medical thriller.” ~Publishers Weekly

“A winner!”  ~Romantic Times, Top Pick

“Simply superb…riveting drama…a perfect ten.” ~Romance Reviews Today

“Characters with beating hearts and three dimensions.” ~Newsday

“A pulse-pounding adrenalin rush!  Reminds me of ER back in the days of George Clooney and Julianna Margulies.” ~New York Times bestselling author Lisa Gardner

“Tense, whip-smart medical scenes.” ~New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen

“Packed with adrenalin.  I can’t recall a hospital novel that so thrilled me.” ~New York Times bestselling author David Morrell

“An exciting debut...Engrossing, intriguing...” ~New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

“A fantastic and wild journey through the fast-paced world of a big-city ER...an adrenalin rush and an all-around great read.”~ New York Times bestselling author Allison Brennan

“…Harrowing, emotional, action-packed and brilliantly realized.  CJ Lyons writes with the authority only a trained physician can bring to a story, blending suspense, passion and friendship into an irresistible read.” ~New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs

“CJ Lyons’ debut novel is simply exceptional.  The action never lets up…keeps you on the edge of your seat.” ~Roundtable Reviews

LIFELINES “explodes on the page…I absolutely could not put it down.” ~Romance Readers’ Connection

WARNING SIGNS

“This page-turning medical mystery will keep readers captivated.” ~ 4 Stars, Romantic Times Book Reviews

Lyons “is a master within the genre.” ~Pittsburgh Magazine

“This exhilarating medical thriller gets the blood pumping.” ~The Mystery Gazette

“A powerful and dramatic look into the frenzied world of emergency medicine...Lyons’ characters are dynamic and genuine.  Readers need only shut their eyes to imagine this group on the big screen.”   ~Suspense Magazine

“Sure to keep readers enthralled…a suspenseful and engaging tale that comes to an exciting conclusion.  Readers won’t want to miss this one.” ~Romance Reviews Today

“This fast-paced, suspense-filled story will leave you breathless and begging for more.” ~Romance Novel TV

“I did not want to put it down….An incredible way to spend a few hours!” ~5 Cups, Coffee Time Romance

“A great fast-paced read….Not to be missed for fans of ER and Grey’s Anatomy.” ~4 ½ Stars, Book Addict

URGENT CARE

“Adrenalin pumping.” ~The Mystery Gazette

“…Vivid characters and an overlying air of menace.” ~ 4 Stars, RT Book Reviews

“Kept me guessing on the edge of my seat.” ~4.5 out of 5, Errant Dreams

“Riveting.” ~Publishers Weekly Beyond Her Book

“Smart and intriguing, and her character development is so incredible that she leaves me literally breathless waiting to see what will happen next.” ~Becky Lejeune, Bookbitch.com

NERVES OF STEEL

“A perfect blend of romance and suspense.  My kind of read.” ~New York Times bestselling author Sandra Brown

“CJ Lyons brings a fresh and fascinating new voice into the genre. A great read.” ~New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

“Tensions sizzle in this hot new medical thriller by CJ Lyons. Think you know what’s going to happen next? Guess again...” ~New York Times bestselling author Lisa Gardner

“Pulse-pounding suspense and hair-raising chills...a story of danger and intrigue that defies any reader to put it down.” ~New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs

“A page-turner of a story. NERVES OF STEEL is taut, gripping and nonstop. Don’t miss it!”~New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers

Books by CJ Lyons

Angels of Mercy Series:

LIFELINES

WARNING SIGNS

URGENT CARE

ISOLATION, coming soon!

BORROWED TIME

NERVES OF STEEL

BLIND FAITH

Shadow Ops Series:

CHASING SHADOWS

LOST IN SHADOWS

BORROWED TIME

CJ Lyons

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical

events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other

names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2009, CJ Lyons

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in

whole or in part in any form.

Library of Congress Case # 1-273031561

ISBN-13 978-1-449-56357-8

CHAPTER 1

The perfect night for murder.  November first, the Day of the Dead.  In Pittsburgh, rain and mist fogged the streets of East Liberty.  Almost midnight, the witching hour.

Blake glanced up at the clock above the cash register, his pulse jumping with each flick of the second hand.  The kid behind the counter was too busy head banging to Korn to know a killer had him in his sights.  Anticipation coiled in Blake’s gut, a tightly wound cobra ready to strike.

He’d been planning, dreaming this moment for so long and now—three, two, one—it was here.  Time to rock and roll.

He whipped the Taurus Raging Bull revolver from his jacket.  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the customers, a middle-aged bald guy leafing through Jugs and two skinny-assed girls trying to shoplift some Twinkies, “please return to the front of the store.  This is a robbery.”

One of the girls looked up, annoyance on her face at the jerk playing a bad joke.  Then she caught sight of the Taurus, its eight-inch chrome-plated barrel gleaming under the fluorescent lights, and tugged at her girlfriend’s sleeve.  Pornbrowser didn’t notice them edging past him.

Blake took aim and shot out the video camera.  Pornbrowser dropped his magazine and jumped back, hands in the air as if he were the one committing a felony.  The girls ducked for cover. The clerk stopped chewing his gum, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Blake.

C’mon kid, Blake urged the clerk as he ushered the customers to the front of the store.  You know the drill.  Hit the alarm.  Do it.  Do it!

The kid remained a statue.  Blake even half turned his back, gave him a golden opportunity, but the clerk didn’t move.  Jeezit, did he have to do everything himself?  He needed to get going, time was a-wasting.

“Empty the drawer,” Blake commanded.  The kid finally blinked and looked down, fiddled with the register.  And, hallelujah, hit the silent alarm.  “Hey, while you’re at it, give me a piece of that gum.”

The kid looked ready to choke on his own wad of Bubblicious.  Blake popped a piece into his mouth, enjoying the sugary rush of strawberry flavor found nowhere in the natural world.  He cracked a bubble.  The loud pop made the kid jump, hands up as if they could stop a bullet.

Two past midnight, and the party was only beginning.

“Too many civilians,” Officer Kate O’Hern said as she nudged the Chevy Impala against the curb.  From this vantage point they could see the entire front half of the Minimart, its neon facade glistening in the November drizzle.

Her partner, Rob Hansen, finished calling for backup.  “We’ll wait until he comes out.  You want point or flank?”

It tickled Kate that even after three years together, Rob still asked her preference.  Not because he didn’t know what she would say, but because he was just that kind of guy.  Old fashioned, polite.  Kate manipulated this weakness without remorse—Rob had a wife and two kids to go home to.  She didn’t have anyone depending on her getting home alive.

“Point,” she told him.

“You always hog all the fun.”  He opened the cruiser’s door, then turned back.  “No heroics.  Wait until I have a clear shot.”

“Don’t worry.  I leave all that John Wayne stuff up to you.”

Rob lowered himself to a crouch and jogged across the street, hugging the shadows.  He concealed himself in the alley beside the store where he would have an unobstructed view of the actor’s back when the gunman exited.

Inside the store, the man shoved the bag of cash inside his jacket.  The gunman was tall, about six-four, with a shaved head, wearing a bulky army fatigue parka.  Kate could see his lips moving.  Who was he talking to?

She opened her door.  November mist and rain swirled into the cruiser.  Her vision centered on the gunman and the door he would exit through.  Why was he taking so long?

Something wasn’t right here.

The wind ruffled the few short curls that snuck out from beneath the rim of her uniform cap, raising goose bumps on the back of her neck.  Was there another actor, hiding?  Was this an ambush?

Kate stood behind the car door, settled into an isosceles position and took aim.  She scanned the location, searching for the source of her foreboding.  Nothing, only the midnight mist casting halos around the storefront’s neon facade.  The streets were empty.

And still.  Too still.  Where was her backup?

She squinted through the drizzle, tried to get a good look at the actor’s face.  Not his features, his expression.  She wanted a read on his intentions.

What she saw didn’t reassure her.  He tilted his chin up, flashed her a wide grin as he opened the door and strode out.

Before she could warn Rob of her apprehensions, the gunman cleared the door.  Kate straightened, her Glock raised.  The drumming of the rain faded into the night.  As she concentrated her full attention on the gunman’s hands, individual raindrops blurred and vanished. There was her Glock, the void of the pavement, and the actor’s two black-gloved hands holding a very large, very shiny, very silver Taurus semi-automatic.  The Taurus weighed almost three pounds, fully loaded, yet the gunman held it nonchalantly, competently, comfortably.  Rob stepped forward on the actor’s blind side.

“Police,” Kate shouted.  “Drop your weapon and place your hands in the air.”

“Sure thing, sweetcakes,” the gunman said, wheeling toward Rob.

Kate fired as he shot Rob point blank in the face.  Rob stumbled backwards.  His body fell in slow motion as if this were a surrealistic silent film.  She got off her second shot before Rob struck the ground.  She hit the gunman in the chest both times, but he barely flinched.  He pivoted, firing at her, his Taurus shimmering a ghostly blue in the neon lights.

The force of the bullets pounded into Kate, knocking her back.  She landed in a sitting position, her body propped up by the cruiser.  The door blocked her view.

Was he coming to finish her?  She tried to raise her Glock, but her arm hung useless, leaden.  The copper, salty smells of blood and gunpowder flooded over her.  Dark spots danced before her eyes. She blinked, struggled to clear her vision.  Feeling like she was underwater, she could hear nothing except blood rushing through her head.

A man’s gloved hand, eerily disembodied, reached past the car door toward her.  The gunman snatched her hat, releasing her hair to fall around her face in a sweat-plastered mass of dark curls.

Her hearing returned in a thunderclap, shouts and screams and sirens crashing down on her.  The shooter’s laughter cascaded through the night, echoing in her mind.  He ran away, his footsteps gleeful splashes.

Kate swallowed fire with each breath.  Thank God for her vest.  Didn’t think it would hurt so much, though.

She tried to stand, had to get help for Rob—

Then she saw the blood.  There was a helluva lot of it.  Where’d it come from?

The question seemed unimportant.  She needed to get to Rob.  Jenn would kill her if Kate let anything happen to him.  All she had to do was stand up, what was so damned hard about that?

Kate pitched forward onto her face.  She opened her eyes, the only movement she could perform, and found herself staring into the gaping maw of a sewer grate.

A plopping sound echoed below her.  Somewhere a voice told her it was the sound of her blood.  Spilling, pouring out of her.  Fast.  Much too fast.

The throbbing in her chest and the noise of the city faded away.  She was surrounded by a void, the only sound the awful splat, splat, faster and louder, drowning out everything else, even her heartbeat.  It grew into a bone-grating crescendo, a cacophony of blinding noise that clawed at her mind.

Then, after one last, shrill wail, everything went quiet.

Kate stood below a grassy hill in the midst of wild flowers.  A gentle breeze swirled their perfume, wafting the delicate scents like laundry hung out to dry.  At the top of the hill was a whitewashed farmhouse with red shutters.  Its doors and windows stood open, and a brilliant light spilled out from inside.

She started up the hill.  At first it was difficult moving her legs, as if they were mired down by weights trying to anchor her six feet under.  Gradually it became easier, and she glided through the grass and flowers, almost floating on air.  As Kate grew closer to the house, she could hear a sweet music coming from it, a lullaby, achingly familiar.

She was almost to the doorway.  Tears flowed down her cheeks, she was so happy to be here.  Kate had waited her entire life for this.  She took a step over the threshold.

The shooter’s laugh and his ghastly grin filled her mind as she was wrenched backward into the dark, screaming void she had escaped.

“I’ve got a pulse back,” a man’s voice called out, calm, commanding.  “Hang another unit of O-negative.  Chest tube in yet?”

Pain became Kate’s entire reality.  Something or someone forced air into her lungs, numerous hands slid over her, poking, prodding, tearing at her flesh.

I’m dead and gone to Hell.

CHAPTER 2

A brilliant light stabbed through Kate’s closed eyelids.  Strange, high-pitched beeps swirled around her head.  Air shot into her lungs, exploding her chest with pain.  She writhed, struggling with the unseen force controlling her breathing.

In a panic, she opened her eyes.

The shooter loomed over her, pinning her down.   Wanting to scream, she raised her head, but something was stuck in her throat, cutting off her air.  The gunman’s grin widened, splitting his face like a jack-o-lantern.  His howling laugh echoed in her skull.  She strained against his hands, threw all her energy into the fight.

Where was Rob?  She had to protect her partner, watch his back.

“Relax, O’Hern,” came a man’s voice.

She blinked and the gunman vanished, replaced by the scowling countenance of John Turner, her watch Commander.  She continued to struggle, this time against the awful truth.  There was only one reason for Turner to be holding vigil at her bedside.

Rob was dead.

His hand closed on her right shoulder, stilling her movements.  “You don’t want to tear the stitches, start bleeding again.”

Kate gagged as the breathing machine forced air into her lungs.  Pain shot through her chest, cascading like a volley of bullets.  Her left side and shoulder felt crushed, shredded, throbbing—no one word could begin to describe the barrage of agony.  Agony compounded by waking to Turner’s face.  His usual deep-seated frown was etched into dark crevices of anger and grief.  She knew exactly what he was thinking.

Why wasn’t it her instead of Rob?

“You know, O’Hern,” he pitched his voice low as he leaned close, his hand still on her shoulder, pressing her against the bed, “I never liked Hansen, but he was a good cop—before he met you.  And Lord knows why, but Jennifer—”

Jenn.  Good God, had Turner made the notification himself?  Of course he had, it wasn’t like Kate could have done it, not lying here blissfully unconscious.  It was exactly the kind of thing Turner would have done, everything by the book. Pressure built behind her eyes, she felt as if she should be crying, but her eyes were parched.  So was her mouth.  She tried to lick her lips, but the tube got in the way, threatened to gag her again.

Kate pictured Turner breaking the news to his estranged daughter.  Telling Jenn her husband had died.  Jenn hadn’t spoken to Turner since before she and Rob were married, how would she have taken it, hearing the news from her own father?

Turner continued, ignoring her pain.  “I spent yesterday picking out the casket, made all the arrangements.”  His fingers tightened on her arm as if he searched for a touchstone of his own.  “At least she won’t have to do that.  Face that.”

Kate squeezed her eyes tight against his words, still trying to absorb the one fact that changed everything in her universe.  Rob was dead.

Visions of his shattered face, his body falling in slow motion sped through her mind.  She should have been the one to help Jenn, to be there for her.  That’s what partners did.

Turner exhaled, a noxious stench of over-cooked garlic and onions that reminded her of the sewer drain she had almost died in.  Beeping noises chattered around her.  The swish of the torture device forcing air into her lungs and the whirl of IV pumps, mixed together, punctuating the pounding in her head.

“It didn’t have to happen this way,” Turner continued, his spidery fingers drumming against her arm, commanding her attention.  “I offered Rob a slot on days.   It should have gone to someone with more time in, but with the new baby, I thought it might help make life easier.  You know, he turned me down flat?  Said you two had a good thing going, he didn’t want a new partner.”

Kate blinked, her eyelids feeling as scratchy as Velcro.  There was a tube down her nose in addition to the one blocking her throat.  She couldn’t make any sound, was powerless to do anything except meet the condemnation in Turner’s eyes.

Did the Commander know about their secret, know what she and Rob had done?  Was that why Turner had offered Rob a chance to join day shift?  Turner usually bent over backwards to give Rob and Kate the shit details, to prove that even though Rob was married to his only child there was no favoritism, not in his House.

If Rob had accepted the day shift assignment, he’d still be alive.

Turner obviously agreed.  He leaned closer, his fingers squeezing tighter.  “So help me, O’Hern,” his voice emerged in a low hiss, “if I find out you screwed up out there, I’m going to nail your bony ass to the wall.  No medical miracle is going to save you this time.”  Spittle flew from his lips, landing on her cheeks like sparks from a bonfire.  “It’s bad enough what you and that SOB put my daughter through—”

Kate stared up at him.  Surely he didn’t believe, couldn’t believe, she and Rob—

Suddenly, Turner’s face blurred.  Everything became dark, the only light a strange green glow coming from behind her.

A man’s hand touched her face.  It was the shooter.  Her pulse hammered in her ears, so loud she thought her head might explode.  Sweat drenched her, yet she was shivering.  The man’s finger brushed against her lips, it was wet, dripping with fluid.

Was it blood?  She retched, turned her head away.  He reached down to her left shoulder, squeezed.  Her bones scraped together, releasing a lightning bolt of pain.  Kate cried out.  The man closed his lips over hers and she lay powerless, helpless beneath him.

A shrill alarm lanced into Kate’s consciousness as she struggled to break free.  Her vision cleared.  The gunman vanished.  A stranger appeared, leaning over her, filling her vision.   A pair of dark blue eyes met hers, tugged at her, offering a lifeline out of her torture.

“Hey now, everything’s going to be all right.  Quiet down there, slugger,” came a man’s voice.  It sounded oddly familiar.  Calm, soothing.

She blinked and stopped fighting.

“I think it’s time for you to leave now,” the man told Turner.

Turner stepped back, giving her one last glower, then stalked away.  The stranger reached up, silencing the alarm.

“I’m Doctor Lightner,” he said.  “You’re in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit at Three Rivers Medical Center.  There’s a tube in your airway, hooked up to a ventilator—a breathing machine.  You need to relax, let the machine do all the work.”

He spoke in slow, distinct words as if she were a baby.  Kate wanted to give him the finger, leap from the bed and track down the shooter.

Except the shooter wasn’t here.   She blinked, trying to decide which reality to believe in.  The daydream had seemed so real, she still tasted the acid bite of terror.

The merciless machine expanded her lungs again.  Kate closed her eyes, tried to ignore the pain spiraling through her chest and the confusion clouding her mind.

She opened them again as she felt a hand fumbling near her left breast.   Get your fucking hands off me!   Lightner didn’t even bother to draw the privacy curtain as he poked and prodded and muttered to his group of white-coated sycophants behind him.

She was naked under the gown.  There was some kind of tube in her bladder.  Tape and bandages swathed her left breast and shoulder, her legs were wrapped in plastic stockings that squeezed her calves and thighs, her left hand was useless and her right was tied to the bed rail, leaving her powerless to do anything except give Lightner her best eat-shit-and-die glare.

Lightner’s eyes flashed with amusement as he met her gaze.  He straightened, casually flipped her gown back over her.  He had brown hair, trimmed close, typical of a man too busy to take the time to do more than run a comb or his fingers through it.  A quick smile flitted over his face, then he turned away.  Kate heard him muttering something about rate and pressures to another person out of sight.

“Wound’s healing nicely, but there’s still blood from her JP,” Lightner continued without bothering to translate.  “Would you like to get rid of the endotracheal tube?” he asked Kate in that same patronizing tone he’d used earlier.

She swallowed her anger and nodded meekly.  He patted her hand, then untied it from the soft restraints, freeing her.  “If you make some progress today, I’ll take it out tomorrow.”

Lightner left without saying anything more.  All Kate saw was the back of his white coat moving away. She slumped back, the memory of the shooting flooding over her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, straining to regain the bliss of unconsciousness, trying to block out the sight of Rob’s shattered face.

CHAPTER 3

Kate O’Hern was their last patient in the ICU.  Dr. Joshua Lightner gathered his team at the nurses’ station and delegated the work for the day.  He would have liked to spend more time with O’Hern but as always, there were too many patients and too little time.

He couldn’t resist glancing back at her bedspace.  She had surprised him, regaining consciousness so soon—and with a definite spark of intelligence in her eyes.

“Adams, you’re scrubbing on that AKA revision?  Let’s get going.” Without waiting to see if the junior resident followed him, Josh turned and left the ICU.

Once beyond its protective double barrier of sliding doors, he was approached by a man who had been waiting outside.  The man was a few inches shy of Josh’s five-eleven with a shock of dark hair that clamored for a haircut.

“Dr. Lightner?  I’m Anthony Martini.  Kate O’Hern is my fiancée.  The nurses won’t let me see her.”

Josh took another look at the man.  O’Hern was engaged?  He felt a sudden wave of disappointment, but immediately smothered it.  O’Hern’s private life was none of his business.  He was only interested in her recovery.

“ICU patients are restricted to family visitors only.”  A rule that he’d had to already bend or else risk a mob of concerned cops breaking down the doors.

“Is everything okay?” Martini asked.  His eyes were bloodshot and sunken, as if he hadn’t slept much in the two days since the shooting.

“She’s still critical, but she’s doing well, considering the extent of her injuries.”

Martini grew pale.  “Is she conscious yet?  Could I see her?”

“Go ahead and start the prep,” Josh told his resident. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”  Martini was still waiting for an answer.  Josh gestured toward the doors to the Surgical ICU.  “I guess we can make an exception.  I’ll take you in to see her.”

“Martini, you’re not going in there, don’t you even think it!” yelled a distraught, tall, athletic black man racing down the corridor, balancing a coffee cup in front of him.

Detective Mel Carter, the police officer who was investigating Katherine O’Hern’s shooting.  Josh noticed that the detective still wore the same tweed sports coat and navy slacks as he had yesterday.

Carter had remained at O’Hern’s bedside throughout that first night, holding vigil with Josh.  Where was her so-called fiancé when O’Hern needed him most? Josh wondered, pivoting to stare at Martini.

“Doc, don’t let him in.”  Carter arrived in front of them, somehow managing not to spill any of his coffee.

“Carter, give me a break,” Martini said.

“You two know each other?” Josh asked, suddenly certain that Martini had taken advantage of him.

“Yeah, doc.  This here is Anthony F. Martini—F being for fink, fraud, or fake—whichever you prefer.”

“My mother preferred Francis, and you damn well know it, Melvin,” Martini retorted.

“He’s a reporter for the Post-Gazette.  I’ll bet he has a camera on him somewhere.”

Martini looked offended.  “Carter, you know how close Kate and I are.  I want to see her, make sure she’s okay—”

“You’re not her fiancé?” Josh asked.  He was surprised by the relief that he felt at the realization.

“Well, not currently.”

“Not in your wildest dreams,” Carter scoffed.  “Look, Martini, the doc has lives to save.  How ‘bout you come with me so I can personally kick your ass out of here?” Carter finished his coffee in one gulp, crushed the cup in his large hand, and threw it into a trash can.  He grabbed Martini’s arm and began to lead him away.

“See ya later, doc,” Carter called back over his shoulder.

Josh frowned, annoyed, and headed to the OR.  He hated taking care of special patients with all the attendant publicity and reporters, not to mention O’Hern’s extended family of fellow police officers.  But even he had to admit that bringing O’Hern back from the dead—that had been a real adrenalin rush.  The odds were against her from the minute they wheeled her in without vital signs.  But he had beaten them.

He couldn’t take all the credit.  Together, he and Kate O’Hern had bested death.  He shook his head, remembering.  No vitals for eight minutes—it was a hell of a long time to go without oxygen.  The longest he’d ever seen anyone who wasn’t hypothermic survive asystole.

O’Hern was a fighter, no doubt about that.  If she hadn’t been, all his surgical expertise would have been wasted on a corpse.

CHAPTER 4

Blake lay awake beside the girl—what was her name? He couldn’t remember.  He’d picked her up on Liberty Avenue, yesterday, sometime before dawn.

The sex had been good—hell, he was always good at that.  But somehow it’d been disappointing, a let down compared to the exhilaration, the thrill he’d felt wasting those cops.

The girl lay on her stomach, arms stretched up over the pillow. Blake ran his fingers lightly over one of her shoulders, stroking the bruises forming there.  The dark, purplish circles echoed the grip his hands had taken earlier.

No matter how toned and muscular they tried to be, women always had soft spots he could find.

Blake lay back, closed his eyes, satisfaction dancing over him like the blonde’s lips had earlier.  Those poor cops had no clue what was happening to them.

God, it had been great.  Weeks of planning.  He’d spent days before deciding on which store to hit.  Then the absolute look of terror in the clerk’s eyes and the way everyone obeyed his commands.  When the cops came…

A smile settled over his face, warming him more than the sun shining through the window.  He would treasure forever the cop’s expression of surprise.  So sweet.

Then the male cop’s face, his entire head blown away.  What a power rush, not even the bullets pounding into his Kevlar vests could slow Blake.  He was invincible.

The second cop, the woman, she was the entire reason he was there.  He wondered if she realized that, that it was because of her he had chosen that store, that night.

Maybe she did.  When he turned on her, he had felt a spark of connection as if they had touched instead of only their eyes meeting from yards apart.  She’d looked at him, into him and then he’d taken her.  God, what absolute glory!

The memory almost brought him to the point of another orgasm, but then it failed.  Remembering wasn’t enough.  He looked over at the sleeping girl and quickly rolled on top of her, thrusting himself into her from behind.  She cried out and his erection grew strong once more as he squeezed her shoulders, pushing her face into the pillow, muffling her cries.

They quickly turned to whimpers as he rocked back and forth, pounding his hips against her.  Tears blackened by mascara stained the pillowcase below her face, angering him more.  He quickly climaxed as fury surged through him.

Now she knew who was in charge.  Soon everyone in the city would know.  He rolled off her and lay staring at the ceiling, oblivious to her sobs.  As long as she got her drugs and money she wouldn’t tell anyone—she knew full well what she’d be risking if she did.

The girl was meaningless compared to what he would do for an encore.  He knew he could do better, he would do better.  Next time.

He hadn’t liked waiting in the store for the cops.  What if some trigger happy clerk went for him and hit him in the face where his Kevlar wouldn’t protect him?  And he couldn’t always count on taking two down at one time—he had to admit he’d had some luck on his side.  Plus it’d hurt like a son of a bitch when she had shot him.

Blake pushed these negative thoughts aside.  He’d take care of the problems.  It was just a question of more care in his planning.  Of picking the right time, the right place.  He climbed out of bed, trying to ignore the dull ache his bruises caused him.  Wrapping himself in a terrycloth robe, he left the bedroom and went into the kitchen to start coffee.

As it was brewing, he gathered two days worth of newspapers from where they lay in front of the apartment door.

He hadn’t intended on checking out for, he glanced at the clock, more than a day and a half.  It was stupid and dangerous.  But he couldn’t resist celebrating and the girl had been all too happy to accompany him on a meth-fueled binge of sex and drugs.

Next time he would be more disciplined.  Stay in control.

Blake sat down with his coffee and scanned the papers, savoring every word of the account of his activities.  There was a nice photo of paramedics bundling one of the dead cops into an ambulance.  Then he froze.

“No,” the word was forced from him in a strangled whisper.  “Damnit, she was dead!”  He couldn’t believe it—the woman was still alive.

That wasn’t the plan.  She was supposed to be dead.

He crumbled the paper between his fists and held his breath until his rage passed.   When he was calm he took a deep breath and smoothed the wrinkled paper out onto the table in front of him.

The hospital was listing Officer Katherine O’Hern in critical condition, but reported that an operation to repair a lacerated artery in her chest and re-expand a punctured lung had been successful.  Dr. Lightner, her surgeon, was unavailable for comment but a hospital spokesperson said her chances at recovery were excellent.

Lightner, Joshua Lightner.  Blake rolled the name around his mind, trying several pronunciations.  He didn’t like the name.  He didn’t like the man who interfered with his plans.  He was supposed to be in control, he was supposed to decide who lived and  died, not some hot shit, self righteous, son of a bitch—

Blake raised his hands from the pile of shredded newspaper that lay in front of him and took another deep breath.  So what if O’Hern was still alive?  He owned her, she was his.

She’d know that sooner or later.

Maybe better it was later.  Let her sweat, let her dangle and twist, wondering when her fate would catch up with her.  Because there was no escaping him.

Blake smiled again, feeling better as he began to imagine how good it would feel next time.  He wouldn’t have to wait so long.  Not now that he had a good idea where to pick the next one.

CHAPTER 5

Cloaked in the perpetual twilight of the ICU, Kate lay in her bed, shivering beneath sweat-soaked sheets.  Background noises buzzed through her brain in an ever-varying melee of clicks, beeps, bells, footsteps, hushed voices, phones ringing and the whirl of machines.

She and the ventilator had come to an accommodation of sorts.  It now allowed her to breathe on her own, asserting just enough pressure to keep her lungs inflated.  It hurt like a sonofabitch, but the respiratory guy assured her she was making progress.  The nurses had given her a notepad so she could communicate.  She knew she frustrated them by refusing to accept any pain medications.  They couldn’t understand that sleep was the last thing she wanted.

These nightmares were more exhausting than staying awake.  No, not nightmares.  Night terrors.

The curtains around her bed didn’t close completely and she could still see the old woman in the bed across from her, sleeping so peacefully, like an angel.

Kate’s vision grew hazy and her eyelids fluttered.  She tried to fight against the images that overpowered her mind, but was helpless against them.

Alarms shrieked and white coated figures rushed to the old lady’s bed.  Electricity jolted through paddles into the woman’s frail body, causing it to arch up, sending the acrid odor of burnt flesh into the air.

Kate felt the woman’s heart stutter and stop as if it were her own, felt the shocking pain of the electricity sear through her chest again and again.  She felt the woman’s heart give a final thud as the nurse straddling her stopped compressing her chest.

Kate felt the woman die.

She shuddered and broke out in another cold sweat, swallowing against waves of nausea, gagging against the tubes in her throat until finally her body was hers once more.  It took all her effort to stop her hands from shaking.

When she looked at the clock, Kate realized she had lost almost four minutes—this time.  The little old lady still slept, blissfully unaware she was the object of Kate’s torment.

Panic seized her.  What was happening to her?  These weren’t the flashbacks she’d heard victims of violence describe.  These took over her body, her mind, her life for chunks of time.

The clock read six a.m.  Somehow she had made it through the night, but she had no idea where she would find the strength to face another one.

It seemed like anything could trigger the—hell, she didn’t even know what to call the damn things—episodes, hallucinations, fits, spells?

All she knew was when they happened, they hit with the force of a tornado, blasting through her mind and body, leaving her with no control, flooded with pain.  That same awful, mind-wrecking pain she had felt after being shot, when she lay face down in the sewer.

She tried to rein in her out of control mind by focusing on minute details.  Her father had a game.  Observation, he had called it.  She and her older brother, Michael, played whenever Dad took them anywhere.  Noticing and memorizing details—what people were doing, what kind of cars passed them on the street, what the drivers looked like.  Her father quizzed them mercilessly, telling them they needed to notice the little details.  It’s the little things that will get you killed, Brian O’Hern would say.

Little things like not noticing when an actor is smiling at you right before he shoots your partner—no, Kate, don’t think of Rob, think of Dad.

The way he would walk through the front door and instantly the entire house would be filled with his presence, so much larger than life when he was in uniform.  The way he could pierce your soul with one sidelong look of disappointment, making you want to never, ever let him down.  The way Mom’s face lit up, her smile crinkling her eyes, whenever he would lean down to kiss her hello.

She wished her father were here now.  He’d be able to make sense of this insanity.

Kate blinked back tears. Even that small movement left her utterly drained.  She was exhausted, but she refused to sleep, instead concentrated on breathing, trying to ignore everything going on around her.

“Hey there, slugger,” came a voice from the foot of her bed.  Kate looked up.

The shooter leered down at her, his fist held over her face, squeezing blood from between his clenched fingers to drip down on her.  Her blood.

She tried to scream, no sound came.  She reached for a gun that wasn’t there, her hand flailing against the cold steel of the bed rail instead.

“Ssh, Kate.” Lightner’s voice with its rich, soothing tones led her from her abyss of pain and confusion.  He covered her hand with his, surprising her with its warmth.  “It’s all right, it’s only a dream.”

She blinked and looked into his eyes.  They were narrowed in concern, but she felt calmed by their indigo depths.

Only a dream, she told herself, desperate to believe.  Lightner dropped her hand, a slight flush coloring his face.  He turned away, reached for the clipboard at the foot of the bed.

“You ready for that tube to come out?”  It wasn’t the same voice she’d heard a few seconds ago, now he sounded clinical, impersonal.  Like he had yesterday.

Lightner didn’t wait for her answer, but left her side, returning a few minutes later with a respiratory therapist.  “This is how it’s gonna work,” he said as he began to loosen the velcro tape securing the breathing tube.  “I’m going to give you a few big breaths, count to three and pull it out.  I want you to sit up and cough right away.  Got it?”

Kate nodded.  Lightner turned to the therapist.  “We all set there?  Here goes.”  He squeezed a football-shaped bag, shooting oxygen into Kate’s lungs with a force that made her eyes go wide.

“One, two, three.”  He yanked the tube from her throat.  Kate gagged as it scraped past her tonsils.

Lightner pulled her to a sitting position, his arms wrapping around her body, strong yet gentle as he supported her.  She took a deep breath.  His scent instantly overwhelmed her, a spicy musk that was pure male, testosterone distilled.  Her intense awareness of him blind-sided her.

Gasping, Kate tried to clear her head of the sudden array of sensations and emotions bombarding her.  She had more important things to think about than Lightner and the warm comfort his strong arms seemed to offer.  Like her partner.  Like the shooter.

Like the crazy things going wrong with her brain.

Her chest felt as if it had been twisted in impossible directions, but she was breathing on her own.  The therapist placed a mask over her face.  Lightner released her, and she fell back against the pillow, her breath coming in tiny waves of pain.

“Good job, guys.”  Lightner turned away, but Kate grabbed the sleeve of his white coat and pulled him to her.

“Get me out of here,” she whispered in a hoarse voice muffled by the mask.

“No can do.  It’ll be a few more days before you’re ready for the floor.  Another week or so before we can talk about discharge.”

“No, please,” she said in between breaths, tugging at his jacket, surprised at how much effort that small movement took. “I’m going crazy in here.” She stopped herself before telling him about her—fits, she decided to call them.  It was a tiny word, made the terrifying episodes seem small and manageable.

Lightner laughed.  “You cops are all the same.  I know you want to hit the streets and find the man that shot you and your partner, but you have to stay here until your lungs have had a chance to heal.”

Kate refused to release her grip on his coat.  “Rob—what happened, how did it happen?”

A shadow crossed Lightner’s face before he took a deep breath and turned his full attention onto her.  Those eyes, dark, deep blue, seemed to draw her into an intimate embrace.

“Three nights ago, you were shot twice in the chest.  The first one tore some blood vessels near your heart, collapsed your lung.  Your vest deflected most of the second, it broke your collarbone, caused some soft tissue damage, nothing serious.”

“Damn it!  I know I’ve been shot in the chest.”  That wasn’t what she was asking.  Kate tried again.  “Rob—”

Her voice trailed off, she couldn’t force herself to say the words.  She grabbed the bed rail.  She would not cry, would not lose it here, not in front of strangers.  “Was it fast?”

“Yes,” he said, his gaze reaching out to her.  “He was gone at the scene.”

The image of the shooter’s mocking grin as he pivoted and emptied two rounds at point blank range into Rob’s face filled her mind.  She licked her parched lips, tried to find enough saliva to swallow the lump that had lodged in her throat.  “Have they caught the guy?”

“No, not yet.  Detective Carter is waiting to talk to you.”

“Send him in.”  Kate snatched at the chance to do something, anything to help catch Rob’s killer.  Then she remembered the old woman.  Lightner would think she was nuts.  But her visions, fits, whatever they were, they were too real to ignore.  If she told him about the woman, maybe he could save her in time, maybe what she saw wouldn’t happen. Better yet, he could tell her that it was a normal reaction to the drugs or anesthesia.

Maybe Lightner had the answers she needed.

“Did something else happen to me?” she asked, fearing the answer.  She fought to keep her face relaxed, expressionless, tried to hide the anxiety churning through her gut as she waited for his reply.  “Something that could mess up my brain, make me see things?”

Lightner hesitated, looking at her now with true concern.  “Seeing what kind of things?”

“I saw her die.”  With an unsteady hand, Kate pointed across the room to the old woman.  She drew in her breath, ignoring the blaze of pain it ignited.  She had to tell Lightner, had to try to help prevent what she had seen from coming true.  “They did CPR and put a tube down her throat, shocked her over and over, four times, then everyone left.”  She tore off the piece of paper that she’d drawn zigzag lines across.  “That’s how it happened.  You have to help her.”

To Kate’s annoyance, Lightner shoved the paper into his pocket without looking at it.  Instead he flipped through Kate’s bedside chart, holding it like a shield between them as he spoke.  “Mrs. Greenbaum?  She’s doing so well we’ve transferred her to the medical service.  Believe me, we don’t let the fleas take any of our patients if we’re at all worried.”  His expression grew remote once more.

Kate didn’t care about any of his medical mumbojumbo.  “I’m telling you, I saw her die.”

“No signs of seizure activity,” he muttered, flipping her chart shut, talking about her as if she wasn’t there.  Finally he looked up at Kate once more.  “Did this happen while you were asleep?”

“Asleep, awake, it keeps happening.  Over and over. I can’t control it.  It’s like a flash.  All the sudden I can feel, sense everything happening.  When it’s over and I look at the clock a few minutes have gone by like I’ve lost time.”  Her hands closed into fists of frustration.  What could she say to make him believe her?

“I’ll check your meds, but it’s not unusual after a severe trauma such as yours for patients to be confused.”  He looked as if he was going to say more, glanced at his watch instead.

Kate slumped back on the pillow.  It was obvious he didn’t believe her, but what she’d seen, felt was real, damn it!  She could still smell the acrid scent from when they shocked the woman.  None of the details were confused, in fact they were all too sharp and vivid.

Suddenly her vision clouded.  The smell of burnt flesh combined with the crack of her ribs breaking as a woman pounded on her chest.  Electricity jolted through her again and again.  She tried to scream but no sound came.  Then there was nothing, just a dark void.

“Kate, hey slugger, you still with me?”  Lightner’s voice came from inches away.

Her vision cleared.  She had sagged down in the bed and struggled to push herself upright, releasing a fresh torrent of agony from her side.  Lightner wrapped his hands around her waist, effortlessly sliding her up to a more comfortable position.

“She’s going to die!” Kate cried out.  Or tried to.  Her voice emerged in a scared, hoarse whisper.

“You had another one, didn’t you?” Lightner asked, his voice more distant as he straightened and pulled away.

She nodded, trying to reorient herself.

“No tonic-clonic movements, vitals stayed stable,” he murmured without translating as he flashed a bright light into both her eyes.  “Fundi sharp, pupils reactive.”

“Listen.” Kate pushed his hands away.   “It happened just like I told you.  You have to stop it.”

“Calm down,” he said in that patronizing tone she was beginning to despise.  “I think what you need is to get some sleep.”

“Just promise me,” she tried one last time, aware of how pitiful she must sound and hating her helplessness.  “Promise you won’t forget.”

“I promise.  If you promise to get some rest.”

Kate nodded her agreement and collapsed back on the pillows.  Lightner walked away.

Leaving Kate alone, truly alone.  Her partner gone, the partner she had sworn to keep safe, and now her mind was going as well.

Lightner had left the curtains around her bed open.  Kate glanced across the room to where the little old lady slept like an angel.  One more person she was powerless to save.  Kate wrapped her fingers around the bedrail, gripping it in frustration.

Her vision blurred and the kaleidoscope images of the woman’s death seared into Kate’s brain.  Again.  And again.

And there was nothing Kate could do to stop it.

CHAPTER 6

Kate spent the rest of the morning engulfed in the vortex of the ICU routine.  Nurses buzzed around, changing dressings, drawing blood or giving her strange, brightly colored fluids through the IV that went into her right shoulder.  For a place that was supposed to be restful and healing, it seemed as chaotic and raucous as the night the Steelers won the Super Bowl.  A constant barrage of alarms buzzing, beepers shrieking and phones ringing mingled with the smells of antiseptic soap, urine and blood.

Her brother, Michael, had stopped by on his way to work.  A CPA for a major accounting firm downtown, he’d spent the time rattling off the numbers charted by her nurses, seemingly more cheered by the prospect that her “ins and outs” balanced and her blood pressure and other vital signs had stabilized than the fact that she was now breathing on her own and talking to him.

She wasn’t too surprised.  Ever since they were kids, she and her big brother always got along better when they weren’t talking. His world was one where order reigned, while Kate had chosen to leave law school to join their father in a universe punctuated by chaos.

After Michael left, Kate tried to analyze her momentary lapses of reason.  Tried to be an objective investigator.  What triggered them, was there a pattern, could she predict when they would happen?  How to stop them?  And the big question: was she going crazy?

What if she was nuts?  The shooter would walk for sure.  Juries tended to doubt the testimony of nutcases on a day pass from Western Psych, even if they were ex-cops.

Ex-cop.  The word rattled through Kate’s brain, echoing and repeating itself, synchronizing with the beeping of her heart rate on the monitor.

Kate was startled out of her reverie by a hesitant cough beside her.

“Carter!  How’d you get past the guards?” Kate gestured to the nurses’ station.  She was delighted to see Mel, he had been her training officer when she first joined the force six years ago.  Now he was a detective with Major Crimes.

“How’re you doing?”  He eyed the tubes and wires radiating from her body with suspicion.

“Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it all looks,” she said, her voice sounding gravelly.  She swallowed hard.  The breathing tube was gone, but it left in its wake a powerful sore throat.  “Any word on the shooter?”

Carter shook his head.  He sank down in the chair beside her bed, a small sigh of exhaustion escaping from him.  Kate ignored it, of course.  As she did the dark circles smudging his eyes and the new frown lines etched into his forehead.  She’d never embarrass him by letting him know she knew he was only human.

“Did they tell you about Rob?”

It took her a moment to master her voice as she remembered Turner’s implications that she might have screwed up, caused Rob’s death.  “What’s happening?”

He pinched his nose, pushing his glasses up higher.  “Turner’s gone ballistic.  Has the Officer Involved guys from Internal Affairs working overtime, trying to piece together a story.”  He slanted his gaze at her and Kate knew what he was thinking.

“Turner wants them to blame me.”  Anything to be able to face his daughter with answers about her husband’s death.   She swallowed, trying to muster the courage to ask.  “The worst thing is,” she stumbled over her words, “I’m not sure he’s not right.”

She kept going over and over the events of that night, but she couldn’t be absolutely certain she hadn’t hesitated, that there wasn’t some way she could have prevented Rob’s death.

“Did I screw up, Mel?  Was I too slow, did I freeze?” She hated the anguish in her voice, but she needed to know.

Carter shook his head in time with each of her questions.  “No, Kate.  Don’t even think that.  I saw the tape, you did everything humanly possible.”

“Humanly possible?  What the hell does that mean?”  Partners were supposed to go beyond ‘humanly possible’ when it came to protecting each other.

He jutted his chin forward, as close to disrespecting a superior officer as he would ever come.   “Don’t you listen to Turner.  He needs to blame someone and you’re the only target handy.  His ass is on the line as well.  Two fatalities in the department this year and both of them from Turner’s command.  Makes the brass take a close look at how he’s running things.”

“They want to blame him for Sherry Thomas?”  She frowned.  Thomas had been killed during a traffic stop two months ago; there was no connection to the robbery at the Minimart.

“The best way for Turner to get off the hook is to feed them another scapegoat.  Seeing as how you two already get along so well, is it any wonder he’s throwing you to the IAD guys?  I told you to get out of that House.”

Turner was from the old school, the one where women stayed home and cooked and ironed, waiting for their man—anywhere but out on the streets doing a man’s job.  When Kate first transferred to his command, he’d made a pass at her during the annual Christmas party.  A pass that had ended up with him flat on his ass.

Then she and Rob had started working together and somehow rumors had started that they were having an affair.  Rumors that were a constant source of embarrassment to Turner as Rob’s father-in-law and commander.

Kate blew her breath out.  Now, with Rob dead, Turner had plenty of reasons to target her for wrecking his daughter’s home.  “Do I have anything to be worried about?”

Carter removed his glasses, always a bad sign.  Her stomach clenched, waiting for the worse.  He polished them across his slacks before answering.  “I don’t know.  The victims in the store saw nothing.  Our only video is from a State Store down the block.  The camera was focused on their parking lot and was too far away to make out any details.  We could see movement and shapes and the muzzle flashes, that’s all.  Nothing on a canvass of the neighborhood and no forensics except the ballistics.”

She shifted in her bed, trying in vain to find a comfortable position.  Kate was hoping for an answer—one way or the other, she’d learn to live with it.  It was this gnawing uncertainty that was killing her.  The monitor skittered into a staccato rhythm as her heart sped with anxiety.   “What do you have so far?”

Carter started to sigh again, then caught himself.  “Not a whole hell of a lot.  Did you get a good look at the shooter?  The people in the store were so rattled we can’t get a coherent description.”

“I saw him, Carter.  He looked me in the eye and smiled at me.  Right before he came out and did Rob.”

“Sure you’re up to this?”  He shifted his chair closer to her bed and pulled out his notebook.

“Who gives a shit if I am?” she snapped, irritated by his protectiveness.  “Stop wasting time.”

Her outburst drew a slight smile from him.  He nodded at her in approval, as if she’d passed some kind of test.  “Tell me everything.”

Kate closed her eyes, tried to re-create the memory from Friday night.  Overwhelmed and confused, she felt her pulse throb in her temples and her fingers grow numb.  She couldn’t remember what they were doing before the call came, couldn’t remember the call itself, all she saw in her mind’s eye was the shooter smiling at her, then turning and shooting Rob, and there was blood everywhere—

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay.” Carter’s voice penetrated her haze.

Kate opened her eyes, realized she was hyperventilating.  Not a fit, thank God.  Just bad memories.  But not enough of them.

Damn it, she replayed that night constantly.  It had taken over her dreams, invaded most of her waking moments.  Why couldn’t she focus on any of the details now?

“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed by tears of frustration she wiped away with her free hand.

“No, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t be pushing you so hard, so soon.  We knew you might not be back to normal—” He stopped, began again.  “After what happened—”

She stared at him, and when he looked away, she knew he meant more than her getting shot.  “Carter, what are you talking about?”

He cleared his throat, pushed his glasses up his nose.  “I—uh—I thought they would have told you about—you know—”

She swallowed hard, more worried about the strange look on his face than the monitor alarming her racing heartbeat.  Had Lightner betrayed her?  Told Carter about her fits?

“That night—do you remember anything?  After you were shot?”

“Some.  Bits and pieces.”  She closed her eyes.  The chill of a misty rain, the smell of cordite and blood, the sounds of her blood spilling into the sewer and the killer’s laughter seared through her mind in a quick flash.  She shook off the memories with a shudder.

When she opened her eyes, Carter was watching her, his lips tightened in concern.  “Maybe we should talk about this later.”

“No.  Now.”

He considered for a moment, then relented.  “All right.  When the paramedics arrived at the scene you weren’t breathing but you still had a faint pulse.  They scooped and ran but they lost vitals en route.  You were down eight minutes before Lightner brought you back.”

Goosebumps rippled across her skin.  “You’re saying that I was—that I—”

“You were dead for eight minutes.”

CHAPTER 7

Dead?  Her breath hitched, scraping against her already raw throat.  Her vision blurred as she stared directly into the brilliance of the overhead light.  She didn’t blink; she couldn’t blink.  “Dead?”

Carter didn’t answer her.  Instead he focused on his notebook for a long moment.

“Many victims have a temporary memory loss, there’s no reason you should be any different,” he finally said, avoiding the “D” word.

Kate looked at him in shock.  Was that what she was now? A victim?

Her perception of her place in the universe shifted then tilted back into place as she drew in a deep breath, the pain shooting through her chest helping to focus her.

She was not a victim.  She wasn’t dead.  She was a cop.

“Let me try again,” she said, wrapping her hand around the bedrail, using it as an anchor to reality.  “I remember roll call that night.  Rowen was late and Hoyt out sick.  Chen didn’t have much on his list other than a few stolen car tags and one BOLO.  Turner came in and griped about overtime, said he’d had to rearrange the holiday schedule again because of manpower shortages.  Guess who has to work both Thanksgiving and Christmas?”

Carter shook his head.  “You’ve got to get out of that House.  That man’s gonna eat you alive sooner or later.”

Kate ignored him; they’d had this conversation too many times before.  She shook off her misgivings about her future or lack of one and concentrated on the details of the night of the shooting.

“It was actually pretty quiet,” she continued.  “One domestic over on Aiken, a D and D in Bloomfield, not much of note.”

“What was the weather like?” Carter asked, trying to guide her along, just as she would a difficult witness.

“Misting, not truly raining, but you got cold and wet real fast once you were out in it.  Low cloud cover, hazy, I don’t remember seeing the moon.  The roads weren’t bad, a little slick.”

“Who was driving?”

“I was.”  As it all came back to her, she rushed on before she could lose the words again.  “We went lights only, there were possible hostages involved.  We got there about four minutes after the call came in.  I remember thinking that the actor was either real dumb or real slow ‘cause he was still standing around.”

“Go on,” he urged her softly.

“He was talking to someone, but everyone was on the floor, he must have already had the money.  No, I remember now, he was putting it in his coat as we drove up.  Anyway, Rob took flank and I was point.  Rob made his way across the street to a spot beside the door, and I waited at the cruiser.  Then the strangest thing happened.  The gunman turned and smiled, right at me—like I was the answer to his prayers or something.”

“He smiled at you?”

“Yeah, it was bizarre.  I didn’t have time to think about it then, because he came out of the store.  I ordered him to stop and drop his weapon.  He had one of those bear hunting revolvers, big Taurus.  He said something, I can’t remember what, and then he whirled around and shot Rob, right in the face, there was blood everywhere—” Kate’s voice broke, but she forced herself to continue.  “I fired immediately.  I hit him, I know I did.  Then he shot me, and I was down—”

“Bastard used KTW rounds.  Went through your vest faster than a bum through a baloney sandwich,” Carter told her.  “How many times did you fire?”

“Twice.”

“Fits with the casings we found.”

“I hit him.  Dead on, center mass.”

“There’ve been no reports from any hospitals.  Did he fall or stumble?  Are you sure you hit him?”

Kate stared at him.  Had her crazy brainspasms somehow poisoned her memory of that night?  “Mel, I hit him twice, I know it.  But it didn’t slow him down at all.  I remember hearing his footsteps as he ran away and—”

“And what?”

“He was laughing.”  A shudder shook her, chilling her.  Carter stopped taking notes for a moment and looked away while she regained her composure.

“Okay, let’s work on a description.”

Kate closed her eyes, forcing the face that haunted her dreams to appear.  “Caucasian, about six-four, shaved head, light eyes, no beard or mustache.  He was wearing a fatigue jacket, cargo pants, black boots.  Build seemed kind of bulky, but not fat.”  She stopped.  “That’s all,” she finally said, unsure of how to describe the gleam in his eyes or the twisted smile he had given her before shooting Rob.

“Think you could pick him out of a lineup?”

“Maybe. He was pretty far away.  Didn’t the store camera give you anything?”

“Ruined.  He blew it away with that fucking Taurus.”

It was totally unlike Carter to use language like that.

“I’m sorry I can’t help more.”  She regretted the plaintive note in her voice.  Last thing she needed was for Carter to be thinking of her as a victim.

He scraped his chair back, stood up.  Then he leaned down, lowered his voice.  “Kate.  I think you should know.  Those rumors started back up again—about you and Rob.”

She snapped her head up and met his gaze unflinchingly.  “There was nothing going on between Rob and me.”

Carter’s chin drooped, as if he knew she lied.  Kate hated the look of disappointment that crossed his face.

“I’d better get going,” he told her after a long pause, putting the matter to rest with a nod.

“Mel.”  Her voice cracked on the syllable.  He turned back to her.  “Get this bastard, will you,” she said with an intensity that made her hoarse voice drop even further.

“Do my best.  Take care.”

Kate nodded, and he was gone.  Leaving her alone again with her jumbled-up brain.

Alarms shrieked through the unit, echoing from the tile walls.  Kate squeezed her eyes shut as the nurses and doctors rushed to the old lady’s bedside.  She didn’t have to look.  She already knew what would happen.

Damn it, why hadn’t Lightner listened to her?

CHAPTER 8

O’Hern and her crazy talk kept Josh preoccupied for the rest of the day.  Done in the OR, he headed down the tiled corridor leading to the surgical lounge.  He should be thinking about the post-op orders Adams had written, should be thinking about making rounds, finishing his lecture for Friday’s Grand Rounds.

Instead all he could think of was Kate O’Hern.  Once she was out of the ICU, he’d get a MRI and EEG.  Maybe even let the neurologists take a look at her.

Maybe.  He hated allowing the medical types poke and prod his patients—they always ended up ordering a bunch of tests and usually only made things worse.  Hopefully a day or so off the sedatives and her head would clear.

He snatched his scrub cap from his head and tossed it in the laundry.  His job was to remain objective, not to get caught up in a patient’s delusions.  He needed an explanation for what was happening to O’Hern.  But sometimes science couldn’t always explain everything.

Like why Kate O’Hern had haunted him ever since she came into his ER three nights ago.  On or off duty, Josh couldn’t stop thinking about her, her face appeared before him unbidden, even when he was in the OR.  Not to mention his dreams.  Intense, sensual dreams unlike any he had ever had before.  Even before she woke from her coma, Josh knew exactly how her voice would sound, knew the spark of her eyes when aroused, the velvet touch of her hands on his naked skin.

Now that she was finally awake, she was all he could think about.  This morning when he had held her in his arms, for those few brief moments, he had felt a rush of arousal that he was powerless to control.  If this kept up, he’d have to resort to wearing a jock under his scrubs.

Josh shook himself, pushing all thoughts of lust and passion aside.  There were rules.  Guidelines.  Ethics.  He couldn’t touch O’Hern, not the way he yearned to.  It would be disastrous, could end his career.  Most importantly, he could never take advantage of her, not when she was in such a weakened state.

These crazy visions of hers.  It was so frustrating—he could save her body, but he had no idea what to do about her psyche.

His beeper went off just as he was considering treating himself to a cup of coffee.  He had rules—no caffeine on days he was operating.  He glanced at the display on his pager.  The ICU.  Had O’Hern had another episode?  He reached for the phone and dialed the extension.  To his surprise, Carol Templeton, one of the cardiologists, answered.

“Josh, I wanted to let you know that Mrs. Greenbaum expired.  I’ve already talked to the family, but since she was originally on your service—”

Damn.  Josh had liked the old woman with her blue hair and feisty attitude.  “What happened?”

“Run of v-tach, then torsades and v-fib.  Couldn’t break it.”

Josh fished in his pocket for the scrap of paper O’Hern had given him.  The zig-zag lines she’d drawn looked a lot like the irregular heartbeats Carol described.  “Did you shock her?”

Carol sounded offended.  “Of course.  I ran the code myself.”

“How many times?” Josh interrupted, wishing he understood the urgency he felt.  His hand clenched the paper.  It couldn’t be.  It just couldn’t be.

“Three, no wait, four.  Why?”

Sweat broke out on the back of his neck.  “Nothing.  Thanks, Carol.”  He dropped the phone back on its cradle, his gaze still focused on O’Hern’s drawing.  What was going on here?

The door opened, and Josh was pleased to see Sal Bianchi, the head of anesthesia, enter.  Exactly the person who might be able to help O’Hern.

“Hey, Sal.  Remember Kate O’Hern?”

“Your cop?  Sure, that was quite a save.”  Sal retrieved a cup of coffee from the machine and joined Josh at a table.  “Something happen?”

“She’s seeing things, hallucinating.”

“I suppose anything is possible if you deprive the brain of oxygen for long enough.  What kind of hallucinations?”

Josh hesitated.  “More like visions of the future.  Maybe.  Visions of people dying.”

He told Sal about what O’Hern had seen and what had happened to Mrs. Greenbaum.  Josh showed him the drawing she had made.  “And she was right.  How could she know?”  He shook his head, grimaced at his own question.  “Impossible.  She couldn’t.  So what happened?”

Sal was quiet for a few minutes as he finished his coffee.  Josh inhaled the intoxicating aroma, feeling self-righteous that he hadn’t broken his rules and indulged in a cup.

“You say she keeps asking to get out of the ICU?”

“She was almost hysterical at first, not the sort of behavior you’d expect from a cop.”

“Cut the macho crap, Josh.  She saw her partner die, was shot, died herself, went through major surgery, then woke up to start seeing visions that would terrify anyone—don’t you think she deserves a break?”

“I’m not her psychiatrist, I’m only her surgeon,” Josh replied in exasperation.   Sal acted as if Josh had a relationship with the woman when all he wanted was to get her healthy and back on her feet.  Well, and maybe, hopefully, please God, someday into his bed.   Josh felt his face heat at the thought.  It could never happen, would never happen.

Sal stared at him, eyes narrowed as if he followed Josh’s thoughts effortlessly.  “You know you can’t get personally involved with a patient.  The Med Exec Committee would have your hide.”

“Who said anything about getting personal?  I need to figure out what’s wrong with O’Hern so I can fix it.  That’s my job.  Nothing personal about it.”  Right, just keep repeating that, maybe he’d start believing it.  Sal remained silent, merely staring at Josh with a skeptical upraised brow.

“What about these visions?  Do you really think she’s seeing into the future somehow?”  Damn, now Josh was the one talking like a lunatic. “That’s impossible, right?”

“Nothing’s impossible,” the older man assured Josh with a wry smile.  Sal had a penchant for the paranormal, the guy had an X-files poster on his OR locker.  Still, there wasn’t anyone Josh would rather trust with one of his patients.  “What did you tell her?”

Josh busied himself pouring a cup of coffee.   He wasn’t going to drink it, only smell it.  Really. “Nothing.  I mean, what could I tell her?  I don’t know for certain what’s going on.”

Sal’s tsk of disapproval sounded eerily like the sound Josh’s mother would make, as if the anesthesiologist was channeling Rachel Lightner all the way from Florida.

“You and your damn rules and protocols.  Can’t you stop being a surgeon for a second?” he chided.  “She’s a cop, used to dealing with what she can see in front of her.  How do you think waking up and suddenly seeing old ladies die is affecting her?”

Josh thought of the way O’Hern had grown pale, her eyes wide with fear.  “I think she’s terrified.”

“Damn right she is.  If she is somehow seeing the future,” Sal continued, “then God help her, because that’s a curse I don’t think I could handle.”  He crumpled his cup and threw it away.  “Besides, it doesn’t have to be visions of the future.  Maybe Mrs. Greenbaum was having runs of v-tach, and O’Hern twisted it all into a dream.  A coincidence.  Or could be these visions are a form of seizure activity or a reaction to her meds.”

Josh frowned.  He should have thought of those possibilities himself.  Maybe Sal was more objective when it came to Kate O’Hern than he could be.  “Would you mind taking a look at her?”

“Sure.  This cop of yours is beginning to intrigue me.  Besides, she deserves to see that some of us doctors actually do have a bedside manner.”

Kate tried her best to relax.  Hard to do with a spotlight shining down on you day and night and people hovering over you like you were a freaking death row inmate on suicide watch.  She opened her eyes in resignation and gave voice to her frustrations.

“Godamnmotherfuckingsonofabitch!”

A startled respiratory tech stared at her with wide eyes, then scurried away as if she’d kicked the poor bastard.  It made her feel a little better, human again.

Forcing her hand to unclench, taking shallow breaths that wouldn’t wake the sleeping kick-boxer beneath her ribcage, she lay back and tried again to sleep.  Lightner was right—she needed rest, real rest, not tossing and turning all day and night.

Now there was an enigma.  Why did Lightner spend so much time and attention on her?  She had watched him with his other patients, and no one else received the attention she did.

As her mind chewed on the question, Kate wondered if she had a fixation of her own.  After all, the man had saved her life.  Literally brought her back from the dead.

Not to mention how handsome he was, with those riveting blue eyes.  She allowed her own eyes to slide shut as she drifted into fantasy.  And those hands—so strong, with long, tapering fingers.  If a mere touch from him, through a gown no less, was enough to make her practically pant with desire, imagine what he could do with those hands of his—

Her chest tightened as her breath rushed through her, and the rhythm of her heart on the monitor sped up.  Damn thing broadcast her emotions to the world.  Definitely not the time or place to be pursuing any hot and steamy fantasies.

Lightner’s physical attractiveness didn’t totally explain her feelings.  Somehow when he was nearby, Kate felt that everything really would be all right, that there was at least one person she could trust in this strange new world.

Still, it probably hadn’t been the best idea to confide in him about her visions.  Now he looked at her differently, as if she was less than a patient and more like a crazy lady needing close watching and stronger drugs.

Kate tried to deflect the direction of her thoughts.  A security guard leaned against the nurses’station, watching her.  He was tall, trim with thick brown hair and tinted glasses.

As she met his gaze, she felt her heart race into overdrive.  It was the shooter.

Here in the ICU.  Staring right at her.

CHAPTER 9

Kate struggled to sit up, opened her mouth to shout.  Then clamped it shut as the man cocked his head at her, staring at her as if she was the new Komodo dragon on display at the Pittsburgh zoo.  The charge nurse approached the desk, and he turned away to ask her something.

Idiot, Kate thought as she slumped back on the pillows, jarring her shoulder and sending a fresh kick of pain through her chest.  Lightner probably sent him to guard her until she was healthy enough for a transfer to the booby hatch.

How could she be so stupid, imagining him as the shooter?  True, they were the same height, but this man was nowhere as bulky as the man who shot Rob.  And the shooter was bald.  Still, something about the way he moved—

Kate watched him give the nurse a quick wave and saunter from the ICU.  It couldn’t be the same man—impossible.

Pulling the sheets up tighter, she tried to block out the rest of the world.  Tears gathered behind her eyes but she refused to release them.  She was going crazy.  She really was.

“Kate O’Hern?”  She glanced up to see a short, middle-aged man with a greying beard and wide brown eyes smiling down on her.  “I’m Dr. Sal Bianchi.  Josh, Dr. Lightner, asked me to come see you.”

First the extra security and now this Italian Santa lookalike?  She never should’ve trusted Lightner.  They were going to lock her up behind padded doors while Rob’s killer walked free.

Bianchi took her good hand and squeezed it.  He leaned forward, pitched his voice so no one could hear.  “I hear you’ve had a rough time of it.  Wanna talk about it?”

“You a shrink?  This going in my record?”

“No to both.  I’m an anesthesiologist.  One of my interests is unusual reactions to drugs: pain medications, anesthesia, paralytics.  All of which you’ve had in vast quantities since you’ve been here.”

She brightened at that.  “You’ve seen this happen before?  How do you make it stop?”

Bianchi held up a hand to stop her rush of words.  “The brain is an amazing organism, the way it responds to the stress of injury, illness, surgery.  Add to that a powerful mix of chemicals, and anything can happen.”

“Great, so fix it already.”

“I have to be honest with you, I’ve never seen anything like what Josh described.  But I have read and heard of remarkable things happening, ways people change after a trauma.  That’s why I want to hear about your experiences firsthand.”

“Now I get to be a guinea pig.  No offense, but all I want is to be left alone.”

“I’m here to help you.  Try to stop these episodes if I can.”

Should she trust him?  Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.  Feeling drained, she sank back against her pillows and nodded her assent.

“Why did you become a police officer?” Bianchi started, settling comfortably in his seat, crossing one ankle over his knee.

As always, the question brought a smile to her.  “My dad.  He was a cop, the best.  He could do anything.”

“What do you like most about it?  The adrenalin rush?  The excitement?”

She shook her head, remembering her dad again.  “The job’s not about the gun, he always said.  It’s about the badge and the people you protect with it.  Almost thirty years on the force, and he never once fired his gun in the line.”  It felt good to think of Dad.  Like he was somehow here with her, sharing his strength to see her through this.  “Guess I enjoy the problem solving, helping the little guy.”

“Anyone in your family with any serious medical problems?  Seizures?  Neurologic problems?”

“No seizures.”  She liked his easy way of asking her personal questions.  Bianchi would have made a good interrogator.  “My dad died in a high speed pursuit.  My mom died of ovarian cancer when I was nine.”

“How about you?  Any medical problems?  Concussion or head trauma?”

Kate would have laughed, but her side hurt too much.  “I gave my brother one when I was six,” she said.  “Cracked him over the head with a croquet mallet because he was pickin’ on my friend, Tony Martini.  He still blames me for his bald spot.”

Bianchi gave her a warm smile, and she continued, “Only time I was hurt, I fell out of a tree, broke my arm.  Didn’t hit my head, though.”

She remembered Mom, calm, splinting her wrist, taping a bag of frozen peas to help with the swelling.  And Dad, looking so pale, his lips tight as if he felt the pain more than Kate.  She had held in her own tears for fear of making him cry.  Just as she’d held back so much more after her mom died.  Brian O’Hern was a tough as nails cop on the street, but Kate knew his vulnerabilities all too well.

“Anyone with psychic abilities?”

“Now who’s talking crazy?”

“Have you ever had a vision before?”

She scoffed, shaking her head.  “No.  Of course not.”

“You don’t believe in psychics?”

“Are you joking?  I’m a cop.  I’ve got all I can handle with what I can see, feel, hear.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered?”  He leaned forward.  “Did you see anything?  When you crossed?”

She slit her eyes at him, wondering if he belonged in the looney bin more than she did.  “Sorry to disappoint, doc.  But there was no tunnel, no white light.  Nothing.”

It was all still fresh, the idea that she’d actually been dead.  She remembered warm sunlight, the smell of wild flowers dancing in a spring breeze.  Things that felt personal, too private to discuss with Bianchi.  Could that have been heaven?  Happy, she’d felt so happy—until the moment Lightner tore her back to her living hell.

“You believe in this psychic BS?” she asked Bianchi.

He straightened and chuckled.  “I’d like to.  Some people say they see their friends and family waiting for them, the ones that have gone before.”

Kate shook her head, wondering at that.  She hadn’t seen anyone.  Jeezit, she couldn’t even die right.

“It’d be nice to think there was something more.  Don’t you think?” Bianchi finished, staring at her as if he knew full well she was holding out on him.

Time to get back to reality.  “I think it’d be nice to know that what I’ve got has a reasonable explanation and a cure.”

Or even a name—just give her something she could fight.

Bianchi nodded and continued his list of questions, all of which revealed Kate’s bland lifestyle, free of toxins other than caffeine and adrenalin.

“Never knew how boring I was until now.”

“I wouldn’t call coming back from the dead boring,” Bianchi said off-handedly.

Kate lurched upright, ignoring the pain shooting through her side, and faced him.   “Is that why I’m having these visions?  Are you telling me I’m brain damaged?  That this is permanent?”

Bianchi looked away, didn’t answer her.

“People with brain trauma, they don’t always recover, do they?” she asked, her fingers twisting the sheet into a knot.  What if her little fits were only the tip of the iceberg?

“Why don’t you tell me about your visions, and we’ll see what we can figure out,” he suggested in a gentle voice.

What did she have to lose?   Kate told him about her visions, everything except imagining the killer there in the ICU a few minutes before Bianchi arrived.

Bianchi listened.  Really listened, asked only a few questions to clarify.  He kept his hand on hers, comforting her as she struggled through the tough parts, his face sympathetic, not judgmental.  Still, she couldn’t help but wish it was Lightner there instead, holding her like he had that morning.

When she finished, they sat in silence for a moment.  Then he gave her a small smile.  “You’ve been through a lot, more than most people could handle.”

Kate glanced away.  “Rob’s the real hero, and Jenn, his widow.  She’s got to face life, raising their two kids, without him.”  God, she missed her partner.  She could talk to Rob about anything, and together they usually found a workable answer.  She blinked away the tears and turned back to Bianchi.  “I just want to get better, get out of here so I can help catch Rob’s killer.  I can’t do that if—”

He squeezed her hand again.  “I don’t think you’re crazy, Kate.”

“What can we do?”

“You get some rest,” Bianchi said, making Kate roll her eyes.  That was what everyone kept telling her.  “I’m going to change some of your medications, I think you’ll find it easier to sleep.  And I’m going to stop any that may lower the brain’s seizure threshold—”

“Seizures?” she interrupted him.  That would fit, the way she lost time, blacked out during her fits.  Still couldn’t be a cop with epilepsy, but at least it wasn’t something the defense attorneys could use against her when they caught Rob’s killer.  “There’s medicine you can take for those, right?”

“I’m not sure if it is seizures.  Once the drugs are out of your system, an EEG could tell me.  But there’s no way to keep that out of your medical record.”

She nodded, glad that they were both on the same wavelength.  Bianchi would have to document her visions in order to get the test done and that was the last thing she wanted or needed.

“Let’s see how things go, all right?”  He stood to leave.  “Hang in there, Kate.”

She watched him leave and sank back, exhausted.  Bianchi had given her little hope, but somehow Kate felt better after talking with him.

Start with the basics, she told herself.  Getting better, getting the hell out of here, getting her life back.

Most importantly, getting the bastard who had killed her partner.

Josh wasn’t on call, should have just gone home.  Instead he found himself in the SICU, at O’Hern’s bedside.  She was asleep, truly asleep, her face unlined with worries, her body relaxed.  He resisted the urge to wake her, to ask her—what?

So many questions, but they all depended on her having some kind of crazy psychic ability and him being crazy enough to believe her.  It was a coincidence, some kind of bizarre coincidence.  Sal would tell him what was really going on, then Josh would fix it.

That was how his world worked: find the problem and fix it.  You didn’t need any higher power or nutso gypsy fortune-telling for that.  All you needed were steady hands and the courage of your convictions.

His fingers combed through Kate’s short, tousled dark curls.  Her creamy complexion  highlighted the freckles marching across the bridge of her nose.  There were seven of them.  Her color was better now, cheeks not as pale, her long eyelashes...

Josh jerked upright, looked around, glad that no one was watching.  He’d been close enough to kiss her, felt certain that he would have.  Lord knew, he wanted to.

She’s a patient, strictly off limits, he reminded himself, banishing too-vivid images of her waking naked in his arms, the sound of her laughter ringing through his imagination.  He had to tread carefully here, stay on his guard.

He brushed his finger over the freckles on her nose and decided they were her best feature.  Josh hung his head, wished for a moment that Kate was someone else’s patient, anyone else’s but his.  He could handle responsibility over life and death, but this seemed far too much for one man to deal with.

“We need to talk.”  Sal Bianchi’s voice jolted Josh. He jerked upright, putting as much distance as possible between himself and O’Hern’s freckles.

Sal’s expression was stern, disapproving.  Embarrassment warmed the back of Josh’s neck.

“Outside.”

Josh followed the anesthesiologist away from the SICU and down the hall to the vending machine alcove where they could have some privacy.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”  Sal asked, his voice sharp.

Josh turned away, pretended to be deciding between a Reese’s cup and a Peppermint Patty.  “Nothing.  There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Then explain what I just saw in there.”  Sal shrugged a shoulder back toward the SICU.  “I warned you about getting involved with O’Hern.”

“Damnit it, Sal.  It’s not like that.”  The back of his neck was burning furiously by now.  “There’s nothing between O’Hern and me,” he lied.  “You talked to her.  What’s going on with these crazy visions of hers?”

Now it was Sal’s turn to look chagrined.  “I’m not sure.  Not yet anyway.  But I don’t think she’s crazy.”

“Don’t tell me you buy into this psychic garbage?   We need to study them, it needs to go on her chart.”

“It will end her career.”

“Don’t I know it.”

There was silence except the gurgling of the Coke machine.  Damn, he despised losing.  At anything, but most especially when a patient’s well being was involved.  He had to be honest with himself, the main reason he had avoided investigating Kate’s abnormal behavior was he was afraid of what he might discover.  Once he started looking, what other parts of Kate’s brain would he find damaged beyond repair?

“You need to transfer her care to someone else,” Sal finally said.

Josh jerked his chin up, shaking his head before Sal finished speaking.  “I can’t.  She’s my patient, my responsibility.”

Sal stared at him.  The discerning stare of a clinician and colleague softened into the concerned expression of a friend.  “Be careful.”

Josh swung his foot against one of the machines, hard enough to rattle it.  He hung his head, avoiding Sal.

“Don’t force me to report you to the Executive Committee.  You know what happened to Kennedy last month.”

Josh knew.  Kennedy was an orthopedic surgeon, suspended after a female patient made allegations of sexual harassment.  Her lawyers were currently suing both the hospital and Kennedy while the Medical Board had scheduled a hearing to see if Kennedy merited disciplinary action or suspension of his medical license.

Relentless, Sal continued, “Don’t make me be the one to end your career, Josh.”

CHAPTER 10

The next morning, Kate watched Lightner lead his team on rounds through the ICU.  They had begun in a counter-clockwise direction, which made her bed space last, giving her ample time to observe their antics.

A gaggle of geese in a v-formation, their white coats flapping behind them, they would home in on a patient, surround his bed, either shake or nod heads as Lightner pontificated, then take off, flying to another patient.  Occasionally one or two strayed from the flock, retrieving a chart or supplies, but quickly they would return to their place in the formation.

By the time they reached her space, Kate could almost imagine them spreading their white coats and soaring away.

“Officer O’Hern, top of the morning to you,” Lightner said in a bogus Irish brogue.  “You’re looking better this morning, did you get some sleep last night?”

“Like a baby.”  After the good night’s sleep, she’d even managed to almost convince herself that her visions had been the by-product of stress, fatigue, and the drugs.  Vivid dreams, but only dreams.

“Good, you needed it,” he looked as if he were going to ask something more but instead turned to his junior resident.  “Any drainage from the JP?”

“Minimal,” the resident replied as he examined the plastic tubing emerging from her chest.

“Excellent.  Let’s transfer her upstairs, and this afternoon we’ll put the chest tube to water seal.  Go ahead and take the JP drain out now.”

Kate glared at the two residents who approached her.  “Should I charge admission or what?” she asked, grabbing the sheet and holding it down.  “How about some privacy?”

The residents looked confused.  Lightner laughed.  “Now I know you must be feeling better.  You guys go ahead.  I’ll take care of this myself.”  His flock fled, and he pulled the drapes around her bed.  “Sometimes we forget that there is such a thing as privacy.”

“This isn’t a Liberty Avenue peep show.”

Kate watched his hands as they deftly cut through the stitches securing the drain.  She winced as he pulled the drain out of her body in one swift movement and deposited it in the trash can.  He stripped off his gloves and threw them in the trash as well before turning back to her.

“I wanted to talk to you more about what you said yesterday.”

She looked up, hopeful that he and Bianchi had solved the mystery of her disappearing mind.  “Oh that, I think you were right and it was only the stress of being here.  I didn’t have any dreams last night.”

“I talked to the cardiologists about Mrs. Greenbaum.”

Dread iced her veins.  “It happened just like I said it would.”

“Yeah, well.”  He was nonchalant, distant as if they weren’t talking about an impossible feat. “I was wondering.  Maybe you were remembering tracings you saw on her monitor?  Things from earlier that got jumbled in your brain.”

“Maybe,” she hedged, wondering where he was going with this.

He was silent, lips pursed as if trying to break bad news to her.  It was very clear he didn’t believe in her visions.

“Dr. Bianchi thought it was the drugs, maybe,” she said, hoping he would confirm the anesthesiologist’s opinion.  She cursed the monitor that beeped out her racing pulse, giving lie to the calm facade she was working to preserve.

Lightner didn’t answer, wouldn’t even allow her the small comfort of that dim hope, but instead patted her on the shoulder.  “I think you’re going to be fine.  I’ve got to get to the OR.”

Kate watched him leave, more frustrated than ever.  Why was he so distant today?  Had he finally decided she was crazy, brain damaged, beyond help?  Who could blame him?

But her visions, they were so real.  What if she could see the future?

A cold sweat broke out over her.  She shivered, pulled the sheet up and snugged it close.  In her visions, she’d seen Rob’s killer, her blood on his hands.  She gagged against the sudden taste of copper.  Would that come true as well?

Later that morning, they moved Kate upstairs to the regular floor. What a difference it made having walls instead of merely a flimsy curtain between her and the next person.  No nurses keeping her under constant surveillance.  She was still on an oxygen monitor and was tied to the bed by her various tubes and catheters, but she was blessedly alone.

Not for long.  Before she could do more than appreciate her view of the parking lot, two bulky male figures crowded through the doorway.

“Aren’t you ready to spring this place yet, O’Hern?” Phil Conrad asked with a forced grin.

“Nice to see you too, Sarge.” Both men wore dress blues, wide black bands encircling their arms.  “Is the funeral today, then?”

Conrad and Hernandez looked at each other.  “We just came from there,” Juan finally said.

Kate closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how Rob had joked with her.  Right before he got shot.  “How are Jenn and the kids?”

“Jenn took it pretty tough,” Conrad said.  “But she did okay.  Came to the funeral alone, though.  Said she wouldn’t put her babies through that even if it was tradition.  Said she didn’t want that to be their last memory of their dad.”

Kate felt guilty about lying here in this nice comfortable bed.  Damn it, it was her job to be there for Rob’s family right now, to help them through this awful thing.  Her partner’s family, they were her family as well.  Even Turner, the old goat.

They were all silent for a moment.  Cops never spoke of it, but they shared a feeling of invulnerability that came with wearing the uniform.  They had to or none of them could venture out to face the streets.

Juan cleared his throat.  “The rest of the guys say hi.  They would’ve come but they’re real strict about visitors around here.”

“Yeah, I know.  Almost didn’t let Carter in yesterday while I was still in intensive.  Any leads on the shooter?”

They both looked away.  Juan changed the subject.  “So how are you feeling?”

“They’ll probably let me out in a few days, once I don’t need the oxygen anymore.  I won’t be able to use my left arm much for a while, but everyone says I’m pretty lucky.”

“Yeah.  Art came down here the first night, and they told him that you were dead, then someone came out, said that you’d made it.”

“Cut it,” Conrad said to the other officer.  “She doesn’t need to hear that.”  He took the bushel of flowers from Juan.  “Everyone pitched in for these.  If you need anything else, holler.”

Kate nodded, and he placed the flowers on the windowsill.

“Well, we got to get back on the job.”  Conrad cleared his throat and tugged at his tie.  Kate knew he was dying to get out of the stiff dress blues.

“Thanks for coming Sarge, and you too, Juan.  I really appreciate it.  And the flowers-” she stopped, suddenly overcome by fear.

Conrad was facing her, coming toward her, as two gunshots tore through the air.  His body jerked as one ripped through his chest.  The second demolished his face.

Kate opened her mouth to scream but no sound came.  She felt Conrad’s hand on her shoulder.  He looked down on her with a concerned expression.

Blood dripped from his uniform but none landed on the bed.

“Are you all right, Kate?” he asked, and she knew that to him everything was normal.

To her eyes, where his face should be there was a burnt and bloody cavity.

The smell of scorched flesh filled her nostrils.  She bit her lip, trying hard not to vomit.  Sweat soaked her thin patient gown, coating her in fear.  She tried to speak but couldn’t.  Forcing herself to look up at Conrad’s face, she told herself it was all an illusion, a dream, her imagination.

One of his eyeballs slid free of its socket, slipping in the blood and tissue until it lodged in the fragments of his shattered cheekbone.

“Kate?  Should we call a nurse or something?”

“No, I’m fine,” her voice came out in a cracked whisper.

“You sure now?”

The two men stared at her and she fought to sound normal.  “Thank everyone for the flowers, will you?”

“Sure thing,” Juan said, fidgeting with his hat.  They turned to leave.

“Hey, Sarge,” she called out.  “Don’t go into work tonight, okay?”

He turned back, puzzled.  “You know I never work nights—besides Robbie’s wake is tonight.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” she said.  The heat clanked on, churning out hot air, but she couldn’t stop shivering.

Both men turned to stare at her and she found herself unable to meet Conrad’s eyes.  She fumbled for a reason, anything to keep Conrad out of dark alleys tonight.  “Maybe you could visit Jenn instead?  I can’t, and calling her doesn’t seem the same.”

Conrad smiled.  It was the smile of someone trying to placate, not really listening. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she knows you’re thinking about her.  See ya, Kate.”

“Thanks.  Well, take care.  Okay, Sarge?”  Damnit, what else could she say—you’re about to get your face blown off?

“Don’t we always.  Now you just work on getting better.  I’ll try to stop in tomorrow.”  They waved goodbye and were gone.

Short of handcuffing him to her bed, or worse, trying to explain her visions, there was nothing she could do to save him.

By morning, Kate knew Conrad would be dead.

CHAPTER 11

Blake waited outside O’Hern’s door.  He wore his security guard uniform which made him virtually invisible as long as he kept out of the way of the hectic hospital routine.  Yesterday he’d befriended one of the ICU nurses who had filled him in on O’Hern’s condition, even pointed out Lightner.  It was obvious the nurse was smitten with the surgeon, but Blake was far more interested in practical matters—the doctor’s schedule, what kind of car he drove, where he parked.

Good reconnaissance was the key to any successful operation.  He’d almost panicked when he arrived this morning to find O’Hern gone from the ICU.  Was ready to spin a tale to the volunteer at the visitor’s desk when the cops waltzed in, led him right to her.

From their conversation, the two cops must have been pretty good friends with O’Hern.  Especially the old fart, the sergeant.

The door opened and Blake immediately turned away, heading towards the elevator.  He walked slowly, gauging the distance.  Within seconds the other two men caught up to him.

“Christ, she looks so pale,” the younger one was saying.

“She’s lucky to be alive.  And she’s upset about Rob,” the sergeant replied, nodding to Blake as he pressed the elevator call button for them.

“Excuse me, were you visiting Officer O’Hern?” Blake asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, I just wanted to say how terrible it was—I mean you guys put your lives on the line everyday.  You don’t need any crazy taking pot shots at you.  Are you close to catching the guy?”

The cops exchanged glances.  “I wish,” the young one said as the elevator arrived.

“I met Officer Hansen a few times down in the ER,” Blake continued, “he was a great guy.”

“The best,” the sergeant said.

“Is there someplace we could send a contribution to?  I know he had a wife and kids.  The guys here would pitch in and I could bring it by after my shift—”

“There’s a fund started at the station house, you could bring it by there,” Conrad told him.

“My shift’s not over until seven tonight, would that be too late?”

“We’ll all be over at Riley’s, but you can leave it with the desk sergeant,” the young one said.  Blake still couldn’t make out the name on his badge, the damn black ribbon was in the way.  The elevator came to a halt on the ground floor.

“Thanks, I’ll do that.  Have a good one—and good luck catching the creep.” Blake smiled as he watched them leave through the revolving door in the main lobby.  He was whistling as he helped a volunteer with a cart full of flowers onto the elevator before turning to leave himself.

Riley’s Pub tonight.  He could hardly wait.

Kate almost called Tony Martini to ask him to do some research at the newspaper on after-death experiences and precognition.  Almost.  Couldn’t bring herself to admit her crazy theory, not even to Tony, her oldest friend.

With ever-increasing trepidation, she watched the day grow dark.  Where was Lightner, the man with all the answers?  Or his friend, the Italian Santa Claus?  All these brilliant doctors around and no one could tell her what the hell was going on.

It was no wonder Lightner and Bianchi hadn’t believed her.  This entire place was an altar to the gods of cause and effect.  Her visions—whatever they were—had no place here.

She would rather have paced as she thought, but she settled for the mindless activity of ripping the Velcro wraps sheathing her legs and thighs open and shut again.  If her brain had been fried, somehow short-circuited to receive glimpses of the future, didn’t she have a responsibility to do something about that?

Or maybe Lightner was right, maybe she was just plain old fashioned crazy and trying to rationalize it to herself.  Maybe she would start seeing lots of insane things.  Questions piled on top of more questions until Kate thought her head would split open from the pressure.

She had done her best to warn Conrad.  But she still kept seeing him die.  The vision had interrupted her lunch, or what passed as lunch around here, salty broth and tepid tea.  Not that she would have been able to force any of it down.  Not with Conrad’s bloody face staring back at her, mocking, taunting.

Every time she tried to relax or distract herself, she saw Conrad die.  Again and again until the sound of the shotgun blasts grew more real than the noises of the monitor above her, beeping out her heartbeat.

A rapping at the door made her jump upright, pulling at the wires connecting her to the dizzying array of medical equipment surrounding her.  Her heart caught in her throat as the memory of the shooter, her blood dripping from his hands, colored her vision.

Murderers don’t knock, she told herself.  The door opened and Tony Martini poked his head inside.

“You decent?” he asked.  Without waiting for an answer, he entered, closing the door behind him and presenting her with a large bouquet of apricot colored roses.  Her favorite.  “Jeezit, Kate.  You look like hell.”

Kate’s mood immediately lightened.  Typical, honest-to-a-fault, shoot-from-the-hip, Tony.  Finally someone who wasn’t treating her like a patient or a victim or an escapee from Western Psych.  “Thanks.  At least I’ve got a good excuse.  Did you get the number of the bus that hit you?”

He blinked quickly, turned and busied himself with arranging the vase of roses in a prime spot on the windowsill.  “Worrying about an old friend is all,” he mumbled.  He pivoted back to her, perched on the bed beside her knees, his dark eyes boring into hers.  “You are all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine, Tony.  Or I will be as soon as I can break out of this joint.”  She gestured to the various contraptions tying her to the bed.  “Don’t suppose you brought a getaway car?”

“No shit, Kate.  You’ve got to take it easy, listen to the docs and do what they say.  I mean it—none of your usual short cuts.”

“C’mon, I was just joking—”

“This isn’t a joke,” he broke in, his voice sharp.  “You weren’t—you couldn’t know—damn, it, for once in your life just promise me you’re gonna follow the rules, will you?”

His lips pressed together, a vertical crease gouged his forehead and she could swear tears sparkled his eyes.  He really thought she might die.  Then Kate realized what had scared him so much.  “You were here that night, weren’t you?”

He looked away and nodded slowly, color seeping back into his lips.  “Heard it on the scanner.  I got here right as the medics arrived.  Saw them pull you out of the ambulance, blood everywhere, one guy pumping on your chest—” He broke off and tilted his head toward the door.  “You’re okay here, aren’t you?  I mean, they don’t think this wacko is coming after you or anything, do they?”

Remnants of her visions of the shooter collided in her mind.  “No, of course not.  I’m fine, Tony,” she lied.

“Then why is there a security guard outside your door?”

Her face burned as she blushed.  No way she could tell him the truth, that Lightner thought she was headed down a one-way street to the looney bin.  “Routine precaution.  Besides, if this guy has any brains, he’s half way to Mexico by now.”

“Yeah, I guess.”  He looked at the door again, shifted his weight as if he wanted to join the guard.  Good old Tony, always determined to protect the weak—he would never accept that she could fight her own battles.

Including the battle she was currently losing.  The battle over her sanity.

Tony placed his hand on her plastic-swathed shin, his gaze roaming over the various medical implements, then moving to the bushel of flowers dwarfing his bouquet of roses.  “Who’s my competition?”

“Hernandez brought them.  And Phil Conrad.”  Her voice cracked at the mention of Conrad’s name.  A cascade of bloody images stampeded through her mind.

Kate sat up straighter in the bed, ignoring the pain lancing through her chest with the movement.  She’d won out over death—no way in hell she was going to let a little thing like losing her mind make her back down from doing what needed to be done.

“Tony, can you move the phone over here where I can reach it?”

He looked at her suspiciously, then slid off the bed to pull the table with the telephone closer to her right hand.  “You’re not calling a cab or something, are you?  You weren’t serious about leaving.”

“No.  I have to call Phil Conrad.  There’s something I need to tell him.”

Before she could reach for the phone, the door opened again and Lightner entered.  He wore street clothes, neatly pressed navy slacks and an off-white Oxford shirt with the top button undone.  Despite his crisp appearance, his face looked drawn, his expression sorrowful as if he’d just lost a patient.  He stopped inside the door when he saw Tony.

“What are you doing here?”

“Relax, doc.  I’m an invited guest this time.”  Tony lay a possessive hand on her good shoulder.  Kate shrugged it off immediately.

“A guest who’s leaving,” she said.

“Right,” Lightner chimed in.  “She needs her rest.”

Tony opened his mouth as if to protest but shut it again when Kate shot him a glare.  She wanted to talk to Lightner in private.  Tony took the hint, leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, then strolled out with a jaunty farewell wave.

Lightner’s lips pursed.  He watched Tony leave, following him with his gaze as if he thought the reporter might sneak back in, then pushed the door shut behind him.  “We have to talk,” he said, standing at the foot of her bed, towering over her.

His tone of command made Kate bristle.  Tony was right, she never was any good at obeying rules.  Lightner’s patronizing attitude was more than enough to bring out the rebel in her.

“Have a seat, doc.”

He hesitated, then took two steps to sit in the chair beside her bed.  The low-slung vinyl chair placed him below her, forcing him to look up to meet her eyes.

“Delusions can take many forms,” he started.

“Is that what you believe?  That I want these visions?  That I’m making them up or something?”  Her voice grew shrill, echoed through the small room.  “Believe me, Lightner, right now I’d give anything for you to make them go away, find some reasonable explanation.”

“You might get your wish.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I can’t keep this out of your record any longer, not if I’m going to fully investigate what’s going on with your brain.”

Her stomach clenched.  “Don’t bother worrying about me, doctor.  I was just about to call Sergeant Conrad, tell him all about my visions, when you came in.”

“Really?  Why?  You know they won’t let you be back on the streets.”

“I know damn well what I’m doing.  It will cost me my career, but I have to tell Conrad.  I have to try and save him.”

“From what?  Is this about another one of your spells?”  He sounded skeptical, aloof as if it was preposterous that a man of science was even having this conversation with her.

“Philip Conrad is going to be outside in a parking lot at night, tonight I think because he was still wearing his dress blues, and he’s going to be ambushed by a man with a shotgun.  He’ll be shot point blank in the face and the chest.”  The words emerged from her in a dry, brittle tone that left her mouth tasting of ashes.  She swallowed hard.  “Don’t bother alerting your trauma team—he’ll be dead before he hits the ground.  Unless I can warn him, stop it.”

He pushed up from his chair, taking a step back as if she was contaminated or contagious.  “You really believe that?  You think you can alter the future, change the world?”

“I don’t want to change the world.  I just want to save a good man from dying needlessly.  If the only way I can do that is to sacrifice my career, I’m willing to do that.”

His hand slid from the rail down to her wrist, his fingers closing on her pulse point.  She felt her heart beat beneath his fingers, strong and steady and true.

“You really do believe in these things,” he said with wonder in his voice.

“I don’t have a choice.”  The words came out sounding braver than she felt.  A knot of fear twisted her gut.  She tried to block out the other visions that had crowded her mind—the ones of the shooter killing her again.

His hand tightened on hers for a brief moment, then he pulled away.  “I do.  I’m calling in psych and neurology first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You do what you have to and so will I.”  Kate slumped back against the pillows.  Lightner stood there, staring down at her, then pivoted on his heel and left her in darkness.

CHAPTER 12

Josh stopped outside Kate’s door, glancing up and down the empty hallway, tempted to retrace his steps.  He hated leaving her alone like that, hated arguing with her, hated that she was ready to throw away her career because of these crazy delusions.

The memory of her face, so earnest and defiant as she spoke of her need to warn Conrad, filled his mind, and his resolve almost broke.  She didn’t care what it cost her; she was determined to save the world, one person at a time.

It’d been hard enough to treat her like just another patient this morning.  How long could he keep up this charade?  He was certain everyone on his team saw right through him.

He fled to the parking deck where his Subaru WRX waited.  The all wheel drive sports car had enough speed and power to be exciting, but could handle the Pittsburgh weather as well.  He drove through the narrow streets leading from Three Rivers to his house in Point Breeze, Led Zeppelin blasting from the car stereo.  His thoughts kept flashing back to Kate.

No, not Kate, he told himself, cranking the stereo higher. O’Hern.  Officer O’Hern.

Better yet: Patient O’Hern, definitely off limits to her attending physician, Patient O’Hern.

His house wasn’t far; the advantages of living close to the hospital had been drilled into him early in his career.  He changed clothes, then took Hershey, his chocolate lab, out for a run through Frick Park.  Hershey was good company, he never talked back and always seemed intent on what Josh was telling him.

Tonight’s topic of conversation was O’Hern and her bizarre visions.  Were they real or was she crazy, or both?  Josh rather hoped that neither was true, couldn’t see how he could accept either possibility.

Could she really see into the future?  Glimpses of it?  It was like admitting that psychic surgery and Ouija boards really worked.

He asked Hershey the question, but the dog just looked at him and wagged his tail.  They turned to go home.  The November sun had vanished, replaced by a clear night with stars and a half moon.  Josh pushed his speed on the way back, the exertion banishing any thoughts of work or O’Hern from his mind.  Except for a tantalizing memory from the dream he had last night.  A memory of Kate’s bare breasts and arched neck as his hands caressed her body.

But then the dream had slipped into a hellish nightmare.  Kate’s body, naked beneath his hands, covered in blood.  Her eyes stared unseeing into his, dull and lifeless.  Blood puddled about his feet as his fingers fumbled, unable to stop the bleeding in her chest.

He had woken clammy with sweat, his pulse pounding in his head.  What if he lost her?  The words echoed through his brain, leaving terror in their wake.

She was never his to start with.  Could never be his—not as long as he was her physician.

Josh began to sprint, his breath coming in small gasps until that thought was exiled as well.

Sergeant Philip Conrad pulled into Riley’s parking lot and took the spot in front of the loading dock.  It was clearly marked “No Parking” and “Fire Lane” which was precisely why it was the only empty spot left.

He shoved the Crown Vic into Park and sat there, enjoying the hum of its V-8.  Seemed like none of the younger guys drove cars like this, not anymore.  Today it was all SUV’s and pickup trucks and fancy foreign cars with gadgets and gizmos.  Used to be the House’s lot was all Chevys and Fords, maybe a Buick thrown in for variety.  If a guy zoomed in driving a Camaro or Corvette they’d be razzed for “going plastic” or thinking they were moviestar cops instead of “regular Joes.”

Of course, that was a long time ago.  Back when he was still on the beat, shoe leather days when he and Brian O’Hern patrolled, busting heads and breaking balls when need be.  It wasn’t often, not on their beat.  Time was they knew everything and everyone in that neighborhood.  No siree, you didn’t get up to trouble, not when Conrad and O’Hern were on the job.

His breath blew out, rattling around the old car like an old geezer shuffling down the hall of a nursing home.  Which is what he felt like these days.  Cops getting killed—it was always part of the job, nothing you could do about that.

Not like this though, gunned down like animals.

He swallowed, his throat dry and reached across to the flask in the glove compartment.  The Jim Beam burned, an old familiar friend.  He tugged at the collar of his dress uniform.  Hated the thing, thought for sure after Sherry Thomas’ funeral in September that he’d never have to wear it again until his own retirement ceremony.  Twenty-three days, that was all.  Then he was gone, leaving it all to the younger guys, the ones driving the jazzed up cars and be-bopping to iPods.

He only wished this thing with Kate O’Hern hadn’t happened on his watch.  Brian had been a friend, a good friend—they’d saved each others butts more times than he could count, back in the day.  What the hell was he supposed to do about Brian’s kid going off the deep end?

Calling him, begging him not to go out tonight, to skip her own partner’s wake for Chrissake.  And why?  Because of some ditzy dream she kept having about him getting shot.  A vision she said, said it had happened before and some old lady died.  Like she was serious.

That called for another drink.  First thing tomorrow he’d need to have a talk with O’Hern’s doctors, see what the hell was going on with her.  Couldn’t risk letting this crazy talk of hers get public—they’d crucify her for sure.

Not just the reporters always looking to smear a cop’s rep.  Other cops, too.  There was already talk that O’Hern may have froze, hesitated.  Rumors she and Hansen had been involved, that she let him get killed.  And of course, the perennial, women weren’t meant to be cops, didn’t have what it took bullshit.

Bullshit.  He’d seen the tape.  While it was useless to ID the shooter, it did give an accurate account of the shooting.  The muzzle flash from O’Hern’s two shots came less than a second after the actor shot Rob.  Much less.  And the trajectory looked dead on for a classic double-tap to the chest.  She should have killed him, yet the guy hadn’t even flinched.  Instead he had scooped up Hansen’s uniform hat, then jogged over to the cruiser where O’Hern lay and stolen hers as well.

Like it was some kind of goddamn game or something.  Cold-hearted son of a bitch.

Conrad grabbed his cap from the seat beside him, adjusted it in the rearview mirror.  The yellow and black checked trim made the hats distinctive but he’d always thought they looked stupid.  Like they were amateurs, Keystone cops or something.

He returned his flask to the glove box then paused before shutting the car engine off.  Something about uniforms.  Caps.  Sherry Thomas had lost hers as well.

Her death didn’t have anything to do with Hansen’s.  She’d been killed during a traffic stop.  Son of a bitch backed over her with his car, then shot her with her own gun.  She’d been in one of the old cruisers, no video camera or mobile data terminal, so they had nothing to go on, the case was still unsolved.

Too many dead cops.  And now he had one crazy cop to deal with in the morning.  Brian O’Hern’s daughter.

He switched the car off and opened the door.  A blast of cold air singed his nostrils.  He was glad for the fortification he’d gotten from the Jim Beam.  Hansen had been well liked.  It was going to be a hell of a night.

He stood for a second, bracing himself on the car door, the warmth of the car rushing past him.  A man staggered forward.  Ah jeez, who the fuck had already drunk so much that they couldn’t walk straight?

Conrad was going to have to make sure someone took the guy’s keys and saw him safely home.  Last thing they needed was the prospect of another cop’s funeral.

He stepped forward, one hand behind him, ready to slam the Crown Vic’s door shut, when the man stopped.  He was wearing a uniform but it wasn’t a PBP one, Conrad saw.

The guy looked kind of familiar.  Then he saw the short-barreled shotgun swinging up, aiming at his chest.

CHAPTER 13

Kate’s heart revved into overdrive, and she woke with her throat clenched tight.  She opened her eyes to a room drenched in blackness except for the green glow from the monitor beside her bed.  Someone moved in the shadows beyond.

The heart rate monitor betrayed her, bleeping out her quickened pulse.  The person froze.  It was the shooter.

Kate knew it, was certain of it.  She reached a finger out to the call button, to summon help, then stopped.

Warm, sticky blood, its copper stench saturating the air, splurted from the young nurse’s neck.  The woman’s fingers fluttered, trying to stop the spurting blood as her mouth opened in a soundless scream.  Then the bleeding slowed to a trickle, and her body slumped to the floor.

Kate’s breath caught as she emerged from the vision.  Her blackout had given the intruder time enough to move across the room.  He stood beside her, looming over her, silhouetted by ghostly green light.  She felt a drop of warm liquid on her forehead.  Was it her blood?  Had he cut her while she had been trapped in her vision?

She lay frozen.  Helpless.  No weapon, tethered to the bed by wires and IV lines and the plastic wraps the nurses had swathed her legs in.  The perfect victim.

Kate couldn’t call for help, place unarmed civilians like the nurse in her vision in jeopardy.

His fingers traced the outline of a cross in the liquid he had dripped on her forehead.  Kate closed her eyes, willing this to all go away, to be part of the insanity that had wormed its way into her brain.

His breath quickened, was loud enough that she could hear it over the monitor.  She felt the rustle of the air between them as he leaned over her.  He pressed his mouth against her forehead, cementing their unholy alliance.

Water dripped on her lips next, followed by his finger drawing a cross.

Kate opened her eyes.  This was no fit, this was really happening.  She tightened her right hand, ready to claw at his face if he came near once more.

“Take your hands off me.”  Her voice was low but forceful, a tone that usually garnered her instant obedience on the streets when she had her Glock to back it up.

The shooter paused, inches away from her face, his exhalation brushing her skin, making her shudder.  His breath was sweet, wintergreen.  He said nothing, merely lowered a hand to her left shoulder.  His fingers closed over her fractured collarbone.  Kate gasped in pain as the two ends of the broken bone ground together.

His lips found hers, crushed against them.  He pulled back out of her reach, her fist flailing through empty space.

Then he was gone, leaving only a single whispered syllable in his wake.  The word echoed through Kate’s mind, bouncing off her skull until it reverberated with every beat of her heart.

Soon.

CHAPTER 14

Blake sat alone in his darkened apartment, too wired to sleep.  The TV was on, but the sound was off and it threw silent, ghostly flickers over the walls.  Shadow puppets, dancing, as if they too shared in his triumph.

Goddamn, this was better than meth or coke. The night’s activity played over and over in his mind.  He closed his eyes and tried to focus on each detail, engraving it into his memory for later.

He’d worn his uniform; it helped to let him blend in.  At first he’d gone into the pub, scanning the crowd, watching for any eyes that recognized him.  No one did, not with his disguise, the security guard accoutrements and air of authority.  He’d walked right through them all, had even used the john.  The sergeant wasn’t there yet.

Then he went back out to the parking lot, got his gun from the car and crouched in the cold, waiting for his prey.  This was their weakness; they had no patience, no endurance for the hunt.  No way in hell some flatfoot, flabby-gut cop would ever be able to stalk him, not the way he was stalking them.

Anticipation and the recurring fantasy of how he would kill the sergeant kept him warm as he sat between two cars.  He even had a cover story if either of the car owners came out—the bathroom was filled and he came out here to take a leak.  Either that or he’d just blow the guy away.

Finally a dark sedan pulled into the crowded parking lot and parked illegally in front of the loading zone.  Blake gathered himself together as he saw the sergeant get out, the dome light illuminating his features.  He was the perfect target with the light on behind him and he was alone.

Without thinking twice, Blake rushed forward, raised his arm and fired at almost point blank range into the police officer’s chest.  The man fell back so fast his uniform hat flew off. Blake paused and took aim, firing a second round into the sergeant’s face.  With a quick pause to scoop up the dead man’s hat, he took off, running past the dumpsters to where his car was parked down the block.

So slick it had been—like something out of the movies.  He’d hit the cop and been gone before any of the others could make it out the door.

It been even more thrilling to sneak into O’Hern’s room at the hospital.

She was waiting for him, as if she realized she was his accomplice, his partner in crime.

Other than the one word, he hadn’t spoken to her.  It was too early, he felt, and they didn’t really need words.  He had made his point, had seen the gleam of terror in her eyes.

She now knew she belonged to him.  He would take her, when he was ready.  No.  When she was ready.

When he’d started this, he’d known it was suicide.  But he’d been thinking about suicide off and on for a long time.  He wanted to die; he needed to die.  Needed to stomp out the firestorm gaining strength in his head.  Thoughts and images and urges that made it impossible to pretend to be normal.

Oh, he had tried, tried for years.  To be the good boy, the perfect soldier, the worker bee.  Each day, he’d don his uniform as if it were a Halloween costume, designed to mask the monster.  Each morning, he’d force his face to mirror the plasticine Barbie and Ken smiles that everyone else found so natural.  Each second, he’d use all his energy to go through the motions, to control his quick-fire urges to slash and burn everyone and everything he saw.

It was all getting so damned hard.  He couldn’t do it, not for much longer.  Then, after what happened with the cop two months ago, he realized he didn’t have to.  Didn’t have to keep worrying about going back to prison, about getting caught thinking and doing things he shouldn’t.

It didn’t matter.  Because the wonderful, freeing, absolute joy about killing yourself was that you were in control.  You decided when and where and how.

After the bitch cop in September, Blake finally understood what he wanted.  He wanted to let the monster loose, set it free on the ones who had always acted so smug and superior, the ones with the power.

Yeah, he was going to die, no doubt about that.

But he wasn’t going to die alone.

CHAPTER 15

Josh and Hershey returned to the duplex and climbed the steep porch steps to his half of the house.  Hershey pawed at the door as Josh fumbled the keys in his chilled fingers before finally getting it open.  The dog ran in, throwing himself onto the comfortable chair beside the TV.

Josh shed his outer layer of clothes and clicked on the TV as he stretched out on the floor.  Tried to pretend that his life was the normal, boring routine he lived before last Friday night when Kate O’Hern had crashed into his peaceful existence.  He was in the middle of a set of crunches when the nightly news began.

The announcer described a shooting behind a local bar.  What made it newsworthy was that this particular bar had been inhabited by over thirty police officers at the time of the killing.  The victim had been a police sergeant named Philip Conrad.

Josh jumped to his feet, turned up the sound and watched as the camera panned over the grisly scene, following the body bag being loaded into an ambulance.  The gunman escaped.  More details later.  He clicked through the channels, hoping he’d heard the name wrong.

It couldn’t be.  There had to be a reasonable explanation.

The phone rang.

“Dr. Lightner?”  It was Adams, the resident on call at Three Rivers.  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s O’Hern, sir.  She seems to have gone psychotic.  I was going to restrain and medicate her, but she kept insisting that we call you, and well, she is a police officer, sir, so I—”

“What exactly seems to be the problem?”  Had Adams witnessed one of her spells?

“Well sir, she’s delirious.  She claims that the man who shot her was in her room here at the hospital tonight.  And she keeps yelling at someone named Conrad to look out—it’s all quite bizarre.  I’ve ordered restraints and some Haldol, but the charge nurse insisted that I speak to you first.”

“You ordered what!”  Josh’s mind filled with an image of Kate strapped to her bed, her mind clouded by drugs.

“Sir, if you confirm my orders for the charge nurse, I’ll take care of everything—”

“You’ll take care of nothing,” Josh snapped, louder than he intended.  “I’m on my way in.  Don’t give her anything until I get there.”

“Yessir.”

Josh hung up, grabbed his coat and car keys and was out the door seconds later.  At the hospital he found the nurses’ station empty.

He stalked down the hall to Kate’s room, determined to give Adams a piece of his mind.  Even if Kate had another of her hallucinations, there was no reason to restrain her.

The door to her room stood half open.  The room was dark except for a swath of light spilling out from the bathroom.  Josh stood in the doorway, his pulse pounding with anger and anxiety, then felt his heart lunge against his chest wall.

Kate’s bed was empty.

He rushed inside the room.  The door slammed shut behind him.  He spun around.

She stood in the shadows, clutching the extension rod from her IV pole, ready to swing it like a club.  Her eyes were wide, jaw clenched, sweaty hair plastered around her face.

“Kate?”  His heartbeat smoothed back into a normal rhythm when he saw she was unharmed.  “What happened?”

The metal rod slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with a clatter.  Her body teetered, ready to follow her makeshift weapon.  Josh ran forward and caught her in his arms.

“What the heck is going on?” he asked as he held her upright with one arm and pulled the lower part of her IV pole with the other.  She had hooked her urine bag and the chest tube drain to the handle of the pole.  Her body shook in his arms, sweat poured from her.

“I thought he might come back,” she said in a breathless voice as he half-carried her to the bed.  She sank back against the pillows with a grunt of pain.

He flicked the lights on.  She was ashen, panting with exertion.  “Who? Adams? What did he say—”

“No.  Not Adams.  The shooter.  He was here.”

“Here?  You mean in another of your-er-visions?”

Her glare nailed him like a laser.  “No.  I mean here.  In this room.”

Josh stared at her in disbelief.  The killer couldn’t have been here—he was half way across town busy killing another cop.

He should have done something about her delusions sooner, should have never let it get this far.  Should have never let himself get personally involved.

There were reasons for the rules.  He turned away, busying himself with re-connecting the medical paraphernalia she had stripped away.

“Did you really think you could face down a killer with a metal rod as your only weapon?”  he asked, wanting her to see how deranged her thinking was. He plugged the monitor leads dangling from beneath her gown back into the machine and reached past her to turn it on.

A pitcher of water sat on the shelf beside the monitor.  A large, white funeral lily dangled over its side.

The sound of her sharp inhalation drew his attention back to Kate.  Her face had grown even paler.  She reached out her good hand and gripped his arm with a white-knuckled grasp. “Don’t touch it,” she said.  “He must have left it.”

Josh looked from the solitary blossom to her.  Her eyes pleaded for him to believe, the rest of her face was set in a rigid mask of nonchalance.  The racing of her heartbeat on the monitor proved her indifference was a lie.

She was trying so hard to be strong, to be brave.  Yet it was so painfully clear that whatever had happened tonight—whether a confrontation with a killer or a psychotic breakdown—terrified her.  He covered her hand with his.

“Did he hurt you?”  The shrinks would tell him not to encourage her if she was delusional, but damn it, she was so scared.

Her eyes closed for a brief moment as she relaxed back against the pillows.  When she returned her gaze to meet his, he saw gratitude there.  Josh felt his own heart speed up in response.

“Should we call the police?” he asked.

“I already did.  They’ll be here any moment.”

“What happened?”

“I was asleep, but I woke, knowing there was someone in the room, even though it was dark.”

He nodded, giving her hand a squeeze of encouragement.  Hating himself for breaking the rules, despite knowing better.  She would be devastated when the shrinks started to challenge her delusions, and he was making things worse by letting her think he bought into her psychic visions.

“I could feel him standing over me, watching me.  I froze.  Then,” her voice broke a little, “I felt water.”

“Water?” he asked, surprised.  Acid burned the back of his throat and he wondered if maybe he was wrong about what had happened here tonight.

“Yes.  His finger was wet, and he traced the sign of the cross on my forehead, my lips.”

“That sign of the cross stuff—does that mean what I think it does?” he asked, his apprehension growing.  His jaw clenched as he stared at the funeral flower.

This wasn’t a delusion or a bad dream or anything else he could fix.

“The last rites.”

CHAPTER 16

Before she could explain anymore, there was a knock on the door and two uniformed police officers entered.  Kate introduced Lightner to Tabitha Rowen and her partner, Marc Scher.  Scher went to perform a quick search of the area, leaving Rowen to get the full details from Kate.

Tabitha led Kate through the events of the night.  Kate appreciated her fellow officer’s lack of recrimination—right now she had enough for both of them.

“I should have tried harder to claw him, scratch him,” she told Tabitha.  “We would have had DNA, run it through CODIS.”

Tabitha flipped her notebook shut and buttoned it into her pocket.  “He might not be in the system anyway.”

“You were lucky he didn’t hurt you or anyone else,” Lightner put in, speaking for the first time since the interview began.

Kate had forgotten that he still held her hand.  Both she and Tabitha stared at him.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Kate said, surprised by how bitter her voice sounded.  “If the shooter wanted to do more, I couldn’t have stopped him.”

Lightner squeezed her hand so tight her fingers grew numb.  His eyes were wide, pupils dilated with fear as her words sank in.

“It’s not going to happen again,” he said as if he were the one used to carrying a gun and defending civilians.

Kate exchanged glances with Tabitha, mortified by the half-smile that crossed the other officer’s face.

Damn.  She tugged her hand free of Lightner’s, tried to sit up straighter, act professional.  As professional as she could be lying helpless in a bed.  At least Tabitha wasn’t treating her like a victim.

“How long after Conrad did he come here?” she asked Tabitha.

Lightner stiffened at the question.  Kate could tell that he didn’t like the connection she was making.  Tough.  As long as she still had her badge, she was a cop and no skel was going to come off the streets, threaten her and get away with it.

“Less than a hour.”  Tabitha frowned, her gaze moving from the bright bushel of flowers Conrad had brought to the single funeral lily.  “This is one cold customer.”

“Any leads?”  There would have been dozens of cops at Rob’s wake, surely someone saw something.  But Tabitha was silent, merely shook her head.

“Maybe he’ll come back here again,” Kate offered.  “You guys could set up—”

That brought Lightner to his feet.  “No way.  I’ll not have a patient of mine used as bait, not to mention the danger to the staff and other patients.  You got lucky once with this maniac, Kate—don’t go looking for trouble.”

Twice, Kate thought.  She’d gotten lucky twice with the shooter.  Maybe that was the point?

She felt close to something, but the door opened before she could pursue the thought.  Carter, his eyes narrowed in a combination of concern and frustration, entered.

“I checked all the security tapes.  Nothing,” he said by way of greeting.  “You mind going over it one more time for me, Kate?”

Tabitha relinquished her spot beside the bed to Carter.  “I’ll go check on Scher, see if anything popped during his canvass.”

Carter nodded his approval and turned his stare on Lightner.  Kate watched as the two men squared off in a silent duel of wills.

Lightner gave her hand one last squeeze.  “I’ll go see about a new room for you, Kate.”

Carter waited for the door to close behind Lightner.  “Looks like you got yourself a fan.  You know, he sat at your bedside all that first night.”

“I heard you did too,” she reminded him, hoping he would drop the issue.  Lightner’s feelings for her, whatever they might be, were the least of her worries right now.

Carter pulled out his glasses and opened his notebook.  “Start at the beginning,” he ordered.  “Give me everything.”

Kate did as he asked, holding back nothing except her visions—they couldn’t be used as evidence and didn’t add anything useful anyway.  When she finished, Carter blew his breath out in a disgruntled sigh.

“Not very helpful, is it?” she said.  “Don’t you guys have anything to work with?”

“Nothing except the ballistics from the first shooting.  He used a shotgun on Conrad, but we’re assuming it’s the same guy who visited you as well.”

She wished she had seen her midnight visitor’s face.  “Think it could be a pair, working in tandem?”

“I wish I knew.   So far the ammo has led us nowhere.”  He pushed his glasses to the top of his head and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.  “Conrad visited you earlier.  Your secret admirer obviously had no problem getting in here either.”

Kate grunted at that.  “Anyone could get in this place, Carter.  Pick up a visitor’s pass from the trash can, grab some scrubs or a white coat, a basket of flowers—“

“I know, I know.  But we’ve got to start somewhere.  I’m going to run the hospital employees, see if anything jumps out.  Previous records, reasons to be angry with cops, who knows?”

“Waste of time.  This all started with that Minimart.”  She stopped.  Remembered the way the shooter had looked through the convenience store windows at her.  Like she was the answer to his prayers or something.  “Maybe the shooter has a grudge against me or Rob?” she suggested.  “Maybe that’s why he waited around at the store instead of grabbin’ and baggin’.”

Carter considered that.  Kate could almost feel the pieces of the puzzle click.  But they didn’t, instead she was left grasping at the same straws she had started with.

“I’ll look into it,” Carter said, getting to his feet and dropping his glasses back onto his nose.  He looked over the tops of them at her.  “You behave yourself, all right?”

Kate gestured to the various medical appliances that tethered her to the bed.  “As if I could go anywhere.  I couldn’t even,” her voice caught for a heartbeat, “hit the guy when I tried.”

“No one’s blaming you that he got away.  There’ll be a guard outside your door, so don’t worry, he’s not coming back.  I want you to concentrate on getting better, we need you back on the job, Kate.”

He gave her a quick pat on her good shoulder and left.  She was touched by his concern, but wished she could be as optimistic as he was about her returning to the job.  Obviously Conrad hadn’t had a chance to tell Carter about her visions.  She only wished Conrad had listened to her.

Tears of frustration and anger burned her eyes as she remembered the way he had scoffed at her warning, asked her what kind of drugs the doctors had her on.  Acted like she was nuts.

Of course, why should he trust her when she didn’t know if she could trust herself?

She was spiraling out of control, her life falling apart.  It seemed as if the more she tried to regain control, the more things crumbled around her.

Not just things.  A kaleidoscope of images: Rob’s bloody face, Mrs. Greenbaum’s, Conrad’s flashed through her mind.  Not just things.  People.  How many more people would die because she was helpless to save them?

CHAPTER 17

It was after five in the morning by the time they had her settled in her new room.  Kate lay back and watched the sunrise paint the sky orange and red.  An achy tired feeling weighed down on her.  Her nerves thrummed with anxiety but she was so exhausted that she could neither calm herself enough to sleep nor rouse herself enough to think about what had happened.

Lightner entered.  She startled from her limbo, her hand reaching for her weapon.  Finding empty space.

She forced herself to breathe in and out, quiet the adrenalin propelling her pulse.

“Just once, a knock would be nice.”  Her voice was taut, resonating with the fear etching the back of her throat.

“Sorry.” His eyes had dark circles under them, and he needed a shave.  He still wore his sweat pants and sweat-stained Ron Jon Surfshop T-shirt.  Raucous tropical flowers surrounding bikini-clad surfer chicks.

“I seem to be making a career of depriving you of your sleep,” she said, trying to sound normal.

“Don’t worry, I charge by the hour,” he told her with a grin.  He settled into the chair beside her bed.  Just sat there, staring at her until she felt her cheeks color.

“Do you surf?” she asked, nodding at his shirt.

“Nope, just like to splash around and walk on the beach.  My folks retired to Vero Beach.”  He paused, looked back over his shoulder to the closed door behind him.  “Do you think you’ll be all right here?”

“As well here as anywhere.”  She sounded bitter and she knew it, but didn’t care.  She wished she was out on the streets, looking for this actor, doing something, anything besides lying in bed like a worthless lump. Wished for her weapon, wished for her partner at her back.  All of which she had little chance of getting.

“I want you to rest this morning,” he instructed her.  It was funny how his voice changed whenever he began to treat her like a patient—it became colder, more clinical.

“All I have planned for you today,” he continued, “is a chest X-ray, and if that’s okay, we’ll take the chest tube out.  You’ll be able to use your arm as long as you don’t raise it over your head, but we’ll keep it in an immobilizer to help your clavicle heal faster.”

“What about the bladder catheter?” she asked, yearning for the freedom to pee on her own.

“That too—but you’ll probably need to call the nurse for help for a while.  Until you’re steady on your feet again.”

Help to go to the bathroom?  Like hell.  But she smiled and nodded like a good patient.  Anything to get out of this place as soon as possible.  Then maybe she could get her life back on track.

He looked past her for a moment before returning his gaze back to her, his eyes a dark indigo, a frown creasing his forehead, raising a knot between his eyebrows.  “About last night,” he began.  “I’m sorry about Adams not believing you.”  He paused.  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you right away, either.”

Her teeth ground together as she remembered her feelings of helpless frustration when Adams threatened to sedate her, tie her down.  What hurt even worse, though, had been the realization that despite the time he spent with her, listening to her, Lightner also didn’t believe.

Not so much in her visions—if her brain wasn’t the one being turned inside out by the gut-wrenching images, she might not believe either.  But that he hadn’t trusted in her, her abilities as a cop, as a reliable witness.  Instead, he’d assumed she was delusional.  Just like everyone else.

No wonder she hadn’t been able to convince Conrad.  Not even to save his life.  She blinked hard.  What the hell good was she, what the hell good were these visions if she couldn’t use them to change things?

“I’m not crazy,” she said, the words cutting through the air between them.  She stared at him for a long moment, weighing her decision.  Despite his skepticism about her visions, he seemed to honestly want to help her.  At this point, she’d take any help she could get.

“What I saw yesterday, it was exactly the way it happened to Conrad.”  There, she’d said it.  Kate felt better, taking ownership of her visions.  It might be short-circuited, fried and frizzled, but damn it, it was still her brain.

She tilted her head up, daring him to dispute or mock her.  “I tried to warn him, but nothing I said made any sense.”

Lightner surprised her.  Instead of talking about her needing more rest or stronger meds or her own personal Sigmund Freud, his hand moved to cover hers in a gesture so natural that Kate didn’t even realize it was there at first.  He pursed his lips as if making a decision.

“All right,” he finally said.  He gave her hand a squeeze and looked her in the eye.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll figure something out.”

He sounded so determined, so confident that Kate almost believed he could find a way to help her get her life back.

Josh leaned forward, dabbed at the small plume of blood that appeared on his chin.  Wouldn’t inspire much confidence if patients knew their surgeon cut himself shaving.  One more thing he could blame on Kate.  He’d been preoccupied, thinking about her crazy visions, a killer stalking her in his own hospital, the way her cheeks had colored when he vetoed her plan to play Judas goat, the thick curls that framed her face so nicely, the way her hand felt in his...

A finger tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped, nearly losing the towel that hung around his waist.  Sal Bianchi laughed, turned and opened his locker, began to change.

“What are you doing here so early?” Sal asked.  “Thought you were off last night.”

Josh finished swiping at his stubble, rinsed his face and grabbed a pair of scrubs.  He stopped, noticing Sal’s X-files poster.  The truth is out there, it promised.

Where? he wondered.  Where did he go to find answers to Kate and her unique set of problems?

“You really believe that crap?”  Josh asked.

Sal did a double-take, closing the door to his locker and scrutinizing the poster.  “Flying saucers and alien abductions?  No.  That the truth is often more bizarre than we would like to believe and that, as smart as we are, science doesn’t have all the answers?  Yes.”  His eyes narrowed.  “This is about your cop, O’Hern, isn’t it?”

Josh nodded, sat on the wooden bench between the rows of lockers and pulled on a clean pair of socks.  He told Sal about what happened during the night.

When he had finished, Sal gave a low whistle.  “Your cop has a lot bigger problems than just being shot.”

“I don’t know what to do to help her.”  Josh slammed his locker door shut.

Sal gave him a long, hard stare.  “I warned you about getting emotionally involved with O’Hern.”

“I get personally involved with all my patients,” Josh protested feebly, pushing aside the fantasies of Kate that had tantalized him ever since he met her.  “Besides, O’Hern has some crazy idea of letting the police use her to catch this killer.”

“You’re her surgeon.  Not her priest, not her bodyguard, not her father.  Your job starts and ends with healing her body.  Period.”

Josh felt his jaw muscles begin to spasm.  “Damn it, I’m not going to let her be used as bait, not while she’s in my care!”

“She’s a big girl, Josh, a tough lady.  She has the right to make her own decisions.”

“Not now, with everything that’s going on.  She isn’t thinking straight—how could anyone?”

“Are you going to do her any good by adding a personal involvement to her list of things to deal with?”

Josh looked down, didn’t meet Sal’s gaze.  Sal had a point.  Maybe the best way he could help Kate was to stay away.  The police had promised protection for her, were searching for the killer.  What more could Josh do?

“Maybe you could talk to one of her friends on the force, let them know that she’s in no shape to help them.”  Sal stood up, donned his OR cap.  “But I think the bigger question isn’t what to do about O’Hern’s visions, but why you refuse to believe her.”

Josh stared at the older man.  “You’re as crazy as she is.  You can’t really believe that she died, met with God and came back with some psycho-psychic gift?”

“I doubt she thinks it’s a gift.  And stranger things have happened—”

“Not to me.  Not to my patients.  She was shot.  She died.  I stuck my hand in her chest, clamped a vessel and she lived.  End of story.”

“Now who thinks he’s God?”

Josh blew his breath out, straightened to his full height.  Sal looked up at him, met his gaze easily, challenging Josh.

“Don’t give me that crap, Sal.  I can put her body back together, but I can’t do a damn thing for her if her brain took a permanent hit.  Face it, maybe she was down too long.”

Sal shook his head as if Josh had disappointed him.  “There are other explanations.”

“Not in my world there aren’t.”

“So what’s your explanation for what she’s seeing?”

“Delusions, coincidence, and a cop’s ability to pick up on details and piece together a story.”  As Josh spoke, he warmed to his topic, relieved to have an alternative reason for Kate’s hallucinations.

“You said yourself that drugs could play a part.  The killer was here at the hospital last night, who’s to say he wasn’t hanging around earlier?  Maybe he followed Conrad from here—maybe she heard his voice in the hallway and her scrambled brain put two and two together.  Whatever’s going on it’s nothing to do with the seeing the future.”

He blew out his breath.  “But, unless I find something reversible like a medication reaction, it will end her future as a cop.”

CHAPTER 18

Kate spent most of the day trying to sleep, a vain attempt to escape her memories of Conrad’s bloody face and her midnight visitor.  Every time she began to fall into that precious realm of deep slumber, someone else would come along to disturb her.  First it was the X-ray.  Then the nurse taking her vitals.  Then a resident, not Adams thank God, stripped the tape and half her skin from the area beside her left breast and took the chest tube out.  She had to admit a tinge of disappointment that Lightner hadn’t come himself.

Lunch came—if yellow jello and soggy toast and a bland piece of chicken could properly be called a lunch.  She yearned for a cheese steak dripping with onions or a mound of greasy fries from The Original.

The nurse returned, took her bladder catheter out and changed her IV so she wasn’t tied to the pole.  Free at last.

Finally, she fell asleep.  When she woke it was dark outside, and there was someone sitting in the chair opposite her.   Carter, his face buried in a Sporting Times.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Glad to see you back with us.”  Carter looked up.  “It’s six fifteen.”

“What are you doing here?  You should be off duty.”

“This is my duty.  You’d better behave yourself, or I won’t let you have the get well present the boys sent over.”  He looked at her over the gold rims of his glasses, then reached down under the chair and brought up a brown paper bag.  As he opened it a tantalizing aroma filled the room.

“Golden Wok carry-out.”  She took a deep breath, feeling revived by the scent of real food.  “You wouldn’t believe what passes for food around here.”

“I can imagine.” He pulled the tray over to her and began to set the food out.

“I don’t suppose you brought any beer to wash it down with?” she asked hopefully.

“Oh didn’t I?  One bottle of Yuengling coming up—but only one.  You’re out of practice, remember?”  He opened the beer, then the soup container and set up the utensils so that she could reach everything with her good hand.

Kate crammed a forkful of the chicken into her mouth followed by a swallow of beer.  “Ummm,” she sighed.  Nothing better in this world than Chinese food and a good beer.  “Thanks.  You guys are the best.”

The door opened, and Lightner entered, wearing scrubs and his white lab coat, a surgical mask dangling around his neck.  He stopped, looked at her in surprise.  Kate clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from spitting her food as she laughed at his shocked expression.  Carter swore under his breath and quickly took his chair again, hiding his face behind his newspaper.

“What’s going on in here?” Lightner demanded.  “I don’t recall lomein being on the soft diet.  And beer?  Do you have any idea how that can interact with the medications?”

Damn.  Kate swallowed her mouthful of food and looked up meekly.  “No sir.”

Lightner looked at her, the same look he had given Adams the night before.  “No, I didn’t expect so.  And do you know what’s worse?”

She shook her head.

“You didn’t invite me, after I stayed up all night because of you.  Give me those chopsticks.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and scooped lomein with expertise.  Kate and Carter exchanged glances, then Carter put his paper down again and moved his chair closer.

“I think I like this guy,” he said.  “You sure he’s a doctor?”

“Supposedly he’s the surgeon who saved my life,” Kate replied.

Lightner glanced up from his food.  “Supposed heck, I wrenched you from the jaws of death, or however the old cliché goes.”

“Carter was my first partner when I was a rookie,” Kate told Lightner.  “Taught me everything I know.”

“Except when to duck,” Lightner said dryly.  She reached for her beer, but he intercepted it.  “I was serious about the beer.”  He handed the Yuengling to Carter.  “I take it since you’re here, they haven’t found this creep yet?”

Carter shook his head.  “No, but when we do, I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.  This actor will be lucky if he makes it to trial alive.”

“Carter, stop talking like that.  Dr. Lightner is going to think all us cops are a bunch of fascist pigs,” Kate interjected.

“Don’t take me seriously, doc.  If anything this player will be given kid-glove treatment.  Still, what he did to Conrad—ambushed.  Then taking the time to get a second shot in, all the while knowing that bar was filled with cops.  That’s one cold-hearted son of a bitch, if you ask me.”

Kate glanced at the detective in surprise.  It was unlike him to be so talkative, especially with someone not on the job.

“Just so you guys catch him soon.  I don’t like the idea of having patients of mine threatened in their own hospital rooms,” Lightner said.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get him.  I promise you that nothing’s gonna to happen while I’m around.”

“I’m holding you to that promise.”

Kate looked up, irritated at being treated like a child, but forgot her comment when she saw the look on Lightner’s face.  His eyes had darkened and flashed with fury.  Maybe the trauma surgeon did have some human feelings beneath his patronizing bedside manner.  It had felt that way this morning.

She still wasn’t totally certain if that was a good thing or not.

Kate fell asleep, cradled by their voices and the warmth of her first real meal settling in her stomach.  When she woke the room was dark except for a thin sliver of light that reflected from the open door off Carter’s glasses.

“Carter, that you?” she asked in a low voice.

The detective shifted in his seat and grunted in affirmation.  “Who else?”

“What time is it?”

“About three in the morning.”

“What are you still doing here?”

“Pulling a double, switched so I could maybe have the weekend off.”

“Oh.”  Silence again enveloped the tiny room.  She could hear footsteps in the hallway.  She tensed, suddenly certain that the shooter was out there, waiting for her, but the sounds continued past her door.  Kate lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes again.  She opened  them almost immediately, her mind too crowded with racing thoughts to allow sleep.

“Carter?”

“I’m still here,” he replied.

“You ever afraid?”

He lowered the chair with a thump.  “What kind of damn fool question is that?  Every good cop is afraid at times—that’s usually what keeps them alive.”

“Rob was a good cop.”

He sighed.  “Yes, he was.”

“And so was Conrad.”

Silence.

“So, how come they’re both dead and I’m still alive?”

“Listen kid, I’ve seen this happen before, hell, it’s happened to me.  Your friend gets killed, and you start thinking that you’re glad it wasn’t you, then you start feeling guilty ‘cause we’re told that nice people don’t think like that.  I’m glad it wasn’t me and I’m glad it wasn’t you.  I’m sorry to lose two good cops like Rob and Conrad, but our time will come soon enough, so there’s no use wasting what time we have on guilt or regrets.”  He paused, then tilted his chair back against the wall again.  “I’ve said enough, and you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Thanks Carter.”

He grunted in reply.

CHAPTER 19

Josh harried and pushed his residents, rushing through rounds.  He saw the looks they exchanged, knew they thought it was because it was Friday, but they were wrong.  He was haunted by O’Hern’s suggestion that she be used as a decoy to trap the killer.

He finally knew what he needed to do.  Hated it, despised himself for playing with his ethics and all rules of conduct that bound a physician, but he had no other choice.

He found Carter getting a fresh coffee refill from the pot at the nurses’ station across from Kate’s room.  The detective had obviously charmed the staff, they were chuckling at one of his tales of life as a street cop.

“So this punk,” he was saying when Josh entered, “he says, ‘yunz can’t bust me for the Giant Eagle robbery, cuz I’ve got an alibi.  I was over in Homewood busting a cap in Jimmy G-dog cuz he was shagging my bitch.’”

“He confessed to murder?” one of the nurses asked, shaking her head.

“No one ever said this guy was a criminal genius.”

Josh caught Carter’s eye, nodded to the hallway.  The detective wrapped up his story, made a little bow to his audience.  “Thanks for the coffee, ladies.  You all have a good day, now.”

He joined Josh in the alcove near the janitor’s closet.  “What’s up, doc?  There a problem with our girl?”

Josh tried to pace in the narrow space but it was too small.  Instead he ended up leaning against one wall, bouncing on the balls of his feet.  He caught the detective studying him and stopped.  “What you guys were talking about the other night.  Using her as bait to catch the killer, would you actually consider doing that?”

“No worries, doc.  We’d never do anything like that here where there are civilians at risk.  But if it came down to it, it might be our best bet.”

“You can’t.”  There, he’d said it.

“Why not?  You said yourself Kate was healing faster than you ever expected.  And we’d never expect her to physically subdue the guy or anything.”  He slouched against the opposite wall, his body relaxed but his gaze a tight spotlight focused on Josh.

Seeing right through him, Josh was certain.  He leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes for a moment.

“What’s wrong with Kate?  What aren’t you telling me, doc?”

“I could lose my license, maybe even get sued.”  Weak excuses compared to the greater sin of breaking his oath of confidentiality.

“She wouldn’t do that.  Kate would never sue the guy who saved her life.”  Carter stepped forward, into Josh’s space.  His stance was nonchalant, joking even, but his eyes were dead serious.  “C’mon, doc.  If there’s something going on with Kate, I need to know.  I partnered with her old man, promised him I’d look after her.  I’ve been her rabbi—”

“Rabbi?”

“You know, mentor.”  Carter’s mouth widened into a coaxing smile.  “Spiritual advisor.  So…anything you say to me is under the confidential seal of the confessional.  Privileged.”

Josh appreciated Carter trying to make it easy for him.  But it was still a betrayal.  Of the rules, of everything he believed in, of Kate’s trust.

“Do all cops bend the rules so easily?”

Carter shrugged.  “When you’re out on the streets you learn there’s a lot of gray zone between what the law says and what’s right.  So if you know something that might hurt Kate, I need to know about it.”

“You can’t let her act as bait, you can’t let her do anything where she might be face to face with the killer again.”  Josh paused, had to swallow twice.  Carter waited.  He continued, “She’s having these spells, they might be a type of absence seizure, I’m not sure, but when she does, she blacks out for several minutes at a time.  When she wakes up, she’s convinced she’s seeing visions of the future.”

Carter pursed his mouth as if he were whistling but no sound came.  He moved closer to Josh, they were almost head to head now.  “You’re saying Kate O’Hern actually thinks she can see the future?  That she’s gone round the bend?  No.  No way, doc.  Not O’Hern.  She’s the most practical, steady cop I know.  I’d trust her with my life—hell, I have trusted her with my life.  More than once.”

“It’s the truth.  She told me she saw what happened to Sergeant Conrad before it happened.  And she said she saw an old lady die in the ICU before it really happened.”

“No, no.  I don’t buy it.  Whatever is wrong with her, you guys have got to fix it.  Whatever it takes.  I mean, doc, that’s crazy talk.  Something’s messed up in her head and you have to make it right again.”

“I wish it were that easy.  So far she’s refused to allow me to do any tests.  I wanted to give her a little time, let the drugs we gave her get out of her system—”

“Yeah, a side effect of the drugs,” Carter said, nodding.  “That’s all.  Happens all the time, right?”

“No.  Not like this.  The drugs should be long gone, but she’s still persisting in these delusions.”

“And she blacks out when she has one?”

“Yes, for a few minutes.  She looks like she’s awake, eyes open, but she’s not responsive.”

“Makes her a sitting duck.”  He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding but his shoulders hunching under the weight of this new burden.  “I’m glad you told me, doc.  I’ll keep an eye out for her.  Any chance these things will go away?  Work themselves out of her system or something?”

“I can’t tell until I can do more testing.  But this may be something permanent.  I’m sorry, Carter. She was down too long.”

Carter took a step back, hands jammed into his pockets, gaze downcast.  “S’allright, doc.  You did the best you could.”

Josh watched him walk away, wishing that his best had been better.  Wished his best had been good enough to bring Kate O’Hern back to her old life.

Carter’s chair was empty when Kate woke.  Pale November sunlight strained to break through the clouds and into her room.  She lay still for a few moments, gathering her strength, then slowly sat up and swung her legs around the side of the bed.  She sat there, blood rushing into her feet, enjoying the sensation.

It felt good to feel anything, even the deep throbbing ache that grumbled through her muscles when she pushed herself upright.  She held onto the bed rail, a little dizzy, but determined to make it to the bathroom without assistance.

It took her longer to go those few steps than it would have to run a mile before the shooting, but it was worth it.  For the first time since that night a week before, Kate hoped there might be a chance her life could return to normal.

She flushed the toilet and was shuffling back into her room when her door opened.  Glen Walters stood there, looking embarrassed as he saw everything the gown didn’t cover.

“Hi, Glen.”  Kate allowed herself a small smile at his discomfort.

“Good to see you up and around, Kate,” he said, his gaze darting around the room, avoiding meeting hers.  Just like Juan had yesterday, as if she was more than a victim but still less than a cop.

She noted the black band wrapped around his badge, frowned and turned away, opening the closet door.  Michael had brought a few clothes over from her apartment.  Her uniform and everything else she’d been wearing last week were long gone on their journey through the forensic maze.  But her shield was there, sitting on a shelf with some sweat pants and socks.  Carter’s work, no doubt.  Kate brushed her fingers over the thin piece of metal, wondering it she would ever be able to wear it again.

Inside the drawer she found underwear and a T-shirt that looked as if it would fit over her bandages and the bulky sling that enveloped her left shoulder and arm.

“Don’t mind me,” she told Glen.  “Just trying to turn myself back into a person instead of the patient in room 323.  It may take me a few minutes to get dressed, I’m out of practice.”

Glen turned his back as she perched on the edge of the chair and began to struggle into her pants.  It was awkward with one hand and a back so stiff she could barely reach to pull them up.  Her pulse was racing by the time she finished getting underwear and sweat pants on.  That wasn’t even the hard part—the T-shirt came next.

“Kate,” Glen began in a hesitant voice.  “I was wondering-”

“Uh huh,” she grunted as she struggled to untie her gown.

“Hernandez told me you seemed to know something about Conrad’s death before—I mean, well, he seemed to think—and then I heard your doc talking to Carter when I came on duty this morning-”

“I don’t know what you heard, but you heard it wrong,” she snapped, forgetting about the gown once she realized where he was headed.

He turned back around, his face red but earnest.  “No, really, it’d mean a lot to me.  With Susie expecting now, it makes a guy want to know, for her sake—”

“I don’t have any answers, Glen,” she told him in a slow, determined voice.

“Why not, Kate?  We’re friends, can’t you tell me what’s gonna happen to me?  You got no idea how it can eat away at a man’s soul, that look in Susie’s eyes every time I leave for work, not knowing if I’m gonna come back.”

“Stop it.”  Kate couldn’t believe this.  She’d ridden with Glen, for chrissake.  And now he stared at her as if she was some kind of freak.  How long would it be before everyone at the House knew about her visions?  “Susie knew what she was getting into when she married you.  She’s a good woman.  You’ve got to stop worrying about her and start keeping your mind on your job.”

“Please, Kate—”

“No!”  She lowered her voice.  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

He turned to leave.  The door opened, and Lightner strolled in, his white coat looking as bright as a halo around him.

“What’s all the commotion?” he asked.

“I’ll be right outside,” Glen said, looking at the floor.

Kate ignored Lightner and floundered out of her gown.

“You’re looking better today,” he said in a fake-cheery voice that was annoying as hell.

She narrowed her eyes in a glare and resumed her struggles with her sling.

“Let me help.”  He loosened the Velcro swath that held her left arm in place.  “Take this off and put it back on over top of your clothes.”

He reached for her shirt, but Kate pulled away, staring into the mirror on the cabinet door.  What had they done to her?  Pink, heaped up, healing flesh bristling with ugly black stitches crisscrossed her left side.  There was a star-shaped scar below her collar bone and a similar one a little lower, above her breast.  A long line of stitches wove under her breast to her sternum and two shorter ones were on her side, below her armpit.

Freak was right.  Inside and out.  No wonder everyone stared.  Kate quickly grabbed her shirt and slid her left arm into it.  Then she ducked her head through the neck hole and wriggled her other arm into place.

“I guess it’s a good thing it’s not bikini weather,” she said.

She pulled the shirt down.  Lightner reached around her.  She flinched at his touch, but he didn’t let go.

“Usually we close with staples, but I think stitches leave less of a scar, so I did it the old-fashioned way.  These Velcro bands wrap around and help to give your arm support,” he rambled on in a flat tone.  His medical voice, she recognized.  Then he stopped, his hands still encircling her waist.  Her eyes met his.

Dark blue eyes, like drowning in a summer twilight sky.  Kate broke contact, looked away, but couldn’t ignore the warmth that radiated from his hands on her hips.

What would he do if she asked him to hold her tighter?  If she leaned forward and planted her lips on his?

“Those are going to heal a lot nicer than what they look right now.  You have to give your body some time, Kate.”

She snapped her head up at his use of her first name.  The way he said it, that didn’t sound flat or medical at all.  It sounded like—Kate shook her head.  She had enough to worry about without looking for an imaginary attraction from her surgeon.  Just because she wanted it to be there, didn’t make it so.

Kate stepped away from him, giving them both breathing space.  “I’m sure that there are plenty of men out there who’d be interested in a woman with bullet holes in her.  Great conversation opener, right?”

She’d seen corpses looking better than she did.  Running her good hand through her hair, she desperately yearned for a hot shower or bath.  With that thought came the image of Lightner, he of the large, so strong hands, in there with her.

Her muscles shouted that she’d already pushed too hard, streams of sweat slid down her back, trickling along her spine in the exact same path she wished Lightner’s fingers would take.

“You’re a very attractive lady.  What you’ve been through hasn’t changed that.”  Lightner was still standing close.

Too close.  She took another step back.  And one more until she was up against the bed.

“You’ve obviously been practicing your bedside manner.”  Forcing a smile, she looked past him out the window.  She leaned against the bed, trying not to allow her face to reveal the effort it took for her to remain on her feet.

He glanced down for a second.  When he looked back up, his face held a neutral expression.  “Looks like you’re improving faster than I expected.  Maybe we can even get you out of here next week.”

“Another week trapped here?”  Kate shook her head. “I’m leaving today.  I’m not letting you mess up my life any more than you already have.”  The words came out sharper than she had intended, but she held her ground and backed them up with a glare.

“What are you talking about?”

“Glen overheard you talking to Carter about these flashes I’ve been getting.  If he knows, then the entire station house knows.”

“I thought you were going to tell them yourself.”  He sounded more than a bit defensive.

“I told Conrad, but he didn’t believe me, so why open myself up to ridicule?  Besides, it’s my decision, not yours.  Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“I’m sorry.  I was asking Carter some questions; I knew you trusted him.  I didn’t have any idea that someone was listening.”

“Questions?  What kind of questions?  What am I to you anyway, something to be dissected under the microscope?”

“No, of course not!”  His face clouded, flushed with indignation.

“Thanks to you, I’ll never have any peace now.   Damn it, Lightner, who gave you permission to interfere with my life?  What made you think you could play God?”

“What did you want me to do—let you stay dead?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Kate felt a tear slip down her cheek, but she was too angry to waste energy on wiping it away.

“Maybe things would’ve been better,” she finally said in a low voice.

“You don’t believe that.”  He came another step closer, stopping immediately in front of her.  She thought he was going to touch her, but instead he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his lab coat.

“Just what the world needs: an unemployed, shot-up ex-cop who sometimes can see into the future.  Oh, and don’t forget the cop-killer stalking me.” Her voice slammed through the small room, rattling off the walls with the ballistic force of her anger.  “Yeah, I’m real special.”

“You are to me.”

Kate jerked her head up, looked at him in disbelief.  He seemed as startled by his words as she was.

He brushed her hair back away from her face.  She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the warmth his touch ignited in her.  Despite the warning bells going off in her head, she raised her face, her mouth open slightly, an invitation.  His weight shifted forward, and her breath caught in anticipation.

Lightner’s beeper squawked, irrevocably breaking the spell.

“I’m sorry, Kate,” he said, taking a step back, away from her.  “I’ll talk to Carter.  We’ll convince Glen that he heard wrong.”  He turned to leave, then stopped when she began reaching for her belongings.  “I was serious about your staying.  I still want you to see neuro and psych, get more tests done.”

“And I was serious about going.” She continued shoving her few possessions into a plastic laundry bag.

“You think you’ll be safer back on the street with a madman stalking cops in general and you in particular?”

“I can take care of myself.  The guys they’re pulling to watch me here could be doing more good by tracking that SOB down.  Anyway, I’ll be safer at home.”  She lifted the phone, tucked it between her chin and right shoulder and started to dial.

“Who are you calling?”

“A cab.”  He took the receiver from her and hung it up.  She glared at him.  “I’ll walk home if I have to.”   She hoped he wouldn’t call her bluff.

“No.”  To her surprise a slight smile danced across his features before he surrendered.  “We can do any further tests as an outpatient, if you insist.  After I finish rounds, I have the rest of the day off, except for a lecture at noon.  If you wait until after lunch, I’ll take care of the paperwork and your prescriptions.”

She looked at him suspiciously.  “You’ll let me go this afternoon?”

He nodded.  “Don’t call a cab.  I’ll take you home myself.”

Before she could reply, he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.  Kate stared after him, uncertain if she was infuriated by his presumptuous attitude or touched by his concern.  Both.

She’d deal with Lightner later.  It was too confusing to think about now.  She reached for the last item in the closet.  Her badge.  Her fingers grazed the cold metal.  It felt dead to the touch, the magic gone.  As if it really didn’t belong to her anymore.

The fear that had been echoing through her mind now surfaced, as ugly as a floater fished from the Ohio River in July.

If she wasn’t a cop, what was she?

Who was she?

CHAPTER 20

A pine bough’s itchy finger tickled the back of Blake’s neck.  He willed himself to endure it, to not make any movement to dislodge it.

Intention.  Discipline.  Follow through.

The ingredients of a good soldier—not that Uncle Sam agreed.  They were more concerned with political correctness than recognizing talent necessary to get the job done for them.  No wonder the country was going to hell, bunch of wishy-washy weasels running the place.

The sound of a drum tattoo accompanied by the dirge of a bagpipe re-focused his attention.  Still no movement visible through his sniper scope, but they were coming.

He paid sharp attention to his breathing.  That was the key to good long distance shooting.  Breathe in, breathe out, nice and easy, don’t hold it or get excited.

They weren’t people dancing in and out of his sights.  They were targets.

Pawns in the game.  Disposable.

He had an urge to check his watch.  Time was short on this one if he was going to make it to O’Hern’s place in time for the next move.  He still hadn’t decided if this would be the finale or if he’d continue to taunt her.

Part of him wanted to get it over with.  Take out as many as possible and end it fast.

But a larger part of him was enjoying the game too much.  Not precisely a game.  More a transformation.  Something artistic, creative even.  He was changing, getting ready to accept a new reality and, even more challenging, he was creating something.  In O’Hern.

“Katherine, Katherine,” he murmured, his finger stroking the trigger guard.  He could almost feel her caress, feather-light against the back of his neck, inviting him, urging him.

Like he was a sculptor, fricking Michelangelo.  Chiseling away at a block of marble, each blow he struck coming closer to freeing the truth.  Each blow also a gamble.  Where to strike without shattering the woman trapped within?

What would it take before she surrendered to him?  How sweet would that taste?

Sun glinted from the brightly polished brass on a man’s uniform.  All those ribbons and medals.  That was his guy.

The man moved into Blake’s sights.  He breathed out.  Steady.  Pulled the trigger.  Pink mist blossomed into the air.

A woman’s scream, the sound of running feet, the thud of a casket being dropped, the whoosh of pine branches whipping behind him and he was gone.

On to more amusing prey.

When Josh arrived at Kate’s room that afternoon, she sat on the chair at the window, cradling a plastic bag with her possessions.  His breath caught, and he paused at the doorway, indulging himself by watching her during an unguarded moment.

She looked so lost, all alone in the world.  Not helpless, he couldn’t imagine Kate O’Hern ever helpless, but vulnerable.

A stray ray of sunlight escaped the winter clouds, glancing through the unruly curls that framed her face, making her look expectant.  A woman waiting for not just any man, but the man, her man.

Wistful thinking, Josh chastised himself.  He stepped inside the room, breaking the spell. “Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“Don’t you have a coat?” he asked, taking the bag from her.

“No, Michael didn’t bring one.  I’ll be okay.”

“And sue me when you get pneumonia.  Here, take this.”  He draped his bomber jacket over her shoulders.  “I’ve got your prescriptions,” he raised a paper bag, “and all the paperwork is done.” He guided her down the hall to the elevators leading to the parking garage.  He deactivated the Subaru’s alarm, and settled her and her meager belongings into the front seat.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked once they were on the street.

Did she have to be so direct?  Damned if he knew the answer anyway.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you some professional advice,” he said, deflecting her question. “Do you think this kind of car alarm is effective?  Is there a better one I should think about?”

Her stare was palpable.  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to Eric Clapton as he tried in vain to think of something clever to say.

“Why were you going to call a cab instead of calling your brother?” he asked when the song finished.  “There’s nothing worse than leaving the hospital to go home alone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

Silence.

Josh sighed.  “This is going just great.”

They stopped at the light at Aiken.  She turned to him.  “I didn’t call my brother because he was at work and I didn’t want to disturb him.  He’s taken too much time off already.”

“You two don’t get along, do you?”

“No, not really.”

“You know he loves you, though.  You should have seen him when you were just out of the OR, he was terrified.”

“I know.”  She shrugged her good shoulder.  “We love each other, only we can’t stand each other for extended periods of time.  I’m sure you come from the perfect Brady Bunch family, all hugs and kisses.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m an only child.  And yes, I was a spoiled brat.  My parents live in Florida now, but my mother is an expert at long-distance nagging.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that I was dead?  You never mentioned it before today.  Why did I have to find out from Carter?”

The gears ground as Josh popped the clutch and almost missed third.  The car jerked before he corrected his mistake.  He dared a glance in her direction and saw that she was staring at him, her expression saying she would wait as long as it took to get the answers she wanted.

Josh blew his breath out.  At least he knew the answer to this question.  Even if it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up to talk about it.

Shadows of that night danced through his mind: the clamor of raised voices, smell of blood, light glinting from his scalpel as he tore through her flesh, determined to save her.

“You had enough to deal with,” he told her, his eyes on the road.  “You didn’t need to know that.”

“I’m a big girl, Lightner.  I’ll decide what I need to know about my life.”  Her voice had taken on an edge.  “I don’t need patronizing—”

“Gee, you’re welcome,” he muttered.  “You were in a coma, then dealing with your partner’s death, then these visions—the time never seemed right.”

“It never is.”  Her reply was so soft that he wasn’t sure he caught her words correctly.  “Anyway,” she paused, as if gathering strength, “thank you.”

“You are very welcome.”  A heavy silence fell between them.  What more could he say without sounding like a complete jerk?

Josh pushed aside the image of Kate in his arms, looking at him like she did this morning when he almost kissed her.  This wasn’t how he wanted this.  He didn’t need or want her undying gratitude; he only wanted her.  Not merely her body, all of her.

He wanted to know why she and her brother couldn’t get along, why she became a cop, what she liked about it, had she ever shot anyone, who had she gone to the junior prom with, what was between her and that reporter, Martini, what her favorite color was—he wanted to know everything.

Instead all he seemed to do was piss her off.  He slowed the car down and peered through the windshield.  “Aren’t we close to your address?”

“Next block, third house on the right.  There’s parking in the rear.”

He pulled down the alley and parked behind a large brick Tudor.   He went around and opened the door for her, reaching over her to pick up her bag.  Getting out of the sports car wasn’t as easy as getting in with one hand.  Kate swung her legs around, and he placed an arm under her good shoulder, lifting her out.

“Thanks,” she said.  He felt her body tense and he disengaged his arm.  “I can manage from here.”

“That’s okay, I’ll carry this in for you.”  He gestured with the bag.  The November wind froze their breath into small clouds that scudded away and vanished.  He hoped she couldn’t see his shivering and wished he had worn a sweater over his button down shirt.  She led him inside and up to the top floor.

Kate was huffing by the time she reached the top of the steps.  She didn’t care.  She was just happy to be home.

Home, where no one bothered her at all hours of the day and night to check her vitals.  Home, where she could listen to her music, curl up by the fire with a book, eat what she wanted when she wanted, and most of all, where she would have the peace and quiet she needed to think about everything that had happened.  To plan her future, come to terms with her visions and what they meant.

The key trembled in her hand as she unlocked the door.  She almost forgot Lightner until she heard his breath catch when he entered behind her.

“I think someone’s been here,” he said.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Kate laughed.  Out on the streets, it was her job to bring order to chaos.  Here, in her sanctuary, she was free to let chaos reign.  Home, where no one told her to redd up her room.

“No,” she answered him, delighting in the look that crossed his face as he surveyed her kingdom of clutter.  “This is how it always looks.  Throw those anywhere.”

It had been a long time since Kate had a stranger inside her apartment.  Tony was used to her mess, Rob and Jenn laughed and compared Kate’s housekeeping skills to their four year old’s, and Michael never came near her place if he could help it.  When it came to dates, she always went to their place, never brought men here—the better to see who they really were without exposing herself.

She looked around the studio apartment and tried to see it through Lightner’s eyes.  High ceilings, large windows filling two of the walls made it seem larger than it was.  Hard wood floors and intricate woodwork gave it an old world charm.  The heavy bag and weight bench were a bit incongruous with the Amish quilts she’d hung as art work as were the shelves overflowing with books that mingled with CD’s, dirty clothes and newspapers on the floor.  She’d placed her bed and an overstuffed chair near the fireplace, a dresser beneath the windows, otherwise the only furniture she owned was the battered desk in the far corner.

“I like to think it has ambience,” she said in the nasal tones of a high-brow interior designer.  “That special je ne sais quoi.”

“Ambience,” he repeated, still holding her bags as if concerned with biohazardous contamination.

She took them from him, dumped them on the end of the bed.  There was a large closet near the bathroom, but somehow the clothes never made it that far before she was ready to either wear them or wash them.

“You don’t even have a TV,” he said in amazement.

“Morphine for the masses,” she borrowed a line from Tony.  Never one for consistency, the reporter’s pride and joy was a state of the art wide-screen plasma TV.

She walked past Lightner to her small kitchen and opened the fridge, taking inventory.  It felt so good being here, she could almost imagine that the events of the last week never happened.  The rancid smell of spoiled milk quickly corrected that fallacy.  Kate flushed it down the drain.

“Coltrane, Miles Davis, Robert Johnson—don’t you have any modern music?” he asked as he scanned her CD collection.

“No thanks, my fillings get rattled enough by that crap when I’m on patrol.”

He reached to turn her stereo on.  “I’ll bet you listen to NPR.”

“No bet.”  She laughed and moved to intercept his hand.  Their fingers connected for an instant before she pulled away.  She looked at him, the afternoon sun lit him from behind as he flashed her a smile.  This felt so good, so comfortable.

Something about Lightner—

The phone rang before she could finish her thought.  She reached for it, awkwardly holding it in her right hand.  So many things she did with her other hand that she took for granted.

“Kate, it’s Carter.”

Figured.  He probably clocked them from the hospital.

“Made it home in one piece,” she told him, nodding to Lightner.  He looked around one more time as if searching for something, then gave her a small wave and left.

Kate frowned at the door as it shut behind him, surprised at her disappointment that he was gone.  Of course, he was a busy man, this was his afternoon off, she couldn’t expect him to devote it entirely to her.

Still, she wouldn’t have minded if he had stayed.  Then she caught Carter’s words and she slumped against the door, shaken.

“We lost another cop,” Carter said.  “Bastard hit him at the funeral today.”

Josh closed the door and slowly went down the stairs, cursing himself a fool with each step.  Obviously she wasn’t interested in him.  Maybe he was the one who should be seeing a psychiatrist, imagining that she had almost kissed him this morning.  He opened the front door, holding it for a blond-haired man carrying a bundle of flowers, and went out to his car.

He shrugged back into his jacket and sat in the car for a few minutes, letting it warm up.  Then he noticed the paper bag on the floorboards beside him.  Damn, he had forgotten her prescriptions.  The last thing he wanted was the embarrassment of facing her again.

Josh sighed and grabbed the bag.  The front door was ajar, sparing him the necessity of buzzing her apartment.   He climbed the stairs and was surprised to see the florist delivery man at her door.  Those flowers must have been for her—probably from her boyfriend, Martini.

As he approached the door, he noticed the flowers peeking out from under the green paper.  White funeral lilies.

“Excuse me,” he said to the delivery man.  “What florist are you from?”

The man turned and Josh saw the handle of a gun sticking out of his waistband.  “The Grim Reaper.”

CHAPTER 21

Josh’s throat constricted with fear as his vision centered on the very large, gleaming silver gun aimed at him.  The killer took a step toward him, tossing the flowers aside, one finger over his lips in the universal gesture for silence.  He grinned at Josh as if they were co-conspirators in a warped prank.

He wouldn’t let him have another chance to hurt Kate, Josh decided, straightening, preparing to charge.  Even if the killer shot him—and how could he miss with that huge gun at such close range? —the noise would warn Kate, give her time to barricade herself, call the cops.

Josh sucked his breath in, balanced on the balls of his toes, ready to spring into action.

Before he could move, the killer barreled into him, slamming him against the wall.  From the corner of his eye, Josh saw the man raise the massive gun up to club him.  He dodged forward.  The killer hit the wall instead, cracking the plaster instead of Josh’s skull.  He rebounded with an elbow to Josh’s back that sent him sprawling.

“Stop!” Kate’s voice came from behind them.

Gasping for breath, Josh watched as the gunman whirled.  Kate stood in the center of the hall, unarmed except for her phone.

Go back, Josh tried to call out, but no words would come as pain shot through his shoulder blades.  The killer raised his gun, aimed at her.

Kate didn’t flinch.  Stood there like Wyatt Earp at the OK Corral.  Ready for a fight and not willing to give up, no matter the consequences.  Sunlight from the window behind her cast her face in shadow, glinting off the tousled strands of her hair.  The faint and very distant sound of a truck backing up penetrated the hush of anticipation.

The killer moved first, raising his gun barrel to his lips and blowing Kate a kiss.  Then he spun on his heel and sped past Josh, his footsteps ricocheting through the empty apartment house.

Kate pounded down the hall to where Lightner lay, each step lancing through her chest like broken glass.  Lightner rolled over, groaning.  Thank God, he was all right.  She ran past him, intent on following the killer.

Lightner grabbed her by the ankle and she stumbled, almost fell.

“Let go!” She caught the railing, yanked her leg from his grasp.

“Stop.  He has a gun.”

She heard the front door slam shut and relented.  Lightner climbed to his feet, latching onto her good arm.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded.

She jerked her arm free and stalked back to her apartment.  “I was thinking maybe I could see what kind of car he was driving.   I was thinking maybe it might be a good idea to catch this guy before he kills someone else.  What did you think?”

He caught up to her at the door of her apartment, stepping over the tumbled lilies in their green florist paper.  “I was thinking you might get yourself killed.”

She turned her back on him, listening as the dispatcher she was on the phone with confirmed that a patrol car was en route.  Dark spots danced in her vision, keeping time with the throbbing in her side and shoulder.

How in hell had the shooter found her?  Fear and anger tumbled together, combined with the ebbtide of adrenalin to leave her trembling.

Why had the shooter left Lightner alive?  Or her?  He could have easily taken them both in the hallway.  What was this guy’s game?

Lightner closed her door behind them.  As she reported the details, she watched warily as he picked up the plastic hospital bag she had dumped on the bed and began to fill it with clothes.  When it was full, he started on a gym bag he found beneath her black leather jacket.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked after the dispatcher assured her the patrol unit had arrived at her building.  She hung up the phone.

“He knows where you live.  You’re not staying here.”  He grabbed her white cotton laundry bag and set it with the other two.

“You’re not my mother.  This is my home, I’m not going to let anyone chase me out of it.”

There was a knock on the door.  She checked the peephole and let Redding inside.  “Where’s Zelinski?” she asked.

“Sweeping the perimeter.”  Redding, a short stocky man with bulging biceps, raised a questioning eyebrow at Lightner.

“This is Josh Lightner.  He’s our witness.”

Redding nodded, pulling his notebook from his too-tight pants.  Kate leaned against the windows, arms crossed, hands hidden under the sling, so the men couldn’t see their shaking.  Josh told Redding the story and about ten minutes later Redding’s partner, a tall skinny redhead named Zelinski, appeared holding a bedraggled bunch of white lilies and her bag of medications.

“I found these in the hall, there’s nothing else.  No one saw anything.”  He held the flowers by the extreme corner, dangling them in the air like something out of a bad detective movie.  Kate knew he was okay for a rookie, but prone to theatrics, always trying to impress the civilians.

“The doctor says he was wearing gloves,” Redding told his partner, “but we’ll have forensics check them out just in case.”   He flipped his notebook shut and turned to Kate.  “Either of you get a good enough look to come down and go through the books?”

Kate shook her head.  “Not me.  He had a baseball cap pulled down low and the light was behind him, put him in shadows.”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Lightner said, his frown deepening.  “It all happened so fast.”

“Damn, this guy is like a fucking ghost.”  Redding sighed.  “Doc, think you could come down to the station, look at some pictures?”  He didn’t wait for an answer and looked at Kate.  “Where are you going to be staying?  In case anything turns up.”

“Here.  I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her jaw set.  “You guys can call in for surveillance, catch him if he comes back.”

The other officers exchanged glances.  Lightner opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again when she shot him a glare.

“C’mon, O’Hern.  Carter told you what happened to Dimeo today.  It’s not safe for you here,” Redding said.  “Not with that bum arm.”

“Yeah, this guy is a real psycho and it looks like he’s focused on you,” Zelinski added.

“What do you want me to do, check into a hotel?” she asked.  “I can’t go to my brother’s and put his family in danger, the same holds true for any of my friends.  All he’d have to do is ask around the neighborhood—”

“You can stay with me,” Lightner volunteered.

All three of them looked at him, Kate with incredulity and the two men with knowing smiles.

“Oh, no,” Kate began, glowering at him.  She was surprised when his eyes narrowed into a stubborn glare of his own.  They faced off, the two uniformed cops watching the silent exchange.

“Better than staying here,” Redding said, weighing in on Lightner’s side.  “He doesn’t know who the doc is.”

“Probably thinks he’s just another tenant who was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Zelinski added his support.

“But—”

“You’ve got to go somewhere,” Lightner said.  “I’ve got a spare room.  And a dog who’s better than any alarm system.  With my hours we probably won’t even see each other.”

“It’s settled,” Redding said.  Kate began to protest, but he continued, “Better than us exposing more cops to this freakazoid.  Guy like him, he’d be expecting us to set a trap if you stay here.  Give us a few minutes to make sure he’s not hanging around, and we’ll follow you over.”  The two left, Redding with a wink to Lightner over his shoulder.

Kate slammed the door behind them.  “Damn it, do you know what they’re thinking?  This will be all over the House by dinner!”

“Who cares what they think?  The important thing is we get you someplace safe.”

He absorbed the glare she gave him without flinching.  Her gaze darted around the room, then down to her arm in its sling.  She couldn’t risk placing her neighbors in jeopardy.  If she had Redding take her to a hotel, Carter would pull men off the street to watch her.

As a cop, she was useless.  Worse than useless, a liability.

“You win.”  She blew her breath out through clenched teeth.  “Let me grab some things, and I’ll be ready to go.”  She took the gym bag with her into the bathroom.

The tiny bathroom with its mauve and black tiled walls and old fashioned clawfoot tub never felt more welcoming.  Kate closed the door behind her, lowered the lid on the toilet seat and sank down, her head dangling between her knees.

The soothing scents of jasmine and vanilla swirled through her as she tried to quiet the churning in her gut.  Another cop dead.  Why hadn’t she seen it?  What the hell good were these visions if they couldn’t help her stop a cop from dying or catch the actor responsible?  The bastard had come to her home, would have killed her right here.  In her home.  Her sanctuary.

Pain spiraled through her chest as she drew in a ragged breath.  Any other time and she would have had her service piece and backup Glock-27 close to hand when she opened the door.  With both guns locked up in evidence, today she’d rushed out to face a killer armed only with a phone.

A fucking phone.  Hunk of plastic and wires and still she hadn’t hesitated, had opened the door, knowing death was on the other side, rushed out—why?

To save Lightner.

All her experience, all her training, cast aside in one breathless moment of fear for his safety. She pounded her fist against the cold enamel of the tub.  Damn it, now was not the time to become emotionally involved with a man.  Any man.  Much less the one who had saved her life—twice now.

But she couldn’t help herself.  All morning she’d relived the moment when Lightner had almost kissed her, had promised herself that given another chance, she wouldn’t let it pass her by again.

She’d sat alone in her hospital room, imagining soft caresses from those full lips of his, feeling his long, surgeon’s hands pressed against her flesh.  A myriad of erotic fantasies, starring her and Lightner had kept her mind occupied and blissfully free of any more mind-wrenching visions.

As if Lightner had the power to heal her soul.

Kate jerked her head back, contemplated the cobweb hanging from the ceiling above her, forcing herself to review the real-world situation she was mired in, pushing all thoughts of Lightner as a man aside.

He wasn’t her sexy surgeon, couldn’t be a sexy anything—not now, not to Kate.  He was a civilian who she was sworn to protect.  As soon as she reached his house, she’d call a cab, escape to an anonymous hotel in Monroeville or out near the airport.

Slowly, her composure returned.  With it came a bone-chilling weariness that made every movement an effort.  She reached for the stack of hand towels on the small table beside the tub.

Typical single-woman-cop decor.  Condoms in the medicine cabinet, Beretta nine millimeter behind the Q-tips.

The semi-automatic had been her first gun. A present from her father when she was in school, working nights as a waitress.  She fastened the leather paddle holster to her waistband, pulled her shirt out over top of it.  Steadying herself on the sink after she stood up too fast, she blinked away the wave of dizziness, feeling better with the familiar weight of the gun at her back.

She grabbed her bag and returned to the living room.  “Let’s go.”

Lightner took the bag from her and handed her her jacket.  “It’s not like you’re never going to see the place again.”

His words sent a new shudder through her, but Kate stepped through the door without looking back.

“Who’s Dimeo?” he asked as they walked down the stairs.  “The cops said something happened to a guy named Dimeo today.”

“Another cop.  One of the pallbearers at Conrad’s funeral.  He was shot.”  Her voice was flat, words clipped.  “That’s what Carter was calling to tell me about.”

Lightner stopped.  “You mean he was killed at Conrad’s funeral?  With hundreds of cops around?  I don’t believe it—this guy really is nuts.”

“Apparently he’s also an expert marksman.  He was perched in a tree in the cemetery.” She grimaced.  “All those cops in their shiny dress uniforms, he must have felt like he was at a shooting gallery.”

“Dimeo was the only one he killed?”

She nodded.

“And then he shows up here?  I don’t like the pattern I’m seeing here.”

“You’re telling me.  We’ve got to get this bastard.  Soon.”

CHAPTER 22

Blake sat in his car, watching the day shift leave from the station house parking lot.  He was still angry he’d missed O’Hern at her apartment.  He’d been careless.  Broken his own rules, letting the excitement of shooting the cop earlier today blind him to the risks of going to her place.

It was her fault too—hers and Lightner’s.  Doctor involved with his patient, tsk, tsk.  Seemed like Blake wasn’t the only one breaking the rules.

He wondered how O’Hern took the news of  Dimeo’s death.  He wished he’d been the one to tell her—what would she have offered him to make it all stop?   Would she have tried to fight or would she bargain, offer herself, surrender to him?  Did she realize that he was doing it all for her, that they were headed in the same direction, she and him?

It didn’t matter; he was enjoying himself.  The fun wasn’t going to stop until he said so—and she would be the last one to go.  Maybe Lightner too—that man had a hero complex and deserved a comeuppance.

Blake looked over at the parking lot.  No more cars coming out and the same green Explorer sitting by itself at the end of the row.  It had to be hers.  Well, if he couldn’t see her tonight, he could leave a calling card.

He left his car, walking past the police station and into the parking lot.  A tabby cat was sitting on a picnic table by the door to the station, watching him.  Blake loosened his jacket,  sliding his hand down to where his hunting knife was in the leg pocket of his pants.  He smiled. “Here kitty, kitty.”

The cat was smarter than most of the people he knew.  It refused to be charmed, instead arching its back and taking a swipe at him with its claws.  It scurried away out of sight.

Blake laughed.  The cat reminded him of O’Hern.  Feisty.  Fearless.

Cats may have nine lives, but cops didn’t.  He smiled at his whimsy.  O’Hern had already used up her time on this earth, she was past due.  Like a library book, ratcheting up fines for every day before it returned to where it came from.

He enjoyed the image.  Mason Blake, cosmic librarian.  Reminded him of a porn movie he’d seen: The Naughty Librarian.  Images of naked, writhing women, O’Hern’s face, Lightner, the cops he’d killed collided, sharp and jagged, slicing into his brain…

Kate and Rob had once chased a pair of Homewood drug dealers into a rowhouse basement.  The unlit maze of random, small rooms curtained by cobwebs, where turning every corner left her exposed, vulnerable—that was how she felt now.  Conflicting emotions and thoughts fought for her attention, but she couldn’t focus on anything more than keeping her body upright in its seat and her eyes open.  She now understood the glazed numbness that enshrouded so many crime victims.

She wasn’t a victim, she told herself, rebelling at the thought, but the words got lost in the mix of confusion and fatigue overwhelming her brain.

What if the killer had shot Lightner?

Damn, how had he talked her into this?  It wasn’t like her to back down.  She turned to him, started to tell him to stop, take her somewhere else, leave her.  Before something happened to him.

His profile was so determined, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.  The gleam in his eyes was that of a man on a mission.  She slumped back in her seat.  She didn’t have the strength to confront him.  Or was it the will?  Maybe in her heart of hearts, she wanted Lightner to protect her, to wrap those strong arms around her and promise her everything would be all right.  Maybe she would even believe the words, if they came from him.

Yeah, right.  Get with the program, O’Hern.  She was a cop with a killer stalking her.  She didn’t have the luxury of believing in happily-ever-afters.

She hadn’t known Dimeo more than to nod to in passing, he worked the desk over at Zone Four.  But he was a cop, and that made him family.  A family targeted by a shooter who wouldn’t  allow them to mourn their own in peace.  A killer who now had driven Kate from her home, into hiding.

Like a victim.

The words ricocheted through her skull with the force of a shotgun blast.

Lightner pulled the Subaru up to the curb in front of a brick Victorian that had been converted into a duplex.  She allowed him to help her out of the car and up the steep steps that led to an ornate leaded glass door, each step feeling like a journey into a dreamscape.  This wasn’t her life, but Kate had no idea where the path back to her real life lay.

A rest stop, she told herself.  That’s all this was.  A brief rest stop where she could collect her thoughts, regain control.

He led her into the front room.  The room looked like a double page Sunday supplement spread, furnished in neutral shades of silver and gray with black art deco accents.  Kate doubted if anyone had ever used the couch or loveseat and the finish on the black lacquer tables was unmarred by watermarks or smudges.  The polished refinement was disturbed only by the presence of a large brown Labrador Retriever rolling on the Chinese rug, thumping his tail on the floor in a joyous greeting.

“Hey, big guy,” Lightner said as he joined the dog on the floor for a quick tussle, then rubbed its belly in what was obviously a daily ritual.  “Behave yourself, we’ve got company.  Hershey, this is Kate.”

Kate put her good hand out to the dog, who immediately came over and nosed it.  He traveled around her once, leaning his head up at her bandaged left side and sniffing, then sitting and placing his head under her right hand so she could scratch behind his ears.

Feeling the last of her reserves drain from her, she turned and glanced at Lightner before sitting, then caught herself.  She wasn’t a clumsy schoolgirl asking permission to sit in gram’s parlor.  But she couldn’t help contrasting her simple if sloppy apartment with this.

Lightner seemed to catch her discomfort.  He shrugged and smiled.  “Don’t look at me, I don’t know a Louis XIV from a Chippendale.  A woman I used to date was an interior designer, she thought art deco was me.”

Kate said nothing, she was too exhausted for banter.  He ignored the awkward silence and went on, “Wait here while I get your stuff from the car.”  He started out the door, then turned back.  “Better brace yourself.  My mother decorated the guest room, so I hope you like paisley.”

She sank into the corner of the loveseat with Hershey curled up beside her.  Next thing she knew there was a hand on her arm.  She came awake quickly, as she always did, but with an unfamiliar sense of panic.

A dream image of Lightner, his mouth brushing against hers, his hand stroking her belly superimposed itself on the real man’s countenance.  Kate blinked away her exhaustion-induced fantasy, took the hand Lightner offered her.

“I’ve got your bags upstairs.  As your physician, I’m prescribing a long, long nap.”

His arm was around her waist, his fingers resting on her hip, their heat igniting a fire in her belly.  A nap?  Was he serious—or did he feel the same stirrings she did?  Suddenly, as tired as she was, sleep no longer seemed as attractive.  Not with the scent of Lightner’s uniquely sensual maleness consuming her with every breath she took.

It was embarrassing to lean on him as they went through the hall, but she was unable to deny herself the comfort of his presence.  His arms were nicely-muscled, not bulging, but strong, well defined. She glanced over her shoulder.  Nice, tight butt to complete the package.  This was madness, insanity—could she really be considering some mattress-boogey with Lightner?

Kate shook herself, pulled away from his overwhelming pheromones and enticing body.  He allowed her to slip part-way from his grasp, keeping his hand on the small of her back.  The rear of the house was obviously where he lived, a large pine-floored room with TV, stereo, exercise equipment and a worn, comfortable looking green leather sofa.  There was a butcher block island separating the living area from the kitchen, but other than that there were no dividers, creating a wonderful open space complete with a fireplace in the side wall of the kitchen.  The stairs were tucked into the corner of the kitchen, their wood worn and stained with age.

“Mrs. Kertesz next door has the original dining room and a beautiful spiral staircase leading to her side of the upstairs,” he told her as he supported her weight up the staircase with Hershey close behind, “but I like my half of the house, I think it has more character.”

Despite his tour guide litany, she noticed his voice wasn’t the impersonal professional tone that annoyed her at the hospital.  It was warm, melodious, as soothing as the strong arm that she wrapped her hand around. They arrived at the landing at the top of the stairs.

“That’s my room.”  He pointed to their right.  For one brief moment, Kate thought he might lead her inside to his bed. He flashed her a look that seared through her, then too-quickly glanced away again.

She concealed her disappointment as he continued, “The bathroom is in here.”   He opened the middle door and quickly pulled some towels out from a cabinet for her.  “Here’s the guest room.”  He led her into a room that faced out over the front stoop.

His mother had better taste than his ex-girlfriend.  Kate looked around the bright and cheery room.  He was right about the paisley.  Bright swatches of green and red and gold covered the four-poster bed and curtains.  There was also a burgundy armchair festooned with more paisley pillows, a dresser and mirror, and a heavy armoire stood in the corner.

Lightner cleared his throat, finally releasing her.  “If you need anything, holler.  Unless—do you need help undressing?”

Kate turned to stare at him.  Her nerves jangled with fatigue and adrenalin.  Curled up in the shelter of his arms, she might be able to forget about the disaster area her life had become.  Maybe find some peace, if only for a few hours.

“Is that an invitation?”  She nodded to the regal four-poster bed.  “If so, I accept.”

He surprised her by turning bright red, and she realized her mistake. “Shit.  I’m sorry, Lightner.  Chalk it up to nerves, all right?”

He stepped toward the door, turned back, his face still flushed.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I am attracted to you,” he said in a raspy voice.  He cleared his throat.  “Very much so.”

She tilted her head up to stare at him, her eyes narrowed.  “Then what’s the problem?”

The distance separating them took her three steps to cross, stopping so close that she could see the five o’clock shadow darkening his cheeks, could smell his tangy, musky maleness, could feel his breath rustle her hair when he exhaled.  But she stopped short of touching him again.

“Is it the psycho killer stalking me or the psycho nutcase that you think I am?  Who are you trying to protect me from, Doctor?  The shooter or myself?”

He shook his head, his lips tightening.  It was hard to resist the urge to lean up and take those lips between hers.  He looked past her to the bed, his flush deepened, then he returned his gaze to her.

“I can’t—I shouldn’t—” he stammered.

Enough of this shit, Kate thought, placing her hand flat against his chest where she could feel his heart pounding.  She braced herself against him, stood on tip-toe and raised her mouth to his.

At first he responded, his arms circling behind her to support her, his lips opening beneath hers.  She looked directly into his eyes, enjoying the warmth that surged through her at his touch.  Oh yeah, exactly what the doctor ordered.

His fingers snagged in the velcro swathing her chest and his eyes widened.  He pulled his mouth away from hers and stepped back, throwing her off balance.  She caught herself with a not-so-graceful lurch that jarred her left side and made her wince with pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “Kate, you’re vulnerable right now.  I can’t, I won’t take advantage of that.  It isn’t right, isn’t fair to you.  I’m sorry.”

He turned and fled.

Kate stared at the door swinging shut behind Lightner, more frustrated than ever.  “Just my luck,” she said to the dog sprawled on the bed, watching her with interest.  “I ask for Don Juan and I get Sir Galahad the righteous.  Protector of the weak and innocent.  Too bad the good doctor doesn’t realize that I’m neither.”

She sank onto the bed and absently stroked the dog. How many times had she wished for an old-fashioned, honorable man like her partner, Rob?  Now that she’d found one, she had no idea what to do with him.  She shook her head, wishing for the sixteenth millionth time that Rob was still alive, that she could turn to him for guidance.  Together they could face anything the streets of Pittsburgh could throw at them.

Better get used to it, she thought.  She was on her own now.  More alone than ever before.

She sighed, began to sort through her meager possessions when the bag slipped from her hands, scattering her socks and underwear on the floor.

The killer stood over her, her own blood dripping from his fist onto her face.  He slid his knife over her naked body, caressing her with the steel blade.

She held her breath, knowing that any movement would bring more pain.  They were in her apartment.  Worse of all, Lightner was there.  Bound and gagged, he slumped against the bricks of the fireplace.  His face was battered, his shirt torn open. Blood streamed from a wound in his abdomen.  He was dying.

Dying because of her.

The low growl of a dog brought her to her senses.  Hershey stood on the bed, huddled beside her, teeth bared at something unseen.  His hair stood on end and a throaty snarl shuddered through his body into hers.

Acid burned her throat, waves of nausea wracked her body.  She collapsed forward, doubled, each breath lancing through her like broken glass.  Hershey’s growl changed to a soft whimper.  He pushed his snout against her face, nuzzling her until she found the strength to sit up once again.

Kate gently pushed the dog away and slid to her feet.  Her head spun for a moment but quickly cleared.  If only the screaming in her brain would vanish as easily.

She paced the confines of the room, Hershey swiveling his head to watch her, never letting her out of his sight.  She stopped in front of the dresser mirror.  Pulled herself up tall, weight evenly balanced, ready for a fight as she glared at her own reflection.

“What the hell do you want from me?” she demanded.  The priests at St. Ursula’s hadn’t prepared her for a confrontation with the Almighty, Fate, Destiny or whoever-the-hell was playing games with her, but her years on the streets sure had.

Her right hand rested on her hip, where her Glock would sit under different circumstances.  “Give me a fucking clue here, all right?  Is that too much to ask?”

Until Conrad’s death she had resigned herself to accept the fact that her mind had betrayed her, taking a one-way trip that ended in a padded cell at Western Psych.  Now, things had changed.  If she was going to be burdened by this wretched curse, then by God, she would use it.  She refused to be used by it.

No more running and hiding.  Now it was time to hunt.  Even if her only weapons were these nutty visions.

“I left my place,” she continued berating her unhearing reflection.  “Why didn’t that fix things?  Why show me this, now?”

The shooter was going to kill both her and Lightner if she didn’t do something to stop it.  She knew this with a certain dread that made her stomach churn with fear.  She only wished she knew how to stop him, how to change the future.

Kate cursed at her reflection in the mirror.  One woman, haggard and half-crippled with fragments of time colliding in her brain.  How in hell was she supposed to stop Fate?  Change Destiny?

The room was silent except for the sound of Hershey’s tail thumping against the bed.  “Is it to warn me not to get involved with Lightner?” she wondered, resuming her pacing once more.  “Or to show me where the killer will be in the future?”

Ah, now that might be helpful.  Too bad these damned things didn’t come with time stamps or subtitles.  Even if she could see the face of the killer.  Maybe she could make herself have it again, see if she could learn more...

The thought left her shivering, sweat pouring from her.  The sharp stab of the knife slicing through her flesh, the sound of someone crying in pain, the smell of blood and terror lanced through her.  The memories were weaker than the actual vision, but they reverberated through her mind until she cowered against the bed frame, her good hand covering her ear, eyes squeezed shut in an effort to stop the pain.

She tried to focus, to force the details to become clearer.  Her head began to pound so fiercely that she slid to her knees, sobbing with the pain.  Josh’s blood spurted past her fingers, his cries raked through her soul.

Hershey saved her.  The Lab butted his head next to hers, began licking her face, bringing her back to the present.

No, that wouldn’t work, blindly re-living the visions, forcing them.  She really would crack up, be useless to everyone.

She’d have to work with what little she had.  Kate straightened, looked down on her sweat-stained clothes, smelled the reek of fear that leaked from her pores, and made her decision.

Her visions were her last, best hope to stop the killer before he struck again.  It didn’t matter if no one else understood or believed in them.  Only that she did.

CHAPTER 23

Kate stepped out of the shower into the steaming bathroom.  The hot water had helped to clear her mind of the lethargy and fatigue that entombed it.  Ignoring the throbbing pain in her shoulder and side, she returned to her bedroom, re-bandaged her shoulder, dressed and put her sling back on.  It took her a good ten minutes, but she managed it without asking Lightner for help.

Lightner.  Now there was a problem she would have to face.  Soon.  His arms felt so good around her, she was tempted to burrow inside his embrace and forget about everything.

Maybe it was for the best that he was the one honorable man left in Pittsburgh now that Rob was gone.  If she got too involved with Lightner, it might end up with one or both of them dead.

She remembered her vision, forcing it to remain at a distance, like looking at crime scene photos instead of actually being there.  Bright sunshine had been streaming in the windows, so it didn’t happen tonight.  And the shirt Lightner wore, it was a plaid flannel—not the broadcloth button down he wore now.

He was safe for tonight, she felt certain.  She wasn’t sure if she should be trusting the small details of her visions that much, but details were her life, what made her a good cop.  Because, like her dad always said, it was the little things that would get you killed.

She finished dressing and turned to Hershey.  “Tomorrow, I’m out of here,” she said, running her fingers through the dog’s thick fur.  “But, I’ll be back.”

She only hoped she wasn’t lying.

Josh was smearing garlic butter across thick slices of Italian bread when the doorbell rang.  He dropped the knife, wiped his hands on a towel and headed to the front door.  He started to open it, then remembered his guest and the man after her, and bent down to peer through the peephole instead.

Commander John Turner stood there, ready to jab at the bell again.  Josh opened the door.  The man looked haggard, as if he had aged decades overnight.  The unhealthy gleam in his eye reminded Josh of the killer he had faced earlier.

“Doctor Lightner,” Turner said, brushing past Josh and into the house without waiting for an invitation.  “Am I correct in assuming that Officer O’Hern is on the premises?”

Josh took his time closing the door behind him and locking it.  Something about Turner’s tone.  Brittle.  Controlled.  Too controlled. “She’s resting,” he hedged.

Turner snarled his response.  “Yes.  I heard you two had quite the afternoon.”

Turner paused, watching Josh in a way that made Josh want to confess all his sins.  Anything to fill the silence and ease the pressure Turner’s expectant expression created.  Josh found himself shifting his weight from one foot to the other, feeling chastised when he didn’t volunteer the information Turner wanted.  All that in the space of five seconds, with Turner not saying a word.

“What did the shooter say to you, Doctor?  I want to know everything.  How did he react when O’Hern intervened?”

Josh led the way back to the kitchen, trying to regain his composure.   Last thing he wanted was to relive those moments of sheer panic.  “He said he was from the Grim Reaper, that was all.  He stopped when he saw Kate—” Turner’s head jerked up at his use of her first name and Josh quickly amended, “Ah, Officer O’Hern.  Then he—”

“He what?” Turner jumped in, his eyes shining with eagerness.

Josh stepped back, busied himself with the garlic bread, anything to get out from under Turner’s microscopic examination.  There was something going on, something Josh didn’t understand, but he knew it had to do more with Kate than it did the killer.  He remembered the way Turner had upset Kate when she first woke up after being shot.

“What did he do?” Turner persisted, both hands flat on the island opposite Josh, leaning forward.

“He blew her a kiss,” Josh finally admitted.  “Then laughed and ran away.”

His words hung in the air between them.  Turner licked his lips as if Josh had served him a tasty morsel.

“Like he knew she was there,” Turner said in a distant voice as if he were speaking to himself.  His head bounced in a small nod, checking one more box on his list of evidence to use to condemn Kate.

Josh glanced at the police officer with a clinician’s expertise.  The man’s eyes were rimmed in red, he obviously hadn’t slept in days.  He’d lost weight since Josh last saw him, his skin was sallow, flaking with dry patches.

“Of course he knew.  Of course he did.”  Turner sounded pleased.

“How could he?” Josh challenged him, not liking either Turner’s tone of voice or his implication.

“She told him,” Turner answered.  “Don’t you see?  She’s been working with him from the beginning.”

CHAPTER 24

Kate was halfway down the steps when she heard Turner’s voice.  What the hell was he doing here?  If he’d come to take her into protective custody, he was going to have a fight on his hands.  The men needed to guard her would be better spent out on the streets hunting for the killer than babysitting her in some Motel 6.  She paused on the landing, out of sight, and listened.

“She’s been working with him from the beginning.”

“You think Kate knows the killer?” Lightner’s voice was loud and harsh.

“Knows him?” Turner’s laughter crackled up the staircase.  “She’s his lover.”

Kate’s body went rigid at his words.  She could barely control her feet as she propelled herself down the stairs, one hand sliding along the banister, certain that she must have misheard.  Each step lanced through her side but was nowhere near as painful as the rage coursing through her.  She emerged into the kitchen and one look at Turner’s face told her she had not heard wrong.

“How dare you!” she shouted, her words exploding from her in a torrent.  “When Rob’s dead, when I—”

Both men spun toward her, Lightner moving so fast that butter flew from his knife.  Turner, his dress blues uncharacteristically disheveled, leaned back against the island, his gaze taking in everything from her still-wet hair to her bare feet.  He met her eyes and nodded slightly as if she’d confirmed his worst suspicions.

“I’ll bet that surprised the hell out of you, didn’t it O’Hern?”  His words were slightly slurred.  Was he drunk?  “How’d it all go so wrong?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What am I talking about?”  He laughed, a sharp, biting sound that shattered the air between them.  “I’m talking about a woman who seduces her married partner, ruins his life, then when she tires of him, finds a new man to kill him for her.  Rob was the only one supposed to get shot that night, wasn’t he?  But after everything went wrong, you two decided to make it look like a serial killer on a spree.”

Kate could barely draw in enough breath to fill her lungs, her chest was so constricted by rage.  The swath supporting her shoulder felt like an iron lung.  She stalked across the room to face Turner and his insane accusations head on.  He leered at her, as if certain that he had the upper hand.

She blinked as darkness descended over her vision and it was the killer grinning at her. She shook off the clenched fist of fear that accompanied the memory. Words failed her as anger scorched through her veins, out of control.  Without conscious thought, she shot her hand out and cracked it against Turner’s cheek in an open handed slap.  A stunned silence filled the room.

“I never slept with Rob.  I had nothing to do with his death,” she said once she regained her voice.

Turner rubbed his cheek but his grin widened as he glared at her.  “Sure you did.  I have witnesses, O’Hern.  People who heard you at the hospital, said you seemed to know that Phil Conrad was going to die before it happened.”

Kate darted a glance at Lightner.  Damn, this was exactly what she was afraid of if word of her visions got out.  No one would understand, no one would believe her.

“Did Phil know about you and Rob?” Turner continued.  “Was he another loose end for you to clean up?”

Lightner stepped toward them, butter knife forgotten in his hand.  “I want you to leave my house, Commander Turner.  Now.”

Turner barely spared him a glance.  “She’s got you wrapped around her finger too, doc.”  Then his focus returned to Kate.  “I have witnesses,” he repeated and Kate caught a wift of bourbon on his breath as he leaned toward her.  “People who saw you practically living at my daughter’s house last summer.  She was out of town, helping a friend dying of cancer and you and Rob were screwing in her bed!”

“Shut up!”  This time Kate didn’t shout, instead her voice had dropped to a low, serious threatening rasp.  Both men looked at her in surprise.  “You can say what you like about me, but don’t you dare say anything about Rob.  He was a good man.  The best thing that ever happened to your daughter.”

“What the hell do you know about it?” Turner demanded, stepping forward so that they now stood toe to toe.

Kate felt the hatred roiling off him like smoke from a three-alarm fire.  If they were on the streets, she would never have allowed the confrontation to escalate like this.  She struggled to gain control.  In a distant corner of her mind she heard her father telling her to “rein it in, pardner” in his worst John Wayne imitation.

She sucked in her breath, swallowed her angry words, and angled her body sideways to Turner, taking a step back, giving them both breathing room.  Turner didn’t take the hint, instead he lurched forward, grabbing her right arm.  Any other time or place, if he’d made a move for her gun hand like that she would have had him on the ground in a heartbeat.  But this wasn’t the street and her weapon was upstairs on the dresser.  Probably for the best.

“I don’t want you near my daughter again,” he said.  “You ruined her life, you dirty, lousy whore!”

The stench of bourbon polluted every breath she took, making her stomach clench.  Kate wrenched free of his grip, his fingers raising a red imprint on her arm.  Turner reached out to grab her again, but Lightner was there in a flash.  Kate watched as the surgeon flattened his large hand against Turner’s chest and nudged him back against the island.

“Get your hands off me,” Turner said his posture rigid.  Kate watched his hands, they remained out to his sides, nowhere near his weapon.  Lightner didn’t move, holding Turner in place with one hand as he looked over his shoulder at Kate.

She didn’t waste energy telling him that she didn’t need his help or that it was a stupid move to make on an armed man.  “Let him go.”

He hesitated, a glint of animal fury clouding his eyes for an instant, then dropped his hand and stepped away to stand at her side.  Turner shrugged, rolled his shoulders and straightened his tie, looking self-righteous.

In her heart she knew Jenn would want her to defend Rob, to tell the truth.  But she’d kept her partner’s secrets for so long she couldn’t violate that trust now.  Even if it meant people like Turner thought the worst of her.

Turner spun on his heel to face her again.  His face was florid, the product of drink and strong emotion.

“I have witnesses, I have evidence,” he said, his glare sparking across the room.  “What have you got?”  He waved his fingers as if scattering fairy dust.  “Nothing.”

He stomped past them, heading toward the door, then stopped.  “Tell your boyfriend I’m gonna nail both of you, see you both rot.  You see,” he paused, his eyes glinting in the light from the overhead chandelier, “I was there today at Phil’s funeral.  I was one of the pallbearers.”

He tugged his coat down straight and Kate noticed mud splatters on it and his pants.  “Right behind Dimeo.  He caught his foot on a rock, looked back at me as he tripped.  I didn’t hear the shot but I felt it.  Splintered the wood on the casket.”

With a dramatic flare, he raised his left arm and pulled back his sleeve, revealing an ugly abrasion along the back of his wrist.  “I saw Dimeo fall.  At first I thought he was having a heart attack or something.  The casket drooped, then slid, got away from us and it came crashing down.  That’s when I heard the screaming.”

He paused, straightened his cuff once more.  “Know what the SWAT guys told me later?  They said from the trajectory, it looked like I was probably the target, not Dimeo.  When he stumbled, he fell in the line of fire.”

Kate felt the muscles of her jaw spasm as he described Dimeo’s death.  Turner smiled again—this time the grin of a predator circling in for the kill.

“When you see your friend again, O’Hern, tell him I’m coming after him.  Or better yet, go ahead, try again to silence me—it’s not going to work.”

CHAPTER 25

Once Turner slammed the door behind him, Josh felt the tension strumming along Kate’s muscles, tightening them like bowstrings.  She sank into a kitchen chair and he reached for her hand.  Her pulse hammered beneath his fingers, much too fast for his liking and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out over her upper lip.

As angry as he was at Turner for barging into his house and making insane accusations, he was more concerned about Kate and the effect Turner’s visit had on her.

“You okay?” he asked, even though everything told him she wasn’t.  He felt her breath spiral through her body and out again before she responded.

“I’m fine,” she said in a flat voice.

Her expression had also lost its emotion, a sure sign that she was back in full-control mode.  While he was certain that reining in your emotions was a useful skill for a street cop, it wasn’t a particularly healthy one.  Probably responsible for more cop deaths than doughnuts.

Before he could mention this to her, there was a bark at the back door.  Kate slid her hand out from under his and pushed herself to her feet.

“I’ll get him,” she said.

Her shoulder muscles tensed as she turned and walked with rigid posture to the door.  He knew it was taking all her energy not to fall apart.  He watched, hating feeling so helpless, but there was nothing he could do to stop Turner from spreading his vicious accusations and it seemed best to leave her time to calm down.

Hershey bounded inside, shaking himself free of the cold night air, then scampered for his favorite rope toy, bringing it to Kate first.  The dog planted himself at her feet, tail thumping on the floor as his head bounced hopefully, waiting for her to grab the toy.

“Looks like you’ve made another convert.”  Josh got up and returned to the garlic bread waiting on the counter.  “Hope you like red clam sauce.  Dinner won’t take long.”

As he popped the bread into the oven he saw a haunted look come over her face.  She turned her back to him and squatted to pat Hershey on the head.  The dog forgot about the toy and rolled over onto his back, baring his stomach for more loving.

“I shouldn’t stay here tonight,” she finally said.

“I thought we had that settled.  Besides, Turner already saw you here, so the damage is done.”  He busied himself stirring the sauce, not wanting to think about the damage to his career if word got out at the hospital about her being here.  Not if, when.

“You don’t believe anything he said, do you?”

Her face had that same look of anguish mixed with a hint of hope that he’d seen when he told her that he’d take care of everything yesterday morning.  A look that sent his own pulse skittering and made his stomach clench with the need to protect her, to fix everything for her—keep her safe from the killer, stop her boss’ vendetta, even heal her swiss-cheesed brain.  If only she would let him, grant him that privilege.

The sauce bubbled and splattered his hand, bringing him back to reality.  He quickly spun to the sink, running his burned fingers under cold water.

“I think denial is a very strong emotion, capable of making people believe almost anything other than the truth that is too painful to face,” he finally answered her.  He wasn’t sure if he was talking more about Turner or Kate.  Why couldn’t she give up these crazy delusions of hers?  She hadn’t had one today—at least not that she’d told him about.

She was silent for a long minute, staring at him as if weighing him.  She always looked straight into his eyes, he’d noticed.  Into his soul?  Her dark eyes seemed to know the secrets of his heart.

She abandoned Hershey, stood up and reached for the phone.  “No.  You’ll be safer without me around.  I have a friend I can stay with, Tony Martini.”

Josh frowned.  He remembered the height-impaired reporter all too well.  “Martini—he told me he was your fiancé.  Tried to bluff his way in to see you before Detective Carter threw him out of the hospital.”

That earned him a crooked smile.  “Mel and Tony don’t exactly see eye to eye on everything, on anything, in fact.  Tony and I grew up together, been best friends since fourth grade.”

He noted she said nothing about an engagement.  Her relationship with Martini wasn’t the point, anyway.   “Look, when I have a complicated case, I like to have a game plan.  I think we need to sit down and talk this through, not go running around aimlessly.  After all, isn’t that what this guy wants to do?  Take control of the situation, force the cops into playing his game?”

“I have a plan.  I’m leaving.”  She raised the phone and began dialing.

Josh’s teeth ground together as he watched.  Once more relegated to sideline civilian.  It was a role he was beginning to despise.  He now understood how friends and family members felt when they were forced out of the trauma bay, assigned the much more painful job of waiting.

Before she could finish dialing, her mouth went slack, and she sat frozen for a moment, then jerked and pushed her hands forward as if blocking something.  Her eyes were wide with terror, and Josh thought for a second that she might scream, but she made no sound.

“Kate.”  He took her hands in his, held on tight.  “Kate, come back.  It’s all right.”

At the sound of his voice, her eyes regained focus.  Her face had lost all color, and he could feel her pulse racing.

Josh pried the receiver from her rigid fingers.  He hung up the phone and turned to Kate.  “You had another one, didn’t you?”

She shrank away from him, retreating back into the corner of the couch.

“No,” she said, her voice coming out in a choked whisper.

He kept hold of her hands.  She seemed so childlike, so vulnerable at this moment.  He knew she was a hard woman, her job demanded that.  She was probably less frightened of the killer stalking her than she was of the thought of her mind betraying her with these visions.

“Kate, it wasn’t real.  There’s nothing to be frightened of.  It wasn’t real.  Let me take you back to Three Rivers, do the tests I wanted.”

“He killed you.”  Her voice was trembling, her teeth chattering.  She pulled her hands away from his.  “Just like before.  At my apartment.”  She looked down at her hands, turning her good one over to examine it.  “All that blood—”

Josh sat back on his heels, stunned.  It wasn’t everyday a beautiful woman told you that you were about to die a horrible death.  He relaxed his fists, thankful she hadn’t divulged any of the details.  He wasn’t certain he could handle that.  Even if it was all a delusion, hallucination.

He looked at her with the discerning eye of a clinician.  It was painfully obvious she wasn’t handling it well, either.  God, what he wouldn’t do to get her some answers, to find a cure, to fix everything for her.

“You said it happened at your apartment.  How can he manipulate you into going someplace you have no intention of going?” he asked, trying to use logic to disarm her fears.

“How did he know to find me at home today?” she snapped.  “You didn’t plan to discharge me until next week.  How did he walk into a cemetery with over a hundred cops around, kill one and leave again?  Or shoot a cop with a bar full of his buddies less than thirty feet away?”  Then she met his eyes and he was taken back by the intensity of her gaze.

Logic had no effect against the strength of her delusions.  She was on the brink, had been ever since they left her apartment.

“You talk like this guy is God, or a force of nature.  Don’t give him that kind of power, Kate.”

“He’s human.  I know that.  I’m only saying that this guy is smart, he knows cops.  How we think, how we act, where we go, even how we take down a suspect.  He knew Rob was coming from his blind side that night.  He ignored me to shoot him first.  Now this guy has acquired a taste for killing cops.  He likes the control, the feeling of superiority it gives him.  We can’t go to one of our own’s funerals or drink a toast in a dead friend’s memory without putting our life on the line—much less being out on the street, doing our job.  Now that he’s started this, there’ll be others.  No one in a uniform will be safe until we nail this guy.”

She took a deep breath then sank back, as if surprised by her long speech.  Hershey jumped up beside her and licked her face, but she gently pushed him away.

“Do you think this guy is a cop?” Josh asked after a moment’s thought.  “You said he knows your routines.”

“I don’t think this guy is a cop, but I’ll bet he applied for the academy at one time and was turned down.  He likes to have control over people, to be able to change their lives.  And now’s he’s like a god, even the cops can’t touch him.”  She looked around the room and focused back on him.  “It must be the medicine you have me on, I haven’t talked this much in ages.”

“It’s not the medicine.  I think you’re close to this guy.”

“What do you mean?  I don’t know him!”

He remembered Turner’s accusations and hastened to explain.  “Let me finish.  I don’t mean close in a physical sense.  I think you’re close to his perspective, you’ve got a handle on how he thinks.”

“Thanks a lot, doctor.  Is that your way of saying that I’m ready for a room at Western Psych?”

“No.  You’ve met him twice now in person and somehow he can’t let you go.  Why is he so fixated on you?  Visiting you after he killed Conrad and Dimeo?”

“I wish I knew.  Why can’t these visions tell me something constructive like where this guy lives, or what his name is?”

“He meant to kill you that night, not just Rob,” Josh said slowly, wishing she wouldn’t rely so much on these figments of an overwrought brain.

“Don’t I know it.”

“Maybe he’s such a control freak that he’s obsessed because you escaped him.  He knows you even escaped death; it was in the papers.  Maybe he sees you as some kind of—” he stopped, frustrated searching for words.

“What?  He sees me as having cheated him, defied him?  Does that mean that in his mind, I have control over him?  Or that he won’t stop until he does kill me?”

Josh wished he had the answer.

CHAPTER 26

Hershey crawled on top of Josh, whining, poking his wet nose against Josh’s face.

“Get off, you went out already,” Josh mumbled, trying to shove the Lab off the bed.  Hershey jumped to the floor and ran to the door, scratching at it and whining.

“Why is it always at three am that you want to go out?”  Josh got up, wincing as his bare feet hit the cold floor.  He opened the door, and Hershey raced out to the stairs.

He followed the dog and almost tripped over her.  Kate was huddled at the top of the steps, one hand cradling her bad arm, her head against her knees.

“Kate, what are you doing out here?” he asked in a whisper, sitting down on the step beside her.  “Something wrong?”

She shook her head.  He could barely make her out in the moonlight streaming through the window above the landing.

“No.” Faint tracks of tears glistened on her cheeks.  “I thought I heard something, so I got up.  I guess it was too fast, I got dizzy and almost fell down the stairs.  Sorry I woke you.”

Then he saw the handgun clenched in her fist.  He drew his breath in.  The same kind of gun had killed her.  Yet she clung to it as if it held some magical protection.

“Were you going to tell me you brought a gun into my house?”

She glanced down at her hand as if she’d forgotten the lethal weapon.  “I felt naked without it.  If it bothers you—”

The entire concept of a weapon designed to be easily concealed and produced for no other reason than to shoot a human being disturbed him.

“I wished you would have told me.”  He paused, but couldn’t stop himself before addressing the real source of his concern.  “And I don’t think it’s safe for you to be carrying a gun with the blackouts you’ve been having.  Why don’t you let me take you back to Three Rivers for more testing?”

She slowly raised her head and glared at him.  Ah, there was the tough lady he knew and admired.

“You know, Lightner, I’m getting tired of your patronizing bedside manner.  I want to stop being a patient and get back to being a person living her own life!”

She shrugged his arm away, tried to stand and lost her balance.  Josh caught her, saved her from tumbling down the stairs, but not before she banged her left shoulder against the banister.  Hershey didn’t help matters by jumping up, pushing them both against the wall.

They stood there, awkwardly balanced on the top step, Kate swearing softly through her tears of pain, Josh trying to ignore the heat radiating from the woman who filled his arms.  Finally he carried her into his room and sat her down on the bed.

He turned on the bedside light, took the gun from her hand and placed it on the night stand.  Tiny dots of blood seeped through the shoulder of her t-shirt.

“Let me have a look at that,” he told her, supporting her arm as he removed the t-shirt.  He hoped she didn’t notice that he was breathing harder.  The T-shirt and boxers he’d worn to bed weren’t the best choice to camouflage his other physical responses, either.  She’s a patient, he told himself, but with her sitting there half-naked, on his bed, the mantra was fast losing its effectiveness.

The sight of the finely sewn sutures criss-crossing her flesh brought him back to his senses, reminding him how much she had already been through.  He couldn’t hurt her, cause her any more pain.  Taking advantage of her in this weakened state would do just that.  The thought cooled his libido faster than a cold shower.

“That’ll be fine,” he said in his best clinical tone.  Too bad his voice kept catching, betraying him. “Just tore a couple of stitches loose.  They were almost ready to come out anyway.   I’ll bet banging that clavicle hurt like hell, though.”

No reply except for a grudging shrug of her good shoulder.  Josh went into the bathroom and returned with materials to re-dress her wound.  He worked quickly, ignoring her glare and the stubborn set of her jaw.

Now that he was thinking clearly, he fought to restrain his own anger.  Why hadn’t she come to him first?  Did she think she had to protect him?  That it was better for her to go up against an intruder alone, injured, than both of them together?

“What’s next, a temper tantrum?”

She startled, her eyes wide.  “Do you think I like this, being helpless?”

“I think you’re stubborn and used to having things your way and now that isn’t happening, so you’re feeling sorry for yourself and taking it out on me.”

“Give me a break.”  She started to get up.

“Sit!” he commanded, surprised when both she and Hershey obeyed.  “What’s really going on here, Kate?  Is our arguing all night going to solve your problems?  Is it going to bring Rob or Sergeant Conrad or Dimeo back or get a killer off the street?”

She looked down and shook her head.  “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“I guess I was feeling sorry for myself.  And,” she paused, “I’m scared.”

The last came out in a barely audible whisper.  He felt certain that it was the first time those words had ever passed her lips.

The thought almost broke his resolve.  He wanted to pull her into his arms, promise to protect her, promise her the world.   Instead, he took her chin in his hand and brought her face up.

“Listen to me, Kate.  It’s okay to be scared.  I’d be worried about you if you weren’t in these circumstances.  That’s what fear is, a protective reflex.  As long as you don’t run away from it, let it push you into foolish heroics.”

She said nothing, but her eyes cleared and her expression relaxed.  Josh was desperate to hold her again, kiss away her fears, but he couldn’t allow himself to.  His muscles were stiff with the effort it took to keep his hands off her.

“It’s late, we’re both exhausted.  Why don’t you curl up here?  Hershey and I will keep the bogeymen away.”  The words escaped his lips before he could realize the torture he was inviting upon himself.  Still, better she was here safe at his side than alone in the dark.

She didn’t respond, merely sat there, hands dangling between her knees as if she’d lost the will to make a decision.  Finally he walked around to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers, then clicked off the light when she didn’t move.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, knowing that some things are better spoken of in darkness.

“No.  I’m fine,” came her mumbled reply.

“Is it about your friend, Jenn?”

Silence, except for the sound of her sigh reverberating around the dark room.

“If Turner’s been spouting those lies—what could she be thinking?” Her voice caught.  “But how can I face her?  Turner’s right about one thing.  Rob would still be alive if it weren’t for me.  He would have taken that spot on day shift and he’d be home right now…”

Her voice faded away.  Josh sat up against his pillows.  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out her form.  He yearned to draw her near to him, but knew she needed distance, the illusion of being in control.

“Maybe tomorrow we can drive over to see her, you can explain to her,” he suggested.

She remained silent, but she pulled her feet up and drew the covers over her legs as she leaned back against the pillows.  Hershey jumped up, snuggling in between the two warm bodies.

“See, you’re safe here,” Josh said.  “Even got a chaperone.  Hope you don’t mind snoring.  I don’t snore, but Hershey does.”

The bed vibrated with her soft chuckle.  He stretched his hand out to rest on top of the covers.  A few moments later her hand covered his.

“Thanks, Lightner.”

CHAPTER 27

Kate woke, and her first thought was of going back to sleep.  For another two thousand millennia or so.  She remembered dreaming of lullabies and wild flowers and the house with the red shutters.  Remembered feeling safe with Lightner’s warm body nestled beside her.

Then she opened her eyes and looked around.  Lightner was gone, the comforter on his side of the bed pulled back neatly.  She hadn’t dreamt it.

How had she let everything get so complicated?  What should she say to him, how should she act?  If it had been a simple one-night stand she could handle that, but there was a lot more at stake here.

She smiled as she remembered what a gentleman he had been.  She had never met anyone like him.  A man who wasn’t thinking only of himself, who put her needs first.   This was serious business.  She couldn’t risk hurting this man; he’d done too much to help her already.

She showered, her thoughts still on the definitely non-professional aspect of her relationship with Dr. Lightner.  Once she had her shoulder immobilizer back in place, the throbbing in her side died down.  For the first time in a week she was actually eager to begin the day.

Kate stopped and cursed.  She’d been so busy mooning over Lightner, she’d almost forgotten that there was a cop-killer out on the streets.  And that she was sidelined from joining in the hunt to find him.

What was she supposed to do?  Crochet doilies?  Irritation surged through her, wrecking her contented mood.  Wasn’t going to happen.

Today was the day she took back her life.  She’d go down to the House, have a talk with Carter, convince him to let her go back to her apartment—the one place she knew the killer would be going.

She stopped midway down the stairs, feeling like a voyeur.  Intense yearning to find a place in the scene before her collided with reality, leaving her with a clenched stomach and jaw.

Lightner stood at the stove, deftly scrambling eggs in a cast iron skillet with one hand while playing tug-o-war with Hershey with the other.

The dog jerked and pulled, obviously loving every moment while the man cajoled.

“C’mon you old mutt, that the best you have,” Lightner teased the dog, letting loose with a fake growl.

Hershey abruptly dropped his weight, pulling his master off balance, thumping against the floor.  Lightner lost his spatula in the eggs and almost toppled a stack of toast before finally surrendering.

“Hey, I want a rematch,” Lightner called as Hershey dragged the pull toy off into the family room.

Sunlight painted the kitchen in broad, bright streaks.  Lightner wore jeans and a flannel shirt, his hair still damp.  Kate watched him stir the eggs, imagining what it would be like if they had made love last night, if they were together as a couple.   She could wake to this everyday.  She had the sudden image of Lightner wrapping his arms around her, kissing her tenderly while the eggs burned.

That was is what ordinary people did on Saturday mornings, she thought not a little wistfully.  Was this a life she could ever have?

Her elbow banged against the stair rail, the pain jolting her from her idyllic fantasy.  So much stood between her and any kind of normalcy it was laughable.  She blew out her breath.  Lightner deserved better than the chaos and uncertainty that was all Kate had to offer him.

He deserved the perfect life she could only dream of.

The life she may never have.  Anger and regret propelled her the rest of the way down the stairs.

“Good morning,” Lightner sang out, his chipper tone fueling her irritation.  “Just in time.”

He scooped a pile of eggs onto a plate, added toast and set it on the table, pulling out a chair for her.  Kate’s nostrils flared and she yanked the chair from him.  “I thought you were going to stop treating me like an invalid.”

He stepped back at the sharp tone of her voice, his mouth twisting.  “I wasn’t treating you like a patient, I was treating you like a lady.  It’s a little thing called manners.  You should try it some time.”

To avoid answering, she shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth.  He fixed a plate for himself and joined her across the table.  The eggs were perfect, not too dry, not too soggy.  Damn it.

At least he’d burnt the crust on her toast.  Guy wasn’t totally perfect after all.

There was silence except her clattering her silverware, not sure where the anger was coming from but happy to give it an outlet, chomping at her food without enjoying it.

Lightner watched her, at first in concern—which really pissed her off—then in amusement.  She remembered his comment about tantrums.

Damn the man, did he always have to be right?

She swallowed and took a sip of orange juice.  “Thank you.  It’s very good.”

It was as close as she’d ever come to an apology—and she wasn’t even sure what the hell she was apologizing for.  But he nodded, his smile returning, making it all the way to his eyes when Hershey came up and nudged her thigh with his nose.

“He wants to play.  Won’t let up until you do.”

Kate relented.  Just because this wasn’t, couldn’t ever be her life, didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it while she was here.  She finished eating and pushed her chair back so that she could grab Hershey’s tug toy without jarring her bad side.

Her enjoyment was short lived.  While she and Hershey were playing, the phone rang.  Lightner answered, then brought it over to her.  “It’s Carter.”

She took the receiver.  “Hello?”

“Hey, how’s it going?  The patrol units said everything around there was quiet last night.” Carter didn’t wait for her reply.  “Can you and the doc come down to the House?  The brass called in the feebies and they want to talk to you both.”

“I’ll bet,” she replied dryly.  Bringing in outsiders to help solve the murders of their own cops, that rankled.   “When and where?”

“They’ve taken over roll call.  We’ll be here all day.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” she said and hung up.

Lightner looked up from his plate.  “Something happen? Did they catch him?”

“No.  Carter wants us to go down to the precinct to talk to some hotshot FBI investigators.”

“How much are you going to tell them?”

She considered that.  “I don’t know.”

Josh tried to make conversation as he drove through East Liberty, but Kate was distant, answering with short, clipped sentences.  She kept her head tilted to the side, watching the street in front of them as well as what was reflected in the side view mirror.  He looked over once and noticed that her gaze seemed constantly shifting—absorbing everything, weighing, assessing, judging.  Her eyes had a hard edge to them that he didn’t recognize.

“Son of a bitch!”  Her shout made him jerk the wheel.  “Pull over, stop the car!”

Josh slammed on the brakes and pulled the sports car into the bus lane.  She had the door open before he came to a complete stop.  She hauled herself to her feet.  He undid his seatbelt and jumped out in time to see her racing across the street toward a group of kids gathered on the street corner.  He followed after her, but was stopped by oncoming traffic.

“Kate, wait!  What are you doing?”  She ignored him, instead chasing after one youth as the remainder of the gang dispersed.

“Damn you, Marcus!” she was yelling as she used her good hand to shove the tall, lanky teenager against a wall.  Josh joined her, looking over his shoulder, hoping that the others wouldn’t notice that they were alone.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said.

She continued to swear at the kid.  Josh didn’t know why Marcus, whoever he was, didn’t haul off and belt her—the kid was big enough he could have taken both of them easily.  Instead, Marcus just hung his head and assumed a position against the wall.  He moaned when Kate awkwardly began to frisk him.

“I ain’t carrying, O’Hern,” he protested.

“You’d damned well better not be, Marcus,” she replied, systematically searching his pockets.  “Watch your English.  I’m not one of your guttersnipe friends that you have to put on a show for.”  Apparently satisfied that Marcus had no drugs or weapons on him, she pulled at his shoulder, turning him around to face them.  Josh was surprised to see that Marcus was smiling.

“Good to see you, O’Hern,” he said.  “Grams was upset when she read that you’d been shot.”

“Not half as upset as she’ll be if you lose your ride.  Damn it, Marcus, what were you thinking, hanging out with that trash?  You know it violates your parole.”

“I have to live in this ‘hood.  And when I leave for school, Gram still lives here.  I don’t want nobody hassling her.”

“Your grandmother will be fine.  I’ll keep an eye out for her, I promise.”

Marcus stared at her for a second, Josh could read the doubt on his face.  Finally he nodded and put out a hand.  Kate grasped it firmly.  “Guess it was a good thing that guy didn’t kill you, O’Hern.”

Kate rolled her eyes and smiled.  “Glad you feel that way, Marcus.  By the way, meet the man you can blame for that.  This is Joshua Lightner, he’s my surgeon.”

Josh couldn’t help but grin at the way she said “my surgeon”, and he took Marcus’ hand.  “Pleased to meet you, Marcus.”

“Marcus is going to be a doctor some day.  After he finishes school next June, he’ll be starting at Penn State.  If he doesn’t blow his scholarship,” she finished firmly.

“Not a chance, O’Hern—not between you and Grams bird-dogging me, anyway.  Nice to meet you, doc.   I’ve got to get going.”

“Home to study, right?” Kate asked.

Marcus grinned.  “Right.”  He started down the sidewalk.

“Tell your gram I said hi!” Kate called after him, and he waved his hand in reply.

“Nice kid,” Josh said once they were safely off the street and back in the car.

“Yeah, I only hope he can make it to graduation without screwing up.  He’s smart, but it’s tough in this neighborhood.  Lots of people here want to see Marcus fall flat on his face.  They don’t want his success to remind them what they could’ve had if they didn’t waste their lives smoking rock.”

Josh looked in the rearview mirror at the dingy walls of the tenement behind them.  “I’m glad I didn’t have to fight all that, just for a chance to grow up.”

She turned in her seat to stare at him.  “You do understand.  Most don’t.  They only know what they see on TV and in the movies.”

“When you’ve patched together as many young bodies as I have, it makes you wonder about the future.”

“Is that why you became a doctor, to try to change the future, one life at a time?” she asked, and Josh was well aware that now her eyes rested solely on him.

All he could do in answer was shrug.  But out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod slowly with a small, serious smile on her face.

“Knew you were a control freak,” she said as if welcoming him into an elite corps.

All he could do was smile in return, a warmth spreading through him for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom but that didn’t decrease his enjoyment.

Kate had Lightner pull into the visitor’s space near the front door of the building that housed the Zone Five station house.  She locked her Beretta in the glove compartment, then sat for a moment, looking at the solid brick building that resembled an elementary school more than a bastion of law and order.  It was so difficult to accept that this place, a second home to her, was now foreign territory.

“Better get used to it,” she muttered as she climbed out of the car.  Get used to a lot of things losing their meaning once she wasn’t a cop anymore.

Rolinson had the desk she saw once they passed through the metal detector and into the lobby.  A few uniformed officers milled around, either in the process of coming or going, but no one met her eyes.  In fact two men, both close friends with Phil Conrad, saw her and made a point of turning their back on her and walking away.

A chilly silence descended upon the small area.  Foreign territory indeed.  Seemed like she was definitely persona non gratis.  Probably had Turner to thank for that.

Josh cleared his throat, obviously uncertain what the protocol was.  Kate took pity on him and retrieved the visitor pass Rolinson handed her wordlessly.  What would Jenn think if word of her father’s accusations got back to her?  Kate hoped the task force meeting went quickly so that she could get out of there and go see Jenn.

A cold voice cut through the commotion.  Kate froze.  Turner stood outside the door to his office and gestured at her.

“Officer O’Hern, please come in, I’d like to talk to you now.”

“Damn,” she murmured.  She turned to Turner, met his beady gaze.  “Sir, the task force is waiting for us. I don’t want to keep them—”

“I really don’t think you want to keep me waiting.”

Kate held her ground.  No way she was going in there alone without witnesses.  Turner raised an eyebrow at her insubordination and gestured to someone behind him.

All eyes were now on her as he approached, followed by two men. Internal Affairs detectives, her own personal lynching party.

“Very well, we’ll do this the hard way,” Turner said, a smirk flitting across his features.  “It’s my duty to inform you that pending investigation, you are on inactive duty, Officer O’Hern.”

“You can’t do that!  I want my PBA representative, we’ll file a formal grievance.”

“If you can find any one to listen to you on a Saturday, be my guest.”  This time his smile was mirrored by the two men from IAD.  “In the meantime, we’ll continue our investigation, so be sure you’re available for further questioning if we need you.”  He held out his hand, palm up.  “Your badge, O’Hern.”

Kate stared at his outstretched hand as if it was a viper.  Not a sound was to be heard but the silence was heavy, unfriendly.  Slowly, she removed her badge from her jacket.  She dropped it into his palm.  It was only a piece of metal, had nothing to do with who she really was.

At least that’s what she told herself.

“That’s all for now. You may go,” Turner told her in a gracious tone of voice as if thanking her for stopping by for a chat.  As if he hadn’t just taken the one thing most important to her.

Imagining leaving the job was one thing.  Actually losing her badge—and to Turner’s filthy lies—Kate was stunned, her cheeks burned as if they had been slapped.  She had to get out of there before she hit Turner.  Although the idea had some appeal.  Her career was already over, how much worse could things get?

CHAPTER 28

Josh couldn’t believe what he was watching.  Worse than a train wreck in slow motion.  Everyone there knew what was going to happen, knew it was going to end badly, but no one intervened.  He glanced around at the hard-set faces of the other police officers.  They’d already condemned Kate, it appeared.

As soon as Turner walked away, gloating, he moved to stand beside Kate.  “Are you sure you’re up to facing the task force after all this?”

“Yeah, let’s get it all over with.”

Despite everything Turner had done to bring her down, she still held her head up high, shoulders drawn back.  Josh followed her to the roll call room, watching her walk.  No, not walk.  Kate strode.  Long, confident strides, hips swaying as if used to carrying weight on them, like an Old West gunslinger.

She turned before opening the door, her guard slipping for one brief instant, revealing the fatigue and stress that weighed upon her.  He couldn’t resist, he reached out, touching her arm for a long moment.  Josh wasn’t even sure if she noticed.  Her eyes went blank as she blew out her breath and inhaled once again.  Then she straightened, his hand falling free of her body, and she opened the door.

Roll call was a large, open room that reminded Josh of a basketball court without the markings on the floor or the bleachers.  Instead, there was a large whiteboard on one wall and a long table in the middle of the room surrounded by a bunch of metal chairs.  Enlarged photos of bullets and views of the homicide scenes were pinned up on the walls.

Carter was there with several other police officers and detectives.  Everyone was focused on a middle-aged woman in a tailored wool suit the color of autumn leaves.  She was speaking, gesturing with her arms while she paced the room.  She paused and looked up when they approached.

Carter stood and held a chair out for Kate.  She looked at him in surprise, and Josh surmised from the expression on the detective’s face that he had also heard of Turner’s accusations.  Josh couldn’t help but wonder if the task force and the FBI were going to follow Turner’s lead.

“This must be Officer O’Hern,” the woman said, coming forward and reaching a hand over the table to take Kate’s.  “I’m Anne Ramsey, from the FBI.  And this,” she indicated a balding young man sitting to one side, “is Special Agent Cohen.  It’s good to finally meet you, Officer.  I’m hope you’re feeling well after your ordeal.”

Kate looked ill at ease, but nodded.  Josh decided he liked Ramsey; she seemed to be straight forward, but not pushy.  He noticed the way Cohen sat on the sidelines, where he could quietly observe everything and everyone and take notes.

“Officer O’Hern,” Ramsey began.  “I would be most interested to hear your account.  Your feelings, your thoughts, not just the official version you gave for your report.”

“I put everything in my report—” Kate protested.

“I’m not suggesting that you didn’t, but every good cop has impressions, intuitions that are difficult to place into words or put down on paper.  It is those insights that I’d like you to share with us.”

Kate hesitated.  How many times would they put her through this?  Josh wondered, reaching under the table and wrapping his hand around hers.  She gave his hand a quick squeeze, as if he was the one needing encouragement, before pulling away.  She lay her hand on top of the table, flat, steady.  The hand of a competent, capable police officer.  There was nothing of the distraught woman he had comforted last night here, not in this room.

“We were taking care of a minor traffic accident on Negley when the call came.  We both knew the address, that place has been hit before.  We pulled up, and Rob took up position in the alley beside the store.”

As she told her story in frank, unflinching tones, Josh had to fight to keep his face neutral.  It was the first time he had heard the entire story.  His mouth went dry as he remembered the chaos in the trauma room that night, straining to focus as he worked to reach the bleeding vessel with the vascular clamp while his other hand held her heart.  Brown stains of Betadine and too-dark blood had glistened in the bright lights, gleamed against the whiteness of her skin.  At one point, he had turned his head to bark out an order and for one brief, endless instant he had looked at her face, watched the faint blush of color return as her heart resumed beating and the blood they pumped into her began to circulate.

Josh blinked hard.  He’d been so close to losing her...

The room was silent for a moment, and Ramsey took control again.  “Thank you, Officer.  You can all see how this fits into our profile.”  She pointed to an outline on the whiteboard.  “Our man is compulsive, he does his homework, knows police procedures, even uses police equipment.  He was probably wearing one, if not two, Kevlar vests that night.  The witnesses at the store also confirm that he took his time, didn’t try to stop the silent alarm from being triggered.”

Ramsey leaned forward, both hands palm down on the table.  “He’s been planning this for a long time, down to the last detail.  He knew both officers would be wearing vests so he aimed for the head and neck regions and used armor-piercing bullets.  He went out that night planning to murder two police officers.”

“Yeah, but what about everything afterward?” Carter asked.  “Did he plan all that?  Because I get the feeling that somehow the game changed.  What happened to Conrad didn’t seem as well rehearsed, in fact it was only luck that the shooter got out of there at all.”

“We would’ve had him,” another officer chimed in, “if it hadn’t been for that lady driver going crazy when she saw him running and ramming her car at us.”

“I think you’re right, Detective.   Things did change after that night.  Instead of him holding the power of life and death, condemning two cops to death, one of them lived.  Think how that must have enraged him, mocked him.”

“So to gain back his feeling of control, he’s begun his own little war on cops?”

“Yes.  Now he’s controlling us, like pieces in a chess game.”

“We figured some of this out without your help, you know, but we still couldn’t stop him at Dimeo’s funeral,” Carter said bitterly.

“I think you’re staking out the wrong target,” Ramsey replied.  “The other cops are merely the pawns in the game, so to speak.  The whole point is him winning—and his concept of winning is ultimately to gain power, control over death.”

“You want to translate for us pawns?”

“We’re all pawns, Detective.  All except Officer O’Hern, that is.”

There was silence in the room, and everyone stared at Kate.  For a second Josh was afraid that they would make her into a scapegoat just as Turner had.  He saw the corners of her eyes tighten, knew she was also worried, but she returned their stares with a steady gaze.

“What you’re saying is that he won’t be satisfied until he succeeds in his original goal and kills me,” she said.

Ramsey nodded.  “You cheated him.  You mock him by your very existence.  You also represent the ultimate goal, you died and were resurrected, so to speak.”

“Hey, that’s O’Hern, not the Virgin Mary,” someone joked.  There was nervous laughter, enough to break the tension.

Ramsey smiled but didn’t laugh.  “We’re talking about primal forces here, life and death, male and female, good and evil.  This man sees everything in black and white, no shades of grey.  He won’t stop until he’s achieved his goal.”

All eyes returned to Kate.  Then slowly, one by one, the other officers began to look away, to look down, anywhere but at her.  Kate shifted in her seat, and suddenly Josh realized what the others were thinking, what they wouldn’t mention until she volunteered.

He opened his mouth to protest, was ready to break every rule and oath he’d ever taken if it meant protecting her.  Carter caught his eye and shook his head, warning him to keep silent.  Josh clamped his jaws shut, hoping he could trust Carter.

“What did you have in mind?” Kate finally broke the silence.

She didn’t even look his way.  Didn’t care what he felt or thought about the prospect of her risking her life.  That knowledge burnt, sharper than a slap on the face.  This was her job, her life, he had no ties to bind her.

For the first time Cohen spoke up.  “We place you somewhere visible, let the word leak out and—”

“Let him come to us,” Kate finished for him.  It was the same plan Kate had proposed last night, the same one Josh feared would get her killed.  There had to be another way.  But obviously, even with the help of the FBI, it was the best they had come up with.  He stared at Carter, surely they wouldn’t let someone as impaired as Kate play Judas goat?

“Have you got a better idea, Officer?” Somehow Cohen made her rank sound like an insult.  Josh was right, Cohen was the detail man, Ramsey obviously was the “people person”—what a team.

Kate looked around the table at her colleagues, her friends.  Even Carter didn’t meet her eyes, Josh noticed.  He reached for her hand, wanting to somehow interrupt this, but she had turned away from him to focus on the others.  Leaving him on the outside.  Again.

Kate sighed and nodded.  “All right, but I’m not sure how much good I’ll be to you,” she gestured to her arm.   “I want to be involved in the details.  I don’t want any of my neighbors hurt by mistake.”

“We’re the FBI, Officer O’Hern, we’re not in the habit of making mistakes,” Cohen informed her.  “And we can’t use your apartment, it’s too obvious, he’ll know it’s a set up.  In any case, we’re not intending to use you; we’ll use a woman agent as a substitute.  As you suggested, your physical condition makes you unreliable.”

Josh couldn’t control his anger.  First Cohen set her up, then insulted her.  While Kate’s fellow officers had sat by and watched.  What kind of macho trial by fire was this?  She had gotten shot for them—she had died, damnit!

He leaned forward, intending to give Cohen a piece of his mind, but Kate lay a hand on his arm to restrain him.   Her touch reminded him that he’d gotten what he wanted—Kate safely out of the picture.  He just hated the price they’d made her pay.

“Tomorrow you’ll drive to your brother’s house, for Sunday lunch,” Cohen went on, “only it won’t be you in the car leaving his house.  After that we’ll arrange quarters for you out of town and out of sight.”

“I’ll need a car to use,” Kate replied. Josh marveled at her calm tone as she analyzed the details.  At least Cohen’s plan would keep her safe, out of the line of fire.  “Mine’s a straight stick, I can’t drive it with one arm.  In fact, it’s still parked out back.”

“I can drive you,” he put in, happy to be able to contribute something.  From the look on Kate and Cohen’s faces, he wished he had kept his mouth shut. But damn it, someone had to watch after her, protect her if she had another spell.  He wasn’t about to let her go into danger alone.

“And you are?” Cohen asked in a condescending voice.

“Josh Lightner, Doctor Joshua Lightner.”

Carter spoke up.  “Doctor Lightner was kind enough to allow Officer O’Hern to stay with him last night after the attack at her apartment.”

“Are you here with us today in the capacity of a chauffeur, Mr. Lightner?”

Josh wanted nothing more than to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off the federal agent’s face.  “No, Mr. Cohen,” he replied in a steely tone he usually reserved for residents who needed disciplined.  “You invited me.”

“Dr. Lightner saw our man last night at O’Hern’s apartment,” Carter said.

“He’s our other eye witness, why didn’t someone say so?  He should be going over mug shots, not sitting here holding O’Hern’s hand.”  Cohen gestured at the officer beside him who got up and came over to Josh, obviously to guide him.  Josh hesitated, but Kate nodded.  He didn’t want to cause her any further embarrassment, so he followed the police officer.

“Mr. Lightner,” Cohen called out as he reached the door.  “I really don’t care what kind of living arrangements you and O’Hern establish after this investigation, but for now I’d appreciate it if you saw her in only an official capacity and certainly not in public.  We’re hunting for a murderer here, we don’t need any distractions.”

Josh said nothing, merely grit his teeth and kept going through the door.  He’d just see about that.  It was obvious these idiots were so distracted by the prospect of catching their killer that they didn’t care about what happened to Kate.  Not like he did.

That thought stopped him short.  The uniformed officer turned to look at him, and Josh found himself following although his mind was far from the confines of the police station.

He remembered how Kate had looked this morning, the wide smile on her face as she played with Hershey.  For one brief moment, it seemed that all thoughts of killers and death had vanished for both of them.

Josh desperately wanted to make that feeling permanent.  He’d welcomed women into his house and bed before—never into his heart.  Somehow Kate O’Hern had captured his heart without a battle.  Worse yet, she didn’t seem to know that he had surrendered it to her.

Blake pulled the rolodex card out of his pocket as he left the hospital.  He should get himself officially on the payroll.  Sure as hell was spending enough time here.  He could teach them a thing or two about security.  Emergency rooms had every doctor’s address and phone number.  Stupid to leave them lying around where anyone could waltz in and grab them.

He smiled in satisfaction.  Doctor Lightner lived not far from the hospital.  Not far from O’Hern either.  He’d bet a million that O’Hern was staying with him.  Why else would the good doctor have been at O’Hern’s apartment yesterday?  Oh how romantic, and what would the AMA say about that?

No matter, he wasn’t quite ready for O’Hern. Not yet.  Lightner was another story entirely.

Blake got into his Chevy and stared at the glossy white square, turning it over and over in his fingers.  Lightner.  The world famous trauma surgeon, stealing the living from death, walking on water, changing water into wine—what was good enough for him?

Shoot him and turn him into a trauma victim?

No.  It had to be slow, he had to show Lightner who was in charge, that Lightner was just another victim, powerless.  Blake thought for a moment, turning the car engine on to warm him from the chill November breeze.  What to do?  Cut off his hands—that would be poetic justice for a surgeon.

He pictured the scene, his fingers spreading wide in anticipation.  No.  Something even more primitive.

Burn him alive; every human had an instinctive terror of fire.  Lightner was so handsome, think of that perfect face blackened and charred beyond recognition.

Blake laughed at the thought of it.  Oh yes, this would be marvelous.  Now he knew exactly how to get O’Hern’s attention.

CHAPTER 29

“I could care less who you sleep with, O’Hern,” Cohen began once the door shut behind Josh.  “Your partner, your doctor, whoever—as long as it does not interfere with this investigation.  Because we are going to get this bastard, and a wounded cop with problems of her own is not going to be any help to us.  Do you understand?”

The room went silent.  Kate held Cohen’s stare and stood.  Normally she never let idiots like Cohen or Turner bother her with their myopic vision and condescending attitudes.  But nothing about this situation was normal.  God, how she’d love to meet Cohen in the gym.  One round, full contact—even with a bum arm, she bet she could wipe the floor with him.  It would feel so very good even to try.

Her fury made her face burn.  Kate sent a glare in the direction of the FBI agent, ignoring the other officers as they watched the face-off.  Cohen broke first, looking away as he shuffled some papers in front of him.  Even that petty victory made her smile in triumph, which just showed how far she had sunk.

“You’ve made yourself quite clear, Special Agent Cohen,” she said in a slow, deliberate tone.  “Obviously you don’t need me, so I’ll be going now.”  She started for the door.

“Let us know where you’ll be sleeping tonight,” he called out casually, “so we can pick you up tomorrow.”  Then he turned back to the other members of the task force.

Kate went through the door, resisting the temptation to slam it shut behind her.  It was a good thing because Anne Ramsey had followed her out.

“Officer O’Hern, may I talk with you for a moment?”

“Your partner made it clear that I’m at your disposal, Special Agent Ramsey,” Kate replied in a bitter tone.  She concentrated on relaxing the hand fisted at her side.  God, she hated feeling like this, out of control.

“He’s not my partner, he’s a stuck up snob suffering from a severe case of short-man syndrome,” Ramsey replied, “and I’m not an agent.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I consult for the FBI.  Now that more of their agenda is taken up with counter-terrorism, a lot of the Behavioral Sciences work is done by private consultants.  I’m actually a psychologist, specialize in analyzing criminal behavior.”

“And victims?”

“Yes.”

“Are you analyzing me, Doctor Ramsey?”

“Anne will do.  Of course I’m analyzing you.  It’s a lot like being a cop; you can’t turn it off at will.  Tell me Officer, hasn’t anyone ever commented how you’re always looking, observing, never completely relaxed, especially out in public?”

“Cops eyes, that’s what one of my dates called it.”  Kate decided she liked this woman.  Ramsey seemed a lot more human than the other representative of the FBI.  “Call me Kate.  What did you want to talk about?”

“You said your car was still here?”

“Parked out back.  Green Explorer in the northwest corner of the lot.  Why?”

“Do you mind if we go take a look at it?”

“No.  Keys are in my locker.”

Kate led the psychologist into the women’s locker room.  She retrieved her car keys and her wallet from the pocket of the coat she’d worn to work over a week ago.  She stood for a moment, staring at the jacket, at the jeans and sweatshirt hanging beside it.  Somehow she was surprised anything had survived that night intact, but here they were, a small part of her life that was still normal, untouched by the bloodshed and madness.

“The lot’s this way,” Kate said, closing the door on the last remnants of her normal life.

Kate led the way out to the parking lot, pulling her jacket tight against the sharp November wind.  She hesitated.  Rob’s car was still parked beside hers.  Of course, it was a partner’s job to take care of little things like that.  She needed to find the courage to face Jenn.  Soon.

Cops were a superstitious lot.  Kate’s Explorer was the only car left parked near Rob’s Camry.  “Why do you want to see my car?”

“Playing a hunch.”

They reached the Explorer.  Kate held the keys out to open the door, then paused.  Something was wrong.   She couldn’t see anything through the tinted windows, but even with the doors and windows shut, she could smell a rotten stench, the smell of death.

Ramsey caught it too.  They looked at each other, then Kate opened the door, using the key as a lever so that she didn’t touch the door handle.

“How did you know?”  The interior of the car had been converted to some kind of warped sacrificial altar.  The half-burnt corpse of what appeared to be a large rat lay on the driver’s seat along with the charred remains of several newspapers.

Kate could make out a few of the words, enough to tell her that they were articles about the killings.  Her glove compartment door lay open, its contents strewn about.  The tiny statue of St. Christopher her father had given her when she had first gotten her drivers license hung upside down from the rear view mirror, the saint’s head twisted almost completely off, dangling at a hideous angle.

“I can’t believe it,” Kate whispered, unable to comprehend the destruction of the interior of her car.  She sank back against the side panel.   “He did it right here with cops coming in and out—what kind of freak is this?”

Ramsey pulled her head out from her own inspection of the carnage.  “Remember, he’s only a man.  That means we can find him, stop him.  He’s not invincible.”

Kate glanced at the chain link fence surrounding the parking lot and shook her head.  “I’m not so sure anymore.”

CHAPTER 30

Kate sat on the picnic table beside the precinct’s back door, watched the lab techs swarm over her Explorer.  The flashes from their cameras and the reporters’ mingled together in tiny star bursts.  Tony Martini came over after telling his photographer what shots to get.

“Any comment, O’Hern?” he asked in his best reporter voice.

She shook her head.  He put his notebook away and once again became her friend.  Kate had seen him do this many times, but it always amazed her, the schizophrenia they lived with on a daily basis.  Without it, they couldn’t have remained friends.  Right now she was grateful for everyone she could count on.  With Rob gone, the people she could truly call friend were dwindling in numbers.  At least she had met Josh.

Looking past Tony to the station house, she found herself wishing that Josh was here now.  Holding her hand, sharing his strength like he had earlier.  Damn, she hated this feeling, this neediness.  Never before had she leaned on anyone—what was it about Josh that made her want to start now?

“You gonna be okay?” Tony asked.  “What me to go get the doc?”

Kate gave him a half smile.  Tony always could read her mind.  “No, he’s busy.  I’ll be fine.”

“I heard what happened with Turner.  He’s saying he’ll have an announcement about the case tomorrow.” He paused and stared at her.  “Even if the task force makes no progress.”

She shrugged.  She no longer had the energy to worry about Turner or his delusions.

Tony turned serious, glancing over his shoulder before taking her good hand in his.  “Let me talk to my source in Internal Affairs.  Maybe I can find something.  Meet me tonight, Thai House at seven, all right?”  With a wave and one last concerned look at her, Tony got into his Mustang and drove past the crowd out of the parking lot.

Kate shifted a little, the cold creeping through her jeans into her bones.  Carter broke away from the crowd surrounding her Explorer and walked toward her, his face tight with worry.  Great, Carter in full-blown Papa Bear mode.  Probably wouldn’t let her out of his sight.  Wouldn’t trust her not to get herself killed.  Or someone else.

“You notice anything missing?” he asked.

She watched a tech pull the rearview mirror with the grisly remains of her St. Christopher statue from the car and drop them gingerly into a plastic box.  Another tech was busy cutting the upholstery from her seat cushions.

“Kate?  You all right?  Want me to get Lightner?”

Jeez, why did everyone keep asking her that?  When had Lightner been promoted to her guardian angel, anyway?  She straightened, arched her eyebrow at Carter.

“You think I’m going to swoon or something, Mel?  Do I look that far gone?”

There was a discernable pause before he answered.  As if he had to think twice.  “Course not.  So, anything missing?”

“Nothing I could see.  I don’t keep anything in it except some tools, spare tire, there was an old blanket and a windbreaker.”

“What about your backup piece?”  She started to answer, but he held up a hand.  “All I need to know officially,” he stressed the last word, “is if the killer got it.”

“No, it wasn’t in the car.”

He nodded, and his voice dropped.  “You got it?  You should be carrying.  Long as this crazy is out there.”

“I got it.”

He looked around.  No one was near.  “You know that FBI guy isn’t as bad as he came off this morning with you.  He really does know his stuff.  Lightner ID’ed a possible.  Right now Cohen is running it through the NCIC database.  We may have our first real break on the case.”

“That’s great.”  She knew he shouldn’t be talking with her and appreciated his confidence.

“I’ll pick you up at Lightner’s place tomorrow at nine.  Word is out to the press not to disturb you because you’ll be at a family dinner, so you know it’ll get around.”

“Wait until I tell Michael.  I’m gonna owe him big time after this.”

“Knowing Michael, he won’t let you forget it.” Carter chuckled.  “Why don’t you go rescue the doc.  Cohen must be about done with him.  You look like you need some rest.” He placed a hand on her arm.

“I’m fine.”  But she wasn’t convincing either of them.

Josh rubbed his eyes.  He’d been staring at a computer screen all morning, but it had paid off.  He knew he had the right guy.  Cohen seemed to believe it too, from the way the agent was wearing the linoleum thin as he paced in front of the fax machine.  Ramsey joined them, told them about what had happened to Kate’s car.

“So why don’t they go out and arrest this Mason Blake?” Josh asked.  He was rather proud of finding him.  The computer link to the FBI database had allowed him to view photos of all convicted felons matching the physical description he had given them and who fit other parameters set up by Ramsey and Cohen.  He’d been viewing almost two hundred faces an hour, culling and sorting until he was certain he had their man.

“It would be nice to verify that he isn’t already behind bars somewhere.”  Cohen paused long enough in his pacing to answer Josh.  “In the meantime, why don’t you go back to work, you haven’t even finished the B’s yet.”

“I know that is him,” Josh insisted.

“You had sixteen faces on the possible list before you saw Blake.”

“Right, before I saw Blake.”

“Why don’t we all take a break,” Ramsey suggested.  “Quantico should be back to us soon.”

The door opened and Kate entered.  “Any luck?”

“Yes,” Josh replied, happy to see her.

“Maybe,” Cohen said.

“I found him.  They’re just waiting for confirmation from the FBI.”

Kate turned to the federal agents.  “Who is it?  Someone local?”

“Not according to the information we have.”  Cohen acted as if he was leaking state secrets by telling her that much.

“Can you tell me his name?” she asked.  Cohen was silent.  “For chrissakes this guy shot me and my partner!”

“May have shot you and your partner, and let’s not forget about Conrad and Dimeo,” Cohen said.  “We don’t need any loose cannons around here, Officer.  Bringing him in is going to be hard enough.”

“Do I look like a vigilante?”  Kate gestured to her arm swathed in the sling.  Josh paid more attention to the dark circles under her eyes and the strain in her voice.  She was exhausted.  “I want this creep behind bars so that I can get on with my life.  Is that so hard for you to understand, Agent Cohen?”

“Blake, Mason A. Blake.”  Cohen pulled a paper from the computer printer and handed it to her.  She stared at it, the color draining from her.  Now Josh knew for certain that he was right.

“It’s him,” she said in a small voice.  Josh went to her, and she allowed him to lead her over to the table, her gaze still glued to the photo gripped in her hand.  “He was at the hospital.  When I was in ICU.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Cohen snapped.

“He had brown hair, must’ve been a wig.  He was dressed like a security guard. I thought—”  Her voice broke, grew hesitant.  She looked at Josh, her forehead creased with worry, twin frown lines surrounding her mouth.  “I thought I was imagining things.”

Cohen waved a hand as if it wasn’t important.  The fax machine alarmed and began to spew forth papers.  Cohen grabbed them eagerly.  He pulled each page from the machine, scanned it and handed it to Ramsey.  They read in silence as Kate and Josh looked on.

“What do you think?” Cohen asked his colleague when she had finished all the pages.

“Definitely fits the profile,” Ramsey said, sipping at a cup of coffee.  “Ex-Army, former MP, but dishonorable discharge, one conviction for felonious sexual assault—served two out of seven, several more arrests but no convictions.  No known current location, though.  Probably using a different identity.”

“Let’s get the team together and get moving.”  Cohen seemed energized.  He grabbed for the phone, then paused and turned to Josh.  “We’ll take it from here.   Unless we track Blake down tonight, we’ll proceed as planned tomorrow, O’Hern.”  He turned his back on them as he dialed.

Josh sighed, for a brief moment he’d felt like part of the team, on the inside track of things, but now he was an outsider again.  Ramsey was on the other phone, scribbling notes furiously as she listened, but took the time to wave farewell to them.  Kate remained silent as they walked through the hallway and out of the building.

Blake looked over his collection.  God, how he loved Walmart.  Remote car starter kit, battery, Coleman fuel, a small blow torch, and of course plenty of duct tape—what would a kidnapping be without duct tape?

He fingered the glossy prayer card he had gotten from O’Hern’s SUV.  The cemetery already had every thing else he needed, all very conveniently located for his purposes—almost as if this was meant to be.  He smiled, satisfied that indeed, it was meant to be this way, and no one had the power to stop him.

He glanced around the equipment shed.  It was like coming home.  Except that the shed that he had come to call home had been much smaller.  And much colder.  But the same hard packed dirt floor, same musty smell of earth combined with rust, same piles of tools.

Blake began to re-arrange some of the equipment and debris so that he would have a clear space to work in the center of the shed.  He paused as he lifted a canvas tarp, its underside stained with mulch and cobwebs.  He rubbed it between his fingers, feeling the texture of the coarse cloth, the way it resisted him as he tried to bend it.  Then, ignoring the cobwebs or the dirt, he placed it over his shoulders like a prayer shawl and sat on the floor, huddled in the tarp’s cold embrace.

A similar piece of cloth had saved his life once.  He remembered shivering in the night, listening to a howling wind tearing at the fragile corrugated tin walls that were his shelter, waiting until the endless night was over and the Deacon came to release him.  He remembered hating the Deacon, hating his mother.  Hating God.

Blake scowled, he wouldn’t think about that time, it was over and he had already taken care of the Deacon and his mother.  Now it was time to concentrate.  Killing was serious business.

Even more serious was deciding where and when to push, how far to go.  He’d never known or expected mercy; no one and no God had ever offered it to Blake.  He felt sure he would have rejected it if they had.

Shadows of angels and tombstones crowded through the windows.  Mercy.  Could that be the missing piece, the thing he needed to learn before he could complete his work here?

Maybe.  Maybe not.  He’d know when the time was right.

He removed the tarp, now merely a handy square of cloth, and used it to cover his collection of supplies.  What else would he need?  The caretaker was semi-retired and went home after the afternoon mass.  The cemetery was his all night to do what he pleased.

Blake smiled.  Everything seemed to be ready.  All he needed now was Lightner.

There was an old saying, trial by fire.  But this wouldn’t be one of those, Blake thought.  In a trial there was always the chance for acquittal.  Lightner would have no such chance, not unless there was some kind of divine intervention.

Blake wasn’t expecting that to happen.  In fact, by the time he was done, Lightner would be begging him, Blake, for mercy.  Not some nameless, faceless god.  The angel of death—that was him.  And he was very good at what he did.

CHAPTER 31

Josh opened the front door to his house, and Hershey bounded out.

Despite his attempts at conversation during the ride home, Kate still hadn’t said anything.  He knew she was upset that she’d let Blake escape when she saw him in the ICU—but damn it, what could she have done?

“It wasn’t your fault,” he had told her, only to be met with a glare and an upraised eyebrow.

Now she stood at attention, her gaze darting past him, scrutinizing the interior of the house, then turning to examine the street for any unwelcome presence.  She was in full cop mode, he realized, wondering if he changed as much when he entered the OR or a trauma room.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” she said, her eyes still scanning the street.  She turned and began down the porch steps.

He grabbed Hershey’s lead from the hook inside the door, locked it behind him and jogged after her.  “Good idea.”  He kept his tone nonchalant. “I need a break after staring at that computer all morning.”

They’d both missed lunch, but he was too keyed up, knowing Blake was out there, looking for her, to feel hunger.  Hershey led them along his favorite path into Frick Park, and they walked in silence.  Josh could see that she was making a decision of some kind.  It didn’t take a genius to realize it had something to do with him.  She kept cutting her eyes at him, her face alternating between concern and anger.

They stopped at an empty swing-set.  Hershey treed a squirrel and flopped down looking proud of himself while Josh and Kate sat on the swings.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she finally spoke.  “I can’t take you down with me.  God, the way Cohen treated you, and Turner—“ Her jaw clenched in anger, her feet dug trenches in the wood chips.  “It’s all my fault.  I never should have let it go this far.”

That’s what was upsetting her?  Josh shook his head and laughed.  “A bunch of cops think I’m lucky enough to be sleeping with you, and you think that bothers me?”

Her head jerked up, and she shot him a look that said he was a half-wit.  “Because you’re better than that, because they’re talking about you behind your back, laughing—” She stopped as he reached across and took her hand, pulled her over to sit on his lap in the swing.  “What are you doing?”

He pushed off and pumped his legs hard, quickly gaining speed and height.  He wrapped one arm around her waist, snugging her to him, while the other gripped the chain.  “Hush, just forget about everything.  Lean back, close your eyes.”

She resisted for a moment, then wrapped her legs around his so they moved in tandem.  Her body relaxed as they swung up and fell back to earth again.

As the wind rushed past, Josh buried his face in her hair, enjoying the momentum, the feeling of almost-flight.  Why was it his soap and shampoo smelled different on her?  She smelled so good, crisp and fresh like a spring day.

“I used to love this when I was a kid,” she said, her voice distant, her eyes still shut.  “The rush of falling, of being free from everything, even gravity, for a split second.  Letting go of everything, being out of control—it was intoxicating.”

Josh smiled at that.  And she called him a control freak.  He’d never met a woman as very much in control as Kate.  Or a woman who had affected him as she had.  He remembered waking up this morning, excited just to sit and watch her breathe as the morning light filtered into his bedroom.

And now, her body losing its rigidity, relaxing into his, he couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to spend an afternoon.  Her own thoughts must have echoed his, because she sighed.  “This is nice.”

They swung for several minutes, before Josh gradually slowed to a stop.  He still kept his arm tight around her, enjoying the weight of her against him, not even minding too much the gun jabbing him through her jacket.

“You’re one tough lady, O’Hern,” he said, his lips brushing against the nape of her neck.  Her cheeks were flushed from the wind, the color highlighted the freckles that crossed her nose.  “That’s one of the things I love about you.”

She tensed against him, but he held her firmly in place, determined to say what he needed to say.  “I love how stubborn you are and the way you notice everything and don’t take anything for granted and the way you walk like an Old West gunslinger even when you don’t have your gun and the way you look when you’re asleep and especially the freckles on the bridge of your nose.  I love it all.”

There, he’d said it.  Finally.  The rest was up to her.

He relaxed his hold, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from him.  She hopped off the swing, turned to face him.  Josh smiled.  He’d seen her startled, angry and in pain, even frightened, but he’d never seen such a look of amazement on her face before.  He had the feeling she wasn’t often surprised.

“Are you nuts?” she demanded, her good hand fisted on her hip, weight thrown forward as if he was a toddler, and she was getting ready to give him a spanking.  The image that accompanied the thought only widened his grin.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” she spoke as if to the village idiot, “I have enough to deal with right now without you—what are you thinking, saying something like that?  I mean look at me, Josh, and look at you, how could you possibly be in love with—“

Josh stood up and framed her face with his hands, clamping his lips over hers before she could argue more.  She resisted him for a fleeting moment, then her mouth opened beneath his, and she pulled him in with a hunger that matched his own.  His fingers twisted in her hair, silky dark strands curling in his grip.

Heat stirred in his groin as he shifted his weight to press his body against the length of hers.  Her free hand moved up to wrap around his neck, tugging him closer to her.

Just as the passion building between them was becoming irresistible, she slid her hand down against his chest, and pushed him back.  Cold air slapped at Josh’s face where her lips had pressed an instant before.  She took a deep breath, shook her head and walked away, into the trees.

“This is not a good idea,” she muttered.

Oh, yes it was.  This was the best idea he’d had in a long time.  He just had to figure out a way to convince her of that.  Josh whistled to Hershey and followed.  He caught up to her in a small clearing.  She turned to him, her back against an oak tree and stared at him.  The same, right-to-remain-silent stare she had used on Cohen earlier today.

Josh reached a hand to her arm, wishing he could touch her, feel the warmth of her skin instead of the leather jacket she wore.  “I love you, Kate.  What’s so bad about that?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Lightner, the men close to me have a bad habit of getting killed.”

He moved in, one arm on each side of her, pinned her to the tree and looked down on her.  “I can take care of myself.”

A bitter laugh vibrated through her as she recognized her own words thrown back in her face.  Then her eyes widened as she looked into his.  “God, you’re serious, aren’t you?  You have no idea—”

He ended her protest with another kiss.  This one longer, deeper, left him trembling.  “I know my timing stinks.  I’m not too happy about it either.  It’s against the rules for a doctor to become involved with a patient, but I can’t help it.  I’ve been involved—hell, I feel like I’ve been in over my head—ever since that first night.  You’ve been constantly on my mind, and if you’re leaving tomorrow, there’s no more time.”

She merely stared at him, her eyes searching his.  Her silence was killing him, burrowing into his gut.  He lowered his hands, turned away, tried to ignore the tearing in his chest that was his heart breaking.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said anything.  You don’t need me adding to your problems.”

Problems?  Josh was the one good thing that had happened to her.  He was the man of Kate’s dreams, the man of any woman’s dreams, but she couldn’t let this go any further.   She couldn’t tell him how he made her feel, how his kiss could erase her pain, his touch restore her balance.  It was too dangerous, for both of them.

“My life’s been spinning out of control ever since I met you, Lightner.”

“Then, maybe you should stop fighting it.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, began pacing across the clearing.  Hershey followed her, tail wagging, wondering what the game was, while Josh leaned against the tree, ankles crossed in front of him as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

And he wouldn’t—not once she was out of his life.  He wouldn’t have to worry about his medical ethics, about either curing her visions or deciding if she was nuts, about a cop-killer—

As she passed him, he pushed away from the tree, stepped into her path.  “Tell me you don’t feel anything, Kate, and I won’t say another word.  I’ll go back to being only your surgeon.”

His gaze was so earnest, so hopeful, his eyes penetrated to her soul.  Kate tried to break away, but she couldn’t resist, it was as if something in him called to her—just as he had called her back from death.

She raised a hand to his face, traced his cheekbones, his lips, felt his body tremble at her touch.  Standing on tip-toe, she captured his lips with hers, surrendering to her need and desire as she never had with any man before.

His hands caught her waist, drawing her close.  A small noise came from one of them, but Kate was too lost in the embrace to know who made it.  Her fingers raked through his hair as she sank deeper into his warmth.  She liked that he kept his eyes open, their blue the color of a sunlit lake, and she felt herself dropping into their depths.

Falling, whirling, spinning totally out of control.

Finally they parted long enough for him to whisper, “Stay with me, Kate.  Don’t go.”

That brought her up short.  She pulled back, fought for breathing space.  The memory of her visions swarmed over her, left her gut roiling and the taste of fear burning in her throat.  “Josh, I saw him kill you!  You need to stay as far away from me as you can.  Where’d you say your folks lived?  Florida?”

“I’m not leaving you.”  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his warmth.  She hadn’t even realized that she was shaking until he stopped it with his reassuring presence.

“This is nothing to joke about,” she protested, cursing herself for taking refuge in his arms when she should be pushing him away, finding him a safe hiding place.  It was her job to protect, not his.

He snagged her hand back in his.  “It’s all right, Kate.  Together we can solve this, I know we can.”

There was that confidence again.  Once upon a time, before last week, she used to feel that way about life as well.  Kate looked around the clearing with its looming shadows and skittish breezes rustling the trees.  Blake could be out there, right now, watching.

“Are you upset with me for telling you how I feel?” he asked as she led him from the darkness back onto the path.

“Not upset.  Just surprised.  You don’t know anything about me, about the person I was before last week.”

“Sure I do.  You’re brave and strong and smart.  You listen to people and look at what really is going on around you, not just what you want to see or what would be convenient to see.  You never take the easy way if it would leave the job half-done or make someone else’s life tougher.  You have no idea how to wash windows and don’t own a mop or an iron and your most prized possession is an autographed picture of Lynn Swann with a man I’m guessing is your father.”

She stopped him.  “How did you know that?”

“The iron?  That was easy—”

“No, about the picture.”

“It’s the only clean thing in your apartment.”  The grin he gave her made his eyes crinkle, sparkle with life.  She had to work hard to resist the impulse to wrap her arms around him again, to run away, take him someplace warm and safe, far away from this nightmare that her life had become.

“My mom took that picture when she and Dad ran into Lynn Swann at the airport.  They were going to Arizona.”  She smiled with the memory.  Her mom wanted to see the Grand Canyon before she died.  Only vacation Kate could remember her parents ever taking alone, just the two of them.  “When she got the picture developed, she sent it to Mr. Swann and asked him to autograph it.  He sent it back, but it was too late, she was gone already.”

She broke off.  Those last few months, it seemed as if her mother had spent more time preparing the rest of the family for what was to come, taking care of them, than she had spent in preparing herself.  As if she had a checklist to finish before time ran out.  But time caught up with her before she finished everything.

Kate couldn’t help but wonder if her mom had felt the same sense of panic, of time running short that she did now.

Josh said nothing, his thumb caressing her hand as they stood on the sidewalk outside his house, the last remnants of the setting sun casting them in deep velvet shadows.  Kate was grateful for his silence, if he’d tried to comfort her, she probably would have fallen apart.  Funny, how after all these years, feelings like this could still sneak up on her.  She sniffed hard, regained control.

She looked up at him, gave him a tiny smile.  “I think she would have liked you.”

He bent close, kissed her on the forehead.  They strolled the last few steps arm in arm.

Blake watched out the sidelight, inching the sheer curtain aside with the Taurus’ muzzle.  The sun was setting, made the steel barrel glint like something out of the movies.

It felt like something out of the movies, the way things were falling into place.  The hardest part of gaining access to Lightner’s house was breaking into his neighbor’s and crossing through her cluttered basement without breaking something.

Now here he was ready and waiting.  And here they came, looking like something out of a cheesy love story, holding hands like a couple of kids, the dog walking along beside them.

Anger flared through Blake at the sight.  O’Hern was his and his alone.

The dog ran up the steps, a black streak, lunging at the door as if he saw Blake.

Maybe he would finish it all here tonight.  Forget the cemetery.

Hershey bounded up the porch steps and began prancing in front of the door.  Kate looked up at the amiable dog and couldn’t help but smile.  Josh held her hand as they climbed the steps.  It all felt so normal, so natural.  A man, a woman, a dog, coming home out of a cold, November night.  A man, a woman, a home.  A man in love.  With her.

A man she loved?  Kate backed away from the thought without examining it too closely.  Josh’s hand felt so warm in hers, so strong and safe.  Couldn’t she take a moment to enjoy that?  To bask in the glow of what he had told her.

Josh fell as the crack of a gunshot split the silence.  Blood blossomed over the back of his jacket.  Hershey howled, rushed to his master’s side.  Carter’s voice called her name, shouting at her to take cover, as he ran across the street.  Kate turned to look for the shooter, to target the direction of danger, her Baretta in her hand.  Another shot, where did it come from?  Carter was down, sprawled on the pavement.  A low noise came from Josh.  She dropped her gun, tried one-handed to pull him up the steps to safety when pain ripped through her chest.  She toppled forward, her vision darkening as laughter rang through the air.

CHAPTER 34

“Kate.  Kate.” Josh’s voice broke through the dark abyss she had fallen into.

“What’s wrong with her?”  Carter sounded anxious, scared even.  Very unlike him.  How had he gotten there?  “Want me to call 911?”

Kate was drowning in darkness, thick tendrils of blood sucking her in, weighing her down.  Her limbs had vanished, there was no pain, just an absence of feeling as if she’d been divorced from her body.

“No.  Just help me get her inside.”

Was that really Josh? Was he all right?

Anxiety, a need to see for herself that Josh was safe and whole, pulled her back from the void.  Strong hands carried her inside, she heard Hershey’s paws clicking on the wood floors, then felt the supple leather of Josh’s couch.  Mustering the energy to open her eyes, Kate looked around.

Josh knelt beside her, his fingers on her wrist, taking her pulse.  Her heart rate fluttered.  There was no blood; he wasn’t hurt.  Carter stood behind him, one hand on his service weapon, the other holding Hershey’s collar.  The dog was whimpering, trying to pull away and get to Kate.

“I’m fine,” she told Josh, ignoring her head-rush as she sat up.  “Carter, did you get him?  The shooter?”  Carter frowned at her as if she wasn’t making sense.  She supposed she wasn’t, not to him.  “Blake, did you catch him?”

Josh sat on his heels.  “Kate, there was no shooter.  Nobody except Carter getting out of his car right before you fainted.”

“You know damn well I didn’t faint.”  She appreciated his efforts to protect her, but she had to warn Carter of the danger he was in.  They were all in.

Carter arched an eyebrow at her, then turned to Josh.  “These things, what you told me in the hospital, they’re for real?”

Kate answered for herself.  “Yes.  Don’t make me try to explain them, because I can’t.”

Carter pursed his lips.  He scrutinized her over the tops of his glasses, his brow wrinkled.  “Hmmph.”

“I saw the three of us, outside, Hershey’s there as well.  Blake shoots us.  All.”  Carter straightened at that.  Josh squeezed her hand, and she pulled it away, turned to him.  “Josh, you can’t stay here.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

“You have to leave.”

“This,” Carter gestured to the couch, “happen every time you have one of these premonitions?”

Kate looked down at the floor; she knew what he was asking.  “Yeah.  I kind of black out for a few minutes when they happen.”

“You should have told me.”

“And have you treat me like a freak like Phil Conrad did when I tried to warn him?  Besides, no one would trust anything I say if they think my head’s messed up.”

“I do.”

Words couldn’t explain how good it felt to have someone she respected, a fellow cop, say that to her right now.  Especially since the topic of her visions was off-limits with Josh.  Some of the weight that bunched her shoulder muscles eased and her eyes stung with sudden, unbidden tears.  She blinked them back. “Thanks, Carter.”

“You know what else this means?”

She nodded solemnly.  “I was planning to hand in my shield once we catch Blake.  Of course, it doesn’t matter now that I’m suspended anyway.”  She blew out her breath.  “Is the circus in town?  Maybe I could get a job telling fortunes.”

“Let’s concentrate on getting Blake first, okay?” Carter said.  “She’s right, doc.  You do have to leave.”

“I really wish you people would stop trying to order me around in my own house!”

Josh’s face was tight with anger, but Kate knew Carter was right.  And not because of her vision.  “Damn, I should have realized—”

“As soon as Cohen told me you saw the shooter in the hospital—” Carter put in.

Josh was looking from one to the other.  “Want to translate?”

“I’m an idiot, should’ve thought of it sooner,” Kate said.  Would have if she hadn’t been distracted by Josh.  “I saw Blake when I was in the ICU.  Dressed as a security guard.  Which means he knows you, Josh.”

Comprehension dawned on his face.  “If he knows who I am and he saw me at your apartment—”

“Then, odds are, he’ll be coming here, looking for Kate,” Carter finished.  “Cohen disagrees, said Blake would’ve hit last night if he was going to come after you here.  Still thinks our best bet is the wing-ding at your brother’s tomorrow.  But I’d feel a lot better if you two were out of here tonight.  I don’t have the man power to cover this place, they’re all setting up on Michael’s house.”

“It’s better this way.”  She reached for Josh’s hand, hoping he understood how sorry she was to subject him to this.  Anger she could take, but he looked stricken.  He intertwined his fingers with hers.  Kate tried to reassure him.  “It’ll just be until we get Blake.”

“We’ll go together?” he asked, his stare so intense that it sent a surge of warmth flooding over her.

“Yes.”  She disguised her lie in the single syllable.  In every vision, he’d been with her when he died.  Kate would see him safe tonight, then leave.  It was the only way.

Josh nodded, turned back to Carter who was staring at them with a knowing smile that made Kate blush.  “I’ll grab some things and call Mrs. Kertesz from next door to look after Hershey.”

He went upstairs, Hershey trailing after him.  Carter cleared his throat.  “These visions?  Can you make them happen?  Tell us where Blake is now or where he’s going to strike next?”

She shook her head vehemently.  He had no idea what he was asking, what it felt like when she experienced one, to have it echoing in her mind for hours after.  As if her brain had been pushed through a meat grinder, shredded and stuffed back inside her head.  “No.  I tried, it didn’t work.”

He shrugged.  “Doesn’t matter.  We’re going to nail this bastard.”

Kate wished he sounded more certain.  It seemed as if Blake were calling all the shots, moving them around like chess pieces on his board.

CHAPTER 33

One thing Kate was learning about her surgeon: he was almost as stubborn as she was.  After conceding to moving to a hotel downtown, the same one Ramsey and Cohen were at, he now insisted on going with her to Michael’s tomorrow.

They had argued circles around each other, each refusing to yield, until it was time to leave for dinner with Tony.  Well, mainly she had argued, Josh had mostly ignored what she was saying to ask silly questions like what color her prom dress had been.

“What is with you Pittsburghers and the damned raggedy kitchen chairs left in the street,” he muttered as he circled the block searching for a parking space.  “Can’t you just double park like normal people?”

“It’s tradition.”

“Hmpf.  No one even has the decency to steal the damn things much less take the parking space they reserve.”  He spied a spot ahead and pulled in.  “So, anyway, after Michael’s tomorrow, we can head out to Ohio.  My grandparents’ farm.  Peace and quiet, no reporters or Turner or obsessed killers.”

She stared at him, speechless.  “A farm?  What the hell am I going to do on a freaking farm?”

“Trust me,” he said, getting out of the car.  “You’ll love it there.”

The man was so damned frustrating, always had to be in control of everything.  She didn’t like the way he distracted her, not when she needed to focus on doing everything possible to stop Blake.

They were a block away from The Thai House.  It wasn’t really a house, more like part of a basement, Kate informed Josh as she directed him to the small, dilapidated building on Negley. She noticed he kept looking back over his shoulder, even though he had activated the car alarm.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be there when we get back,” she assured him.

His eyes tightened before he gave her an absent nod and she realized it wasn’t the bad neighborhood he was worried about.

Her arm and shoulder were still sore, kind of a low throb like the constant body ache that came with the flu.  Josh seemed instinctively to understand, because he wrapped his arm around her, supporting her elbow, easing the strain from her shoulder as they walked.  Damn the man.  Didn’t he see she was trying her best to stay angry with him, stubborn fool that he was?

Despite their disagreement, Kate felt better than she had in days.  Something about the way Josh looked at her, it made her catch her breath, gave her a feeling of power.  As if she could do anything, even stop a killer, get her life back—a life with Josh, perhaps?

One thing at a time, O’Hern.

“You’re gonna love the food here.  The atmosphere isn’t much, but that’s okay ‘cause it keeps the tourist trade out,” she told him, hoping that he didn’t realize that she was talking so much because she was nervous.  Not about being with him, but about what would come after dinner.  She was determined to leave him.  Tonight.

She led him down a cement stairway.  The signs in the storefronts above them advertised a consignment shop and an oriental grocery.

“Did you know Anne Ramsey is a psychologist?” Josh asked as they waited for a table.

“Yeah, she told me.”

“Did you tell her about your visions?”

She looked at him sharply.  “No.  You didn’t, did you?”

“Of course not.  But she gave me her number.  I think you should call her.”

“Why?  I’m not crazy.  What’s she going to do?”

“Still—”

“I said I was fine.  Just drop it.  We agreed that we’re not going to talk about any of that during dinner, remember?”

All Kate wanted was a few hours to pretend she was a normal woman enjoying the company of a man she cared deeply for.  A few hours free of worries about dead cops or the madman stalking her, free of concerns about her mental status.  Was that so much to ask for?

The young waitress showed them to a booth.  Tony joined them a few minutes later.

“Nothing,” he announced, before even taking his jacket off.  “Not a damn thing from my guy in Internal Affairs.”  He beckoned to the waitress.  “Give me a Canadian Club, please,” he asked, then noticed that no one else had drinks.  “What do you guys want?”

Kate smiled.  “One of Tony’s many accomplishments is that he can get served anywhere, anytime—even at a Steelers’ game when it’s fourth and one.”

“Handy talent to have,” Josh said after ordering a Stella.

“Ice water for me, thanks,” Kate told the waitress, then turned back to Tony.

“Whatever Turner has, I figure it must be pretty explosive.  Everybody’s clammed up tight.  Sorry, guess I wasn’t much help.”  Tony shrugged as the waitress returned with their drinks and took their orders.

Kate watched Tony lean back in the booth, his eagle eyes not missing a trick as he looked from Kate to Josh.  She shot him a glare as a gleam of astonishment entered his eyes, and he opened his mouth.  The waitress returned before he could say anything.

After the pot stickers and satay, Kate looked up to find Tony staring at her again, but this time he looked concerned.  “What?  Do I have something caught in my teeth?”

“No,” he replied with a sad smile.  “I’m worried about you.  If Turner really does have something, I mean, I can’t imagine you not being a cop.”

“Kate could do anything she wants,” Josh told him.  “Leaving the force might be the best thing that could happen to her.”

“Could you do it?” Kate asked Josh, angry at his assumptions about her future.

“Could I do what?”

“Stop being a doctor.”

“And do what?”

“I mean, is it what you are or just what you do?”

Josh hesitated.  “Both, neither.  You make it sound like a cliché.  It’s what I do because of who I am and who I am depends on doing it.”

She shook her head and looked down.  “That’s a big help.”

“It’s not exactly something I like to think about—giving up medicine.”

“But it’s okay to think about me leaving the job?”

“Nobody asked me,” Tony put in.

“Would you ever give up being a journalist?” Kate indulged him.

“In a heartbeat.  Find me a rich wife, and I’ll gladly stay at home, cook, clean and carpool.”  He took a sip of his whiskey and sat back, smiling.  “Isn’t it a pity that such an enlightened man as myself is still single?”

“Hard to believe.”  Kate rolled her eyes.

“Seriously Kate, you’re wasted down there, I’ve always said that.”

“Now you sound like Michael.”

“Don’t be insulting.  Wouldn’t you rather not have to work with Turner, watching your back every minute, not to mention those crazy shifts and the punks on the streets—”

“He’s right,” Josh said.

“Don’t you two understand, I’m not just doing a job out there.  I’m alive when I’m out on the streets.  It’s like the feeling that Tony gets when he’s close to breaking a story and he knows things no one else in the city knows.  I’ll bet it’s the same when your trauma beeper goes off, Josh, and you race down to the ER, not knowing what you’ll find there.”

Both men were staring at her.  Finally Tony sat his drink down and sighed.  “She’s right, doc.  We’re all adrenalin junkies.  Isn’t there a cure for it?”

“I only wish,” Josh said solemnly.

She looked from one to the other in frustration.  Chaos might rule the rest of the world, but until now Kate had always been in control of her own life.

The waitress arrived with their dinners.  They piled noodles and various steaming concoctions onto their plates and began to eat.

“You know, I’ll never understand this city,” Josh said.

“Like what, doc?”

“Like why you all are so determined to remove ‘to be’ from the English language.  What would you say if I had a broken washing machine?”

Tony and Kate exchanged smiles.  “The warsher needs fixed,” they chorused.

“Right.  What’s wrong with ‘it needs to be fixed’—which is what the remainder of the English-speaking world would say.  And last time I checked, there’s no ‘r’ in wash.”

“Where are you from, anyway?” Tony asked.

“Small farm, outside of New Philadelphia.”

“That explains it, a flatlander.”

“It’s not flat.  Ohio has a lot of hills,” Josh replied indignantly.

Kate and Tony both laughed at Josh, and he returned a mock scowl.  She knew he was working hard to relieve the tension, to help her forget her problems, and she appreciated his efforts.  Why’d he have to be so nice?  It made leaving him all that much more difficult.

“Did you go to Ohio State?” she asked.

“Undergrad and medical school.  Did my surgical residency at Hopkins, fellowship at Shock Trauma.”

“That’s a lot of time in Baltimore,” Tony observed.  “Where do you call home, Columbus or Baltimore?”

“Neither.  Pittsburgh is my home now.”

The certainty in his voice tore at Kate. Josh was a newcomer, yet he sounded devoted to the city.  She loved the way that once Josh gave his loyalty, it seemed impossible to tear him away from a cause.

Even a lost cause like one crazy, mixed up cop.

Josh and Tony were at the cash register arguing over the check when Kate emerged from the ladies’ room.  She smiled as she watched them.  They were so different from each other—yet so much alike.

A couple leaving the restaurant brushed past her in the narrow hallway. She moved aside to let them pass when suddenly flames surrounded them.

Their mouths opened in silent screams, blood flowed over their faces.  The woman’s scalp was partially peeled back from her skull.  Kate felt a wrenching in her gut, smelt burnt flesh as the fire engulfed them.

Kate cringed, fell to her knees to escape the vision.  They bent over her, blood dripping onto her, the flames licking at her.

Through the haze, she saw Josh rushing toward her.  He reached out a hand and the flames vanished.

Josh’s face twisted in pain, blood covered him, intestines pulsed through the flesh of his abdomen and one arm dangled at his side, ending in a jagged stump of tissue.

“No!  Get away—don’t touch me, please God—no!”  The panic burst from her until all she could do was cower, trembling, sobbing words even she couldn’t understand.

Josh turned and ushered the man and woman away from her.  Then Tony reached her and thank God he was Tony.  Warm and alive with no blood, he was fine.  He held her tight, and she cherished the steady beat of his heart against hers.

She pulled her face into his chest, tears staining his shirt.  “Don’t let them go,” she was finally able to construct a coherent sentence.  “Those people, don’t let them go, they’re going to die.”

“They’re not going anywhere.  Shh, it’s all right, don’t worry,” Tony crooned to her, his hands stroking her hair.  “Tell me what’s wrong, Kate.  What happened?”

“They’ll die.  Don’t let them go.  They’ll both die.”

“It’s all right,” she heard Josh’s voice coming from a long distance away.  “I’ll take care of it, Kate.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Tony asked.

“Later,” Josh said. “Get her out of here.  Now.”

“Shouldn’t we call 911 or someone?”

“No.”  Josh’s voice sounded nearer, more alive.  “Don’t worry Kate, I’ll take care of everything.  They’ll be all right.  For godsake, Tony, get going, now.”

She kept her eyes clenched tight as she felt someone drape her jacket around her.  Tony helped her to her feet and began to half-carry her out the door.

“Don’t let them drive, Josh,” she called out one last warning, daring to turn and look.

Josh glanced up at her, and she had to fight the urge to vomit as she saw blood draining from the jagged craters of his empty, burnt eye sockets.

CHAPTER 34

Josh wiped a hand over his face as he watched Tony shepherd Kate out the door.  Maybe he had been kidding himself by going along with her, ignoring how serious this was.   The look on her face—she couldn’t go on like this, he couldn’t either.  He had to get her some help, find someone who could deal with this.

“What was her problem?” asked the man who had triggered Kate’s vision.  Josh turned and could smell alcohol surrounding the man in a cloud.  His companion clenched his arm.  “Jeez, was she freaked out or what?”

“Did you see her arm?”  Josh improvised.  “She was in a bad car accident, someone was killed.  They were hit by a drunk driver.  I guess she smelled your breath and was afraid the same might happen to you.”

“I’m not drunk, I can drive just fine,” the man replied indignantly.

“I told you, you’ve had too much,” the woman interrupted.  She grabbed the car keys from him.  “Tell your friend thank you,” she said to Josh.  “He doesn’t usually drink, but we just found out I’m pregnant, and he couldn’t help celebrating for both of us, I guess.  Don’t worry, I’ll drive home and everything will be fine.”

“I said I could drive!” her companion protested.

“C’mon Tom, stop bothering the nice man.”  She tugged at the man’s sleeve.  “Thanks, mister,” she said over her shoulder as they left.

Josh stared after them, shaking his head.  Kate might have saved two more lives—who knew for sure?  But he didn’t believe it was because of any psychic precognition.  More likely her cop’s instincts had smelled the alcohol on the man, seen him with the car keys, leaving her imagination to fill in the details.  But the look on her face—he couldn’t let her continue this way.  He fished Anne Ramsey’s business card out of his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

The fresh air hit Kate like a bracing wave of ice water.  By the time they got to Tony’s Mustang, her vision had cleared, and she could finally catch her breath.

“I’m okay, Tony.”

“Are you sure? Dammit, Kate, you scared me to death. What happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’ll be fine.  Let me get some air.”

“That wasn’t nothing.  I think we ought to take you to the hospital, get you checked out.  It must be stress, everything you’ve been through.”

“No, I don’t need a hospital.  I told you, I just need some fresh air.”

“You act like this has happened before.”  She was silent.  Tony moved in front of her, staring at her.  She dropped her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.  “It has.  Why hasn’t Lightner done something about it!  Or doesn’t he know about these spells?”

“He knows,” Josh said, coming up behind Tony.  Kate looked up.  He was whole, no blood, his face animated, but his eyes worried.  She forced a small smile.

“I’m fine.  Sorry about all the commotion.”

“Tony’s right, this has got to stop, Kate.  I called Anne Ramsey.  She’s meeting us at the hotel.”

“No.  She’ll have to tell Turner, and you know what will happen then.  He’ll leak it to the press.  Just what this city doesn’t need, a psycho cop running around loose with a psycho killer chasing her.”

“You’re not crazy, Kate,” Tony interjected.  “But Josh is right, you need help and maybe Ramsey is the right person to do it.  She’s got some pretty impressive credentials.”  He turned to Josh.  “You want me to come?”

Josh looked at Kate.  She sighed and shrugged her good shoulder.  “Don’t bother.  I’ll go talk to the head shrinker like a good little nutcase.”

“That’s my Kate, always the cooperative patient, right, doc?  I don’t know how you kept her in the hospital as long as you did.”  His voice turned serious.  “You need anything, you call, all right?”

Kate nodded.  “Thanks, Tony.”

She stared at Josh’s form hunched over the steering wheel.  He flinched at the sight of every headlight, as if danger lurked in every on-coming car.  She’d known rookies with that same expression of constant anxiety.  They didn’t last long on the job.

“Relax.  He’s not coming.”

He darted a gaze in her direction.  “How do you know?”

Ah, the heart of the matter.  She blew her breath out, dreading this conversation and where it might lead.  “If we’re going to have a future, any chance, you need to believe in what I see.”

He was silent for a long moment.  Too long.  She turned away, resting her head against the window.

“I believe in you,” he finally answered.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m sorry, Kate.  It’s the best I can do.”

“Why did you call Ramsey?  So she can commit me?  Or cure me?”

“Is that so awful?  I can’t bear to see you suffer like this.  It’s tearing you apart.”

“Whatever is happening to me—has happened to me—it’s part of me now.  Maybe I don’t want to let it go.”

His sharp intake of breath whistled through the air.  “You’d rather let me go?”

Now it was her turn to be silent.  How could he say he loved her without loving all of her?  Worse, how could she have feelings for him if he didn’t believe in her?

“I’m a surgeon.  I see something that needs to be fixed and I fix it.  Perforated bowel?  I patch it up.  Ruptured spleen?  No big deal.  But this—”

“Is that what I am to you?” she snapped.  “Something that needs fixed?  Something broken?  Like Frankenstein’s monster?”

They pulled to a stop at a red light and he turned to stare at her.  The lights from on-coming traffic bathed his face in an eerie glow of amber and red.

“No.  Of course not!  Please don’t talk like that.  I meant what I said in the park, Kate.  I love you.”

“You mean you love the sane parts of me.  The parts you fixed—the pieces you put together when you brought me back to life.”  Her words echoed through the small space, ricocheting back to her like stray bullets.

“I don’t know what to say.”  He sighed, focused on the street ahead of them.  “Other than I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

CHAPTER 35

Josh pulled the Subaru under the hotel’s canopy and gave the keys to the waiting valet.  As he helped Kate out of the car, she seemed to be leaning on him more than usual.  He seriously considered putting her to bed with a sedative and letting Ramsey talk to her later, but the psychologist arrived as he was unlocking the suite’s door.

“How is she?” Ramsey murmured to Josh as she joined them inside.

“How do you think I am?” Kate snapped before Josh could answer.  “Dr. Lightner here thinks I’m going crazy.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”  Ramsey’s voice was calm and soothing.  They moved into the living room, Kate and Ramsey sitting together on the sofa.  Ramsey positioned herself facing Kate and took Kate’s good hand into hers.

“Tell me everything that has been happening.  Just talk about it, don’t think about how anything sounds.”

Kate looked at her suspiciously, then seemed to make up her mind to trust Ramsey.  She slowly relaxed and explained to Ramsey about her visions and how they came true.  She began to explain about what had happened tonight, when Ramsey raised a hand to stop her.

“What you’ve told me has been full of details, very much the product of a trained observer,” Ramsey commented.  “I want to know how it really feels when you have one of these, these flashes.”

“It feels like I’m out of control, like something else is taking over my mind, making me see and hear these things.”

“Why do you think you’re having these visions, Kate?”

Kate was silent for a minute.  “I think they’re to remind me that I should be dead right now, that I’m living on borrowed time.”

“Have you seen any visions of your own death?”

Kate nodded.  Josh felt his chest clench.  Good God, why hadn’t she told him?  The light from the hall reflected from her tears, sparking them like diamonds, and he had to choke back his own emotions.  It wouldn’t do her any good if he fell apart.  He wished he had some drug, some magic pill that would take these wretched visions from her, allow her some measure of peace.

“They’re that real?” Ramsey asked.   Kate nodded again, obviously fighting to regain her composure.   “I think we need to work on helping you learn how to distance yourself, control things instead of responding to them like what happened tonight.”

“How?”

“I’ll hypnotize you, and we’ll go through tonight’s experiences, then I’ll teach you some techniques to help.”

“As long as you don’t make me bark like a dog,” Kate replied.  “Sorry, that was a bad joke.  Do you really think this will work?   I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.”

Josh frowned as her words came out in a desperate rush.  This wasn’t the Kate he knew, the strong, resilient woman who had fought death and won.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Nothing, just relax and listen to my voice.”

Josh watched Ramsey take Kate through an induction sequence.  He’d seen Sal Bianchi use similar techniques to help patients who were anxious about their surgery and anesthesia.  Soon Kate was leaning back, her posture relaxed, the tension gone from her face.

“Kate, tell me what happened tonight at the restaurant.”

“I was coming out of the restroom, watching Josh and Tony argue over the check.  They’re so funny about things like that, men are.  A couple comes toward me, young, smiling at each other.  I turn sideways, they brush past me—but there’s fire, heat, glass flying, smoke, oh Lord, the smell!”

She placed a hand out as if to ward off the experience.  Her voice filled with terror, and Josh took a step toward her, ready to comfort her, but Ramsey motioned him away.

“It’s okay, Kate, you’re only an observer, not a participant, nothing you see can hurt you.  You can’t feel the fire, the glass can’t cut you.  Relax.   I want you to take a step back.  You’re watching a movie, a scary movie, but it can’t hurt you.  The man and the woman are characters.  Okay?”

A shuddering sigh shook Kate and she lowered her hand.  “They’ve been in a car crash, we’ve hit a tree, went through the wind shield, the car’s on fire, smoke and blood everywhere, can’t breathe, oh God, I’m dying!”

Her breath came in gasps.  Josh’s gut tightened with the desire to gather her into his arms, to take her away from the awful vision.

“You’re not a part of it, it’s not happening to you.  Take another step back, and one more.  There now, do you feel better?”  Kate nodded.  “You can see the car burning, the people hurt in it.  Do you feel the heat, smell the smoke?”

Kate slowly shook her head.

“Okay, good.  Very good.  Did you see anything else?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead, tell me about it.  Whatever it is, remember it can’t touch you, just step back from it.”

“It was Josh.” Kate’s voice was quiet but steady and level.  “He was in a dark place, very dark.  There was a terrific explosion and there’s fire and blood—I can see blood everywhere, but I can’t see where he’s at.  The fire is out of control and begins to cover him, but it’s already too late.”

The hairs on the nape of his neck shivered as he listened to her describe his death.  Josh stiffened, forced himself to remain quiet.  A wave of nausea engulfed him, and he regretted the heavy dinner he’d just eaten.

“Is that everything, Kate?” Ramsey asked, but her eyes were on Josh.  Kate nodded.  “All right, then.  If you have another vision, I want you to close your eyes and see yourself in a movie theater.  Nothing there can touch you; it’s only pictures on the screen.  If they upset you, take a step back to the rear of the theater until they no longer upset you.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good.  I’m going to let you wake up now.  I’ll count back from ten, by the time I get to one, you’ll be fully awake.  You’ll remember what we’ve talked about, but it won’t upset you.  In fact you’ll feel very relaxed and calm and fall asleep.”

While Ramsey reversed the hypnosis, Josh went around the corner to the small kitchenette.  He couldn’t help but think of what Kate had seen. It was one thing to listen to Kate, to help her cope with the visions. But was he really supposed to believe, to walk around knowing, that he was about to die?  And not a pleasant death if Kate was right. Impossible.  She was wrong, she had to be.

He opened the well-stocked minibar, grabbed a bottle of Yuengling Black and Tan, gulping it to chase the sour taste of fear from his throat.  Ramsey joined him a few minutes later, and he handed her one.  She took it and drank deeply from it, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand in a gesture at odds with the meticulously groomed professional image she projected.  It made the psychologist seem more human, gave Josh faith that Ramsey might be able to help Kate.

“She’ll probably sleep the rest of the night.”

“You know, I’m not easy spooked,” Josh began, “but this isn’t posttraumatic stress disorder or some kind of psychosis.”  He took another swallow of beer, couldn’t believe what he was getting ready to say.  Couldn’t believe that he might actually—believe.  “She’s the real thing, isn’t she?”

Ramsey nodded.  “I’ve worked with psychics before.  She’s as detailed and explicit as any of them, more so than most.”

“So she’s not crazy.”  He didn’t want her to be, in fact was certain that she wasn’t, but the alternative was that Kate’s vision about his death might come true.

“No, just very, very scared and overwhelmed by something that is beyond anyone’s understanding.”

“So the things she sees could happen, even—” He couldn’t bring himself to finish.

“Even your death, yes,” Ramsey replied in a calm tone.  “But remember, the future isn’t set in stone, it can be changed.”

“The way she said it, it seemed so real.”

“It was very real—to her.”  Josh frowned at her, puzzled.  “Kate isn’t simply seeing into the future,” Ramsey continued, “she experiences it firsthand.  When she has a vision, she is that person experiencing death.  Much like she already experienced her own death.”

Josh was stunned.  “You mean, when she feels them die—”

“In a sense, she dies.  That’s why it has been so hard for her to continue to cope with these, to distance herself from them.”

He closed his eyes briefly.  How could he have been so blind to the anguish Kate had been experiencing?  “How many—how much can one person take?  Before she does go crazy?”

“Good question.  The techniques I taught her tonight will help, but believe me this is no gift she’s been given.  She’s lucky to have been able to withstand it as long as she has.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“What can I do to help her?  I feel responsible somehow,” Josh said.

“Why, because you saved her life the first time?”  Josh glanced up at her tone.  It was obvious that what Kate saw spooked Ramsey, too.  “Sorry, it’s been a long day.  And looking to be a longer night.  I’ve still work to do on Blake.”  Ramsey finished her beer and set the bottle on the counter.  “In answer to your question—I don’t know.”

“Thanks for coming.” Josh led her out, hating the feeling of powerlessness she left him with.

“Wait until you get my bill for the house call,” she said.  “Call me tomorrow and let me know how she’s doing.”  Josh despised the way Ramsey could distance herself, shield herself from what was happening to Kate.  Her tone was clinical as if Kate had the flu.

He closed the door behind Ramsey and returned to Kate.  She lay asleep on the couch, her face pale, pinched as if her visions were draining her of life.

Josh’s stomach knotted.  He could heal so many things, even bring someone back from the dead, yet he was powerless to do anything to save the woman he loved.

He scooped her into his arms.  She felt so light.  He looked down at her face, not totally at rest, even while sleeping, and made up his mind.

He wasn’t leaving her side.  If he was about to die, it would be while protecting her.

CHAPTER 36

Kate woke with tears on her cheeks.  She swiped them away and pulled the covers over her head like she had as a child.  Holding night secrets safely undercover, just as she held her tears in during the day. Her dream had been a jumbled return to her childhood, the fragments fading too fast to be clear.

It didn’t matter.  She knew why she was crying.  It wouldn’t be so hard if he’d hadn’t told her that he loved her.  Leaving was hard enough without that.

But she couldn’t stay.  After tonight she wouldn’t see him again until Blake was caught and she—was what?  Cured? Exorcized?  Kate wasn’t certain if she needed a priest, a doctor or a voodoo witch.

She’d return to Josh when she was back in control.  Whatever she had to do to get there.

She pushed the covers down, sat up and realized that Josh had undressed her, leaving her in her t-shirt and underwear.  The door to her bathroom was ajar, the light above the sink spilled into the bedroom, revealing a sleeping form in the large armchair in the corner.  Josh.  His mouth hung open, his hair was rumbled and standing on end like a little boy’s.  God, he was beautiful.

What happened in the park today—no man had ever made her feel that way.  As if she was a part of something bigger, better.  She shivered in the dark.  There was still time.  Time for one last memory, something to take with her when she left.

Because who knew when or if she would be able to return to him?

Kate slipped from the bed.   She entered the bathroom, debating her options.  Condoms?  There were some in her toiletry bag.  She almost laughed—a killer stalking her and she was worried about unsafe sex?

It had never been like this with other men.  Sex was just, well, sex.  Hot and sweaty fun, mutual lust answered, both parties satisfied without concern for the future.

Not tonight.  Tonight she wanted to give everything she had to offer.  Tonight she wanted to make love that would last a lifetime.  Because time was short—maybe shorter than even she imagined.

Kate shook her head and returned the condoms to her bag.  Who knew if she would be alive tomorrow?  There was no time for dreaming of the future, all she had was tonight.

Tonight, she would give, not take.  For the first time in her life, Kate was ready to offer herself, body and soul, to a man.  To the one man she could trust with her heart.

Tonight was for Josh.

She stripped naked, washed away all remnants of her earlier terror.  Brushed her teeth and her hair, used the jasmine scented lotion the hotel had provided.  She found herself liking the idea of making love here, away from the bed she was certain Josh had shared with other women.  This would be different for both of them.  Special, private—one last gift.

The door creaked as she opened it, and Josh’s eyes flickered open.

“Kate?”  He sat up, reached for her.  She avoided his touch, remained teasingly out of reach.  “What is it?  Are you all right?”

She stood there, the light from the bathroom casting her shadow over him, and said nothing, gave him a chance to back away.  It would be his last chance.

“You look like a dream,” he told her, his voice still heavy with sleep.

Kate took that as her cue.  She lowered herself into the chair, straddling his lap.  He sucked his breath in with an audible whoosh, and she smiled.  This was kind of fun.  She was in control, yet totally focused on his desires, on anything that might heighten his pleasure.  He cradled her chin in his palm.  She leaned into his kiss, her mouth open to him, accepting, inviting more.  He took all she had to offer and returned it tenfold.

Kate felt herself respond immediately, startled by the heat searing through her body.  The wave of pleasure that rushed over her left her breathless.

His lips grazed over her jaw, and he whispered, “My God, Kate, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She trailed her fingers through his hair, angling his head for another soul-stirring kiss.  When they parted this time, he gazed directly down into her eyes.  “I was wrong before,” he said, his voice clear and certain.  “I believe, Kate.  I believe.”

His words shattered her.

“You do?” She held her breath as she waited for his reply.

His mouth twisted into a wistful half-smile and a single tear slipped from his eye.  “I wish I didn’t,” he said in a low, serious tone.  “Wish I could take the pain away, wish I could make everything go away if it would make you happy.  But I can’t.”  He caught his breath.  Kate traced her finger over the path of his tear, over his lips.

“But you can make it all go away,” she assured him. “For tonight you can.”

She slid her hand between their bodies, used her fingers to tease him, caress him through his jeans.  She felt the heat of his arousal and squeezed gently.  He shuddered.  His eyes raised to hers, and he pulled back to give her a grin.

“So, that’s how it’s going to be?”  He fastened his hands around her hips and in one swift movement rose up out of the chair.  She allowed him to lower her onto the bed.  He looked down on her, his naked desire easily read on his face.

His hands began to stroke her, taunt her.  Those clever fingers of his knew exactly how to coax more heat from her body.  He lay down beside her, his fingers roaming over every inch of her, his eyes gleaming with anticipation and delight.

She balanced on her good elbow and watched as he gently, tenderly caressed her breasts.  Not only the whole one, but also the one ravaged by the shooter’s bullets.  His touch was light enough to send a tingling sensation through the injured nerves on her left side as his fingers deftly avoided the bristling stitches.  He kept his eyes locked on hers, watching her response.

To her amazement, it didn’t hurt.  He seemed to know exactly where and how to touch her so that it actually felt good.  She blew out the breath she’d been holding, realized that the pain she’d been anticipating was not going to happen.

His fingers trailed over her skin as he rocked forward between her legs, now feathering over both breasts simultaneously. He smiled as she writhed in pleasure, then lowered his mouth to join his hands.

He alternated using his mouth and then exhaling his hot breath over the moist areas he created.  Her hips surged up, her leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him tighter to her.

He was still fully clothed, but Kate could see he was enjoying himself as much as she was.  His fingers slid inside her and she arched back, an incoherent cry escaping her lips.  Okay, maybe not quite as much.

Once she caught her breath again, she reached out, pulling him close enough so that she could unbutton his shirt.  The buttons frustrated her one good hand and in the end, she tugged so hard that they popped open, bouncing around them like hail in a summer storm.  He laughed, a joyous sound that echoed into Kate’s heart.

Josh couldn’t think of anything more intoxicating than seeing the spark of desire fill Kate’s eyes, than feeling her come to life beneath his touch.  Her tongue traced delicious patterns over his chest as her hand teased through his hair.  They lay side to side, her injured arm cradled between them.

Her mouth found his nipple.  He laughed in surprise at the lightning strike that jolted through him in response, then raised her chin so that he could kiss her again.  Her eyes glittered with delight.  Then her good hand feathered its way along the back of his neck, around to his bare chest and lower.

God, just her touch, inhaling her scent—she was driving him wild.  She wasn’t holding anything back.  And neither was he.

Her fingers slid beneath his waistband, forcing a gasp from him.  He reached for his belt, desperate to be free of the confining clothing.  It was her turn to laugh as she watched him stumble from the bed, hopping on one foot, tangled in the denim.  Finally he kicked his clothes aside, returning to her, both naked, on equal ground.

“Condoms,” he muttered, reluctantly turning away.

“We don’t need them.”

He looked at her in surprise.  They’d both be tested for HIV, part of the job, but birth control?  He knew she wasn’t taking the Pill.  Maybe she used Depo shots?  Damn, should’ve never let things go so far without talking—

She opened her legs to him.  Whoa boy.  Guess the time for talking had passed.  He stood between her smooth, white thighs, looking down on the most incredible woman he’d ever known.  Her skin was flushed with passion, her eyes wide with elation, her mouth parted in invitation.  She was offering herself to him.

Josh needed Kate to know he understood the gift she was bestowing on him.  His arousal was obvious for her to see, but that wasn’t enough.  He leaned forward, took her mouth in his, a gentle, sensuous caress compared with their earlier rough and tumble play.  He trailed kisses down her jaw, her neck in a slow, unhurried path of thanksgiving.  He captured each of her breasts in turn, his own excitement growing as small sounds of contentment escaped from her.

“God.” The word was buried in a soft, mewing noise that made his blood rush.  “Oh, that’s good—”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him tighter as he rolled her nipple against the roof of his mouth.  He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back, but her shivers of delight made the effort well worth it.

He slid his lips over her heartbeat, above the suture line marking the place where he had cut her open.  His fingers had held her heart when it was lifeless.  Now the exquisite vibrations against his lips when he felt her pulse race almost brought him to tears.

Raising his head, he saw that she was crying.  And laughing, all at the same time.

“Now.”  Her legs circled around his hips, pulling him close.  “I want you now.”

Her wish was his command.  He slipped a pillow under her hips and straightened.  She looked up at him with a smile of anticipation.  He couldn’t resist the urge to tease her a little farther.  He entered her a short way, then began to pull back.

She groaned, her good hand reaching to tug on his arm.  “Do you want me to beg?”

Oh yeah, begging would be good.  Begging was always appreciated.  But his control had its limits.  Once he entered her heat, felt her muscles tighten around him, Josh could hold out no longer.  He thrust into her, his fingers closing over her hipbones, so that they moved in unison.

Sweat-slicked skin sliding in perfect harmony, soon her body arched in an explosion of pleasure.  Finally, when the pressure was unbearable, Josh leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers.  The rush of the climax widened her eyes as her cry of ecstasy joined his.

CHAPTER 37

Carter met Kate the next morning at an all-night diner on Liberty Avenue.  He said nothing about the change in plans.  Thank God.  It had been hard enough to leave Josh, his arms reaching out for her in his sleep as she slipped from the bed.  As if he needed her as much as she needed him.

She’d walked the five blocks to the diner and sat, drinking coffee that could have passed for battery acid.  Just penance for the shameful way she had left Josh.  She was doing the right thing, the best thing to keep him safe.

The words kept repeating in her mind now as they drove along 376, familiar landmarks speeding past.  It was a brilliant fall morning, the Monongahela River glittered in the sunshine.  The Parkway was crowded with other drivers enjoying the unexpected weather, headed out of the city for a peaceful Sunday.

Just another Sunday.  Except she and Carter were on their way to spend the day at her anal-retentive brother’s, hoping a killer was hot on their trail.  When Kate called Michael to let him know they were on their way, he was even less excited about the plan than he had been yesterday, complaining that the police officers had taken the Sunday paper and eaten all the Krispy Kremes.

“You people treat me and my family like we’re shills.”

Kate sighed, they’d been through this already.  Secretly, she thought Michael was enjoying the attention, the notoriety of being involved with real-life FBI agents.  That didn’t stop him from complaining.  Or blaming her for every inconvenience.  “Michael, you agreed to the plan.  I didn’t really have any choice in the matter.”

He paused.  “Well, you could have given me more notice.  Marcy’s going nuts trying to figure out what to cook for dinner.”

“It doesn’t matter, anything will be fine,” she assured him.

“So how many people should we plan for?”  She almost laughed.  There was a madman on the loose and he was worried about seating arrangements.  That was why he was a rich CPA and she was a cop—emphasis on the past tense.

“Thanks Michael, I’ll see you in about half an hour.”  She hung up as he was making menu suggestions.

They were exiting the Squirrel Hill tunnel when she finished telling Carter about her visions the night before.

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life,” she confessed after describing the scene in the restaurant.

“Relax, you probably saved their lives,” Carter said.  “Was Dr. Ramsey able to help?”

“I feel a little better.  I just don’t know how to handle this.  I have to accept the fact that I’m different now, that this isn’t going to go away on its own.”   She was silent for a moment, then chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking, Michael was so worried about today, how could I tell him that everything was going to be okay because I didn’t have a vision seeing his death?  Can you just imagine!  He’d have me committed before I could have hung up the phone.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.  Carter cleared his throat, shifted his weight away from her as if she did indeed need a straight-jacket and strong meds.  “Do you think you should rely on these, visions so much?”

“Dammit, Carter, don’t look at me like that!”

He turned back to concentrate on the highway.  “I told you, I trust you, Kate.  But I’m not so sure about this second sight.  You said not all of them come true.  How do you know which ones to take seriously?”   His cell phone rang before he could express any more misgivings.

Kate looked out the window while he talked.  It had been weeks since the city had seen this much sunshine.  She remembered her vision of Josh—there had been sunlight in the first vision of him, the others were in darkness.  Did that mean they canceled the first one out?  Had she somehow changed the future?  Carter was right, she had no idea what to believe.

She wished she could have convinced Josh to leave Pittsburgh without her.  The man was almost as stubborn and pigheaded as she was.  This plan had to work.  Once they had Blake, Josh would be safe.

But Blake wasn’t dumb, even Ramsey’s profile conceded that.  He would read the papers, know that the FBI was now involved.  He would change the game, change targets—and who better to target than the man who had ruined his initial plan to kill her?

She heard her father’s voice as clearly as she could hear Carter’s.  A good cop has to trust his gut, Brian O’Hern would say.  As usual Dad was right.  Kate didn’t need any crazy visions to know that.  She wasn’t the one in danger.  It was Josh.

“Carter, stop.  Turn around.”  She tapped her finger against the armrest.  Damn it, how could she have been so dumb, letting Cohen talk her into this?  She needed to be with Josh, where she could protect him.  He didn’t even have a weapon, for chrissake.

“What?  Hang on a sec,” he said into the car phone.  “They found Blake’s apartment, but they missed him.  He’s probably already at Michael’s.  Did you say turn around?”

“Blake’s not going to Michael’s.  He’ll go after Josh next.”  She grabbed the phone.   “Who is this?”

“Agent Cohen.  O’Hern?  Give me back to Carter.”

“Cohen, listen, get some men over to Josh Lightner’s place right away.  Blake’s headed there.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.  Ask Anne Ramsey, she’ll tell you I’m right.  Blake’s going to target Lightner next, not me.”

“I’ll send a unit over.”  His tone was one of exasperation.

“You’ll send them now?”

“Yes.”  She handed the phone back to Carter.  He listened, frowned, then said “All right,” and hung up.

“Carter, you passed the exit.  Turn around and go back.”

“Cohen said he’ll take care of the doc.  He wants us to continue with the plan.”

Kate groaned.  Josh was safe in the hotel, everything should be all right.  She closed her eyes, focusing on Josh, trying for the first time to command a vision.  Nothing came.  But the clenching in her stomach intensified.  She sat up and reached for Carter’s cell phone.

No answer at the hotel room or on Josh’s cell phone.  No answer when the front desk had him paged either.

Damn the man, what had he done?

Surely he hadn’t gone back to his house?

Kate placed a hand on Carter’s arm.  “Josh is in trouble.  We have to go to his house.  Turn around.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” He looked away from traffic to stare at her.

“Yes.”  She might be jeopardizing their one and only chance to get Blake.  But all Kate knew was that Josh needed her.  Now.

Carter swerved into the left-hand lane and cut into a turnabout.  He radioed the back ups about the change in plans as he waited for traffic to give him an opening, then pulled out, heading back into the city.

Once they arrived at Josh’s house, Kate was out of the car before Carter could ram it into Park.  There was one squad car, lights flashing, in front of Josh’s house and two more unmarked Impalas.  She ran past them and up the steps.

The patrolman at the door had the job of securing the scene, dealing with any rubber-necking neighbors and reporters.  As well as suspended cops with attitude and no patience.

“I’m going in,” Kate told the newbie who’d pulled the door detail.

“You can’t,” he protested, raised a hand as if to block her way but stopped when he saw her sling.  What was he gonna do, shove a cop shot in the line?  She ducked her head and pushed past the kid, showing him no mercy.

She stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, her breath catching in her throat, her stomach rebelling at the smell of blood.  It was everywhere—splatters on the floor at the back door, sprawling castoffs showering the kitchen island and walls.  Not even the ceiling had been spared, the crimson streams were everywhere.  There were no pools, so whoever’s blood it was had been moving.

“We haven’t found a body,” Cohen told her, getting up from where he crouched, studying the trail of blood.

Carter caught up to Kate, she could feel his bulk behind her, heard his curse as he looked past her to the carnage.

“How’d you know?” Cohen came over to her, his notebook open.

Kate’s throat clamped shut with fear.  Josh was gone, she was too late, she should have protected him, he was a civilian for chrissakes, it was her job to protect him.  Her heart stuttered and a tightness gripped her chest.  Was he dead already?

She had the sudden vision of Josh, cold, in pain, trapped in a dark space.  It was as if she were there with him, she smelled gasoline, there was a rough rubber surface under her cheek, a painful stabbing kept shooting through her hands.  She shivered, nausea and fear churned her stomach and she was going to throw up—

Carter caught her as she slumped, her disorientation throwing her off balance.  He helped her to the couch, pushed her head between her knees.

“Breathe,” he told her.

“Don’t you dare barf on my crime scene,” Cohen said.  “That’s a rookie mistake, O’Hern.”

Cohen’s sharp words erased the nausea.  Kate glared at the federal agent.  His face was neutral but she thought she caught a glimpse of concern in his eyes.  Could there be a human hiding somewhere beyond the hard-assed prick?

Then her eyes caught the rope toy Josh and Hershey had been wrestling over yesterday.

“Where’s Hershey?” Kate asked, looking around the room.  “Where’s the dog?”

The detectives shrugged, went back to their evidence collection.  Kate followed the blood splatter.  It stopped, then started again at the basement door.

“No dog when we got here,” Cohen said.

“Anyone check the basement?” Kate asked.

“Haven’t gotten there,” one of the detectives said.  “Uniforms said there was no one down there.”

“They weren’t looking for a dog.”

Cohen was wearing vinyl gloves.  He carefully opened the door and turned the light on.  Kate poked her head into the stairwell.  “Hershey,” she called.  “Here, boy!”

A faint whimper and scratching came from the shadows behind the steps.  Kate ran down, Cohen and Carter following.  When she got to the bottom, she saw dark smears of blood on the floor where the dog had dragged himself into hiding.

“Hershey, come here,” she called again.

The dark-colored dog blended into the shadows.  If she hadn’t known he was there she would have missed him.  Hershey groaned and slowly crawled forward enough so that Carter could reach him and help him the rest of the way.

“He’s bleeding,” Carter told Cohen.

The FBI agent was on the steps examining the inside of the door.  “Looks like Blake shoved him down the steps.  There’s blood on some of the treads.”

Kate looked up.  “We need to get him help.”

Cohen frowned.  He seemed more concerned with preserving the integrity of his crime scene than with Hershey’s life.

“Carter, help me get him to a vet.”

Carter hesitated, then nodded.  He grabbed a towel from a pile of laundry and wrapped it gently around the dog.  He cradled Hershey in his arms as he carried him upstairs, Kate following.

“Poor Carter,” she heard a detective say as they left, “first he pulls babysitting duty and now he gets to play dog walker.”  Carter tensed beside her but said nothing.

One more friend hurt because of her.  If this kept up, she was going to be alone, without anyone she could trust or who would trust her.

Kate’s steps faltered as she realized that was exactly what Blake wanted.  To isolate her, place her at his mercy, in his control.

He was doing a helluva job of it so far.

Anne Ramsey came down the steps from Josh’s neighbor as Kate and Carter arranged Hershey in the backseat of Carter’s unmarked.

“Kate, are you all right?”

“Carter, will you take care of Hershey?  I need to talk to Dr. Ramsey.”  Carter looked at her, eyes narrowed as if he thought she was up to something.  Kate couldn’t blame him.  He had stuck by her so far, but sooner or later even Carter would have to draw the line between loyalty and his career.  The less he was seen with her, the better.  She looked up at him, put a hand on his arm.  “Please.”

He said nothing, merely nodded and got in the car.   Kate and Ramsey moved back up to the porch, where they could talk out of earshot of the reporters and other gawkers.

“He changed his pattern,” Kate told Ramsey, not bothering to restrain her anger.  “Why didn’t you think of that when you developed your brilliant plan?”

Ramsey moved closer and lowered her voice.  “How did you know Blake was coming here?  Did you have another vision?”

“No,” Kate said bitterly.  “I used my head.  Thought about what Blake was doing and what he wanted.  Damn it, why did Josh come here?  I warned him that something might happen.”

“The dog,” Ramsey said.  “He came back to feed the dog and let him out.”

Kate shook her head.  “His neighbor was watching Hershey.”

“She was supposed to.  When she got up this morning to get the key to Josh’s place it was gone.  So she called Josh on his cell phone.”

“Let me guess, Mrs. Kertesz doesn’t always lock her doors.”

“Oh, she locks her doors.  And the windows.  But one of the basement windows was broken.  Mrs. Kertesz says the keys to Josh’s house are always hanging inside her back door.  They’re not there now.”

“Blake.”  Kate shivered.  “He was already in the house when we got back yesterday afternoon.”  She sank onto the porch swing.  “And I saw it.  Dammit, I should have known.”

“What did you see?”

“I had a vision.  Josh, Carter and I on the steps,” she nodded to just behind Ramsey, “when we were shot.  I looked around, but couldn’t see where the shots were coming from.  Josh was shot in the back.  From the house.  Blake must have been waiting inside.  When I collapsed, it gave him time to hide.”

Her stomach clenched as she realized the implications.  If she hadn’t had her vision, if Carter hadn’t insisted that they go to the hotel, she and Josh might have stayed alone in the house. “Son of a bitch.  He must have been laughing—waiting here, all cozy and safe once he took care of Hershey, while we were running around like scared rabbits.”

Ramsey nodded.  “That’s part of it.  The thrill.  But there’s also something more, something primal.  He thinks that by gaining power over Josh, he’ll also gain whatever power over death that Josh holds.”

“In other words, we’ve been chasing our tails with all this decoy business.”

“No, I think he’s saving you for last.”

“You mean Josh is the appetizer, and I’m the main course.  Dammit it, Anne, I saw it!  Why couldn’t I do something to stop this from happening—”

“You did everything you could.  I’m the person who’s supposed to predict what Blake’s going to do next, to get into his mind, so to speak.  He blindsided me. I never saw this coming.”

“I did.”

“So you did.  Do you think Josh is dead?”

Kate stiffened.  “Can you think of any reason why Blake would keep him alive?”

“Yes.  And a few to kill him right away.  What do you think, what do you feel?” Ramsey’s voice became intense.  Kate stared at her.  “C’mon Kate, stop letting this precognition control you.  It’s time for you to take control, use it, find Josh.  You may be the only hope he has.”

“Oh no, don’t you put that on me.  It’s bad enough that I’m the reason he’s in the trouble he’s in now.  Don’t make me responsible for whether he lives or dies, I can’t—”

“But you can,” Ramsey insisted.

Kate was spared a reply by the sound of Tony’s voice arguing with the patrolmen challenging his approach.  “He’s okay,” she called out.  “Let him through.”

Tony straightened his jacket with a reproachful glance at the officers and joined them on the porch.  Kate went to him, hugging him with her good arm.

“What happened?” he asked.  “I heard some kind of squawk about a domestic disturbance on the scanner, recognized the doc’s address.”

Ramsey answered.  “Blake was here.  He almost killed Josh’s dog, and apparently took Josh with him.”

“Is the doc all right?”

“As far as we know.  I was trying to get Kate—”

“Tony, take me out of here,” Kate interrupted her.  “Please, I need to be alone, to think.”

“Kate,” Ramsey said, “let me help you.  Like last night.”

Last night.  Kate remembered the pain, the terror that had screamed through her brain.  And afterward, making love with Josh, thinking that her leaving would protect him.  Protect and serve.  She couldn’t let him down, not again.  “I’ll meet you at Tony’s.”

Bitter cold sliced through him, sharp as a scalpel.  At first Josh thought he was blind, then he saw a small sliver of light. The smell of gasoline and oil burnt his nostrils.  Trunk of a car.  His hands were bound behind him so that he was lying on top of them, had already lost feeling in them.  There was a wide piece of tape over his mouth, as he became aware of it he also realized how nauseous he was and fought the urge to vomit.

He could drown in his own vomit—what a fate.  He had the worse headache of his life.  How long had he been unconscious?  More than a concussion, it could be an early epidural hematoma.  Maybe even cerebral edema.  He could die in here.

The thought almost made him laugh.  It was either that or panic, and Josh refused to give up control, not yet.  Not while the memory of Kate’s face still remained with him.  He squeezed his eyes shut, focused on her, on the way she moved beneath his hands, her scent, her taste.

He believed.  He did believe.  He had to believe.  Because right now, Kate was the only person with the power to save him.

CHAPTER 38

Kate sank into the cracked vinyl seats of Tony’s Mustang.  He’d owned the vintage muscle car for so long that its state often reflected Tony’s mood.  Today the usually pristine interior was crowded with fast food wrappers, empty coffee mugs, copies of the papers from the past week, a glossy brochure on post-traumatic stress in victims of violent crimes and, most surprising, a black-beaded rosary.

She held up the last two pieces of incriminating evidence.  He scowled, yanked them from her, shoving them down beside the driver’s seat.  They sat in silence.  Kate kept her good arm crossed over her left arm, pulling her jacket tight around her.  Heat blew from the vents, but she couldn’t stop shivering.

“Tony, have you ever been scared, I mean truly scared?”

He cleared his throat.  “If you’re going to ask questions like that, you ought to at least buy me a drink first.”

The car pulled to a stop in front of a three-story brick warehouse with an interior design firm occupying the first floor.  Tony led her up the side stairs to his loft on the top floor.  The door opened onto a spacious room with large picture windows lining the north and west wall and bookshelves along the other two.  There was a large desk with a computer, printer, fax and writing area that was uncluttered.  A loveseat and three leather chairs were arranged in one corner near a stereo and wide screen TV.  The main attraction was the unobstructed views across the Allegheny River and past the Strip District to Pittsburgh’s downtown skyline.  Kate took her customary chair facing the west windows and sat, looking out.

“All those people,” she said in a low voice.  “They’re out there, going about their business, never knowing what is going to happen.  Oh, they know what they think will happen next, what they have planned for the future.  And they just gamble that things will work out that way.  But they never really know for certain what is going to happen—next week, tomorrow, the next minute.  God, I wish I had that kind of faith.”  She turned to Tony, who stood beside her.

“I’ve lost it, Tony.  I can’t even imagine that tomorrow is going to come.  I don’t want to try to think about what might happen if it does.  The future used to be so hopeful to me, now it’s a nightmare and I’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Don’t think about the future, think about the past, instead.” He settled onto the arm of her chair, his hand kneading the cramped muscles at the back of her neck.  Tony always knew exactly what she needed.  “Remember when we were together?  We used to sit here in the dark, watching the lights, talking all night long.  Do you remember?”

“And by day we’d fight and squabble.  How many times in one day would you tell me to clean up my mess?  We were worse than the Odd Couple.  Not to mention the fact that we had to plan a month ahead to find an evening when we’d both be home at the same time.”

He stroked her hair.  “Yeah, but we made the most of those times together, didn’t we?”

Kate pulled away and turned to him.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make a move on me.”

He looked down at her, his hand brushed the curls away from her face.  “No, just trying to make you smile.  I’ve seen that look in your eyes before, but it’s been a long, long time.”

“What look?” she demanded, but she could feel the blush heating her cheeks betray her.

“Does the doc know you’re in love with him?”

“Wipe that grin off your face.  Who are you, Yentl the match maker?  Of course I’m not in love with him.”  She went on, uncertain if she was trying to convince Tony or herself, “It’s only one of those hero-worship adolescent crush kind of things.  After all, he’s a handsome, dynamic surgeon who just happened to save my life.  Don’t worry, I’ll get over it.”

Tony shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  I think this one is for keeps.  And you know what—he feels the same way about you.”

“Maybe he did.  Once.”  Tony said nothing about her use of the past tense, merely pulled her close.  She quieted after a few moments, watching the November sun fight a losing battle against thick, leaden clouds rolling in from the west.

Ramsey arrived less than half an hour later.  “We don’t have a lot of time,” she said after shrugging out of her coat and dropping her purse.  “Cohen’s expecting me at a task force briefing.  Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Kate lied. Ramsey gave her a sharp look, then nodded.

“Okay.”  Ramsey looked around the room.  She turned one of the chairs away from the window and motioned to Kate to sit.  “We’ll need some privacy,” she told Tony as he started to take a seat on the couch.

“Oh sure,” he sounded disappointed.  “I’ll run over to Primanti’s and get us some sandwiches for—uh—afterwards.”  He turned and put a hand on Kate’s shoulder.  She reached up and patted it.  He gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head and left.

“Nice guy,” Ramsey observed.  “I’d say over all, you’ve been very lucky in your choice of friends.  Carter and most of the others down at the precinct speak very highly of you.”

“Except that it seems my friends are prone to have a very short life span.  Look at Rob, the Sarge and now Josh—“

“Why don’t you let up on yourself?” Ramsey snapped.

Kate looked up in surprise.  “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was wallowing in self pity.”

“Kate, a lot has happened to you in a very short time.  You need to stop hiding and face it.  Not only what Blake is doing, but also the physical and mental changes you’re experiencing.  Talk about it, get it all out in the open and deal with it honestly, don’t keep it all stuffed down inside you.”

“I thought you were going to help me find Josh, not psychoanalyze me.”

“I am helping you.”  Ramsey sighed and took the seat facing Kate.  “Cops are always the hardest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Before I came to the Bureau I used to work in stress debriefing, helping emergency professionals deal with the tragedies and extraordinary events that they dealt with every day.  Police officers were always the worse.  Sometimes they’d push their emotions so far away that they could never deal with them—and they’d come back to haunt them with a vengeance.  Why do you think cops have the highest rates of suicide, depression, alcoholism and divorce?”

“Why’d you leave that to join the FBI?  We’re such difficult patients, you decided it’d be easier to track down mass murderers?”

Anne chuckled.  “Not quite.  I volunteered at a free clinic in Boston.  One of my clients started to give me very strange vibes.  He left therapy, against my advice, but I was still worried.  I did some research into his background, including, I’m ashamed to say, some not so ethical investigation and surveillance.  To make a long story short, he was a serial rapist wanted by the FBI.  They were able to make a case against him with my help.”

Kate was fascinated.  This middle-aged woman looked so unassuming, like a history professor.  She never would have visualized her dealing with a rapist, much less ensuring his capture.  “Where is he now?”

“He killed himself in jail.  But the Bureau offered me a job.  It’s a fascinating area of  psychology, and I get to travel all over the country.”

“Are you married?  It must be rough with all your traveling.”

“Actually it works out fine for us.  John’s a corporate lawyer, so he travels too.  Sometimes it’s lonely, but we make it work.  It’ll be eighteen years next July.”

Kate shook her head.  “I can’t even keep a guy around for eighteen weeks.”

“Do I detect a reluctance to commit, Officer O’Hern?” Ramsey asked in a fake Viennese accent.  “Anyway, you now know everything there is to know about Anne Ramsey.  Let’s get to work.  Lean back and relax.”

Kate started to comply, then leaned forward again.  “Anne, you’ve dealt with a lot of these crazies.  Tell me, Blake—he is human, isn’t he?  I mean we can stop him, right?  Because sometimes I can’t help but wonder—“

“He might be pure evil, but I promise you Kate, he is human, and with your help we can stop him.  Now, let’s work on finding him and Josh.  Close your eyes.”

It felt much easier for Kate to slip into the state of relaxation that Ramsey had created for her last night.  It almost felt natural.  For a second she wondered if she could do it on her own, then she stopped thinking and allowed her mind to float along the waves created by the rhythm of Ramsey’s voice.  She felt safe, protected, as if she were riding in a transparent bubble.  Colors washed around her, but nothing solid.

The colors coalesced into a blackness so complete that she felt as if she were falling, head first, spinning, flailing out of control.  Ragged breathing echoed through the void, through her.  She couldn’t breathe, her throat was blocked by something.  She struggled in terror, started to vomit.  The tone of Anne’s voice forced her to step back, to remove herself.  She still couldn’t see anything, she felt cramped, cold and scared, very scared.

Kate mentally took another step back, and she became aware that it was Josh who was curled up into that tiny dark space.  There was something over his mouth.  His hands and feet were bound.  He was hurt and scared—not only of Blake, though.  She took a timid mental step closer.  His hands, he couldn’t feel his hands.  And he was cold, so very cold.  There was blood on his face and head.  He was trying to force himself to stay awake.  If he fell asleep, he would never wake up again.

Where are you? she wanted to cry out in frustration, but of course he couldn’t hear her or answer her.  Instead she concentrated on details, the smell of gasoline, the metal ceiling—a car trunk.  But where?  There was no light coming in, so it was either inside or she was seeing into tonight’s future.  Why couldn’t these visions come with a time reference? Kate almost lost the scene as she became more agitated.  She forced herself to stay calm, stay with Josh.

The trunk opened, and she saw the night sky.  Blake stood over the car, aiming a gun at Josh.  He had a peculiar smell, an odor she couldn’t place.  Behind him she could see a statue, its white surface the only break in a landscape of shadows.  Blake raised his gun—

“No!” Kate screamed and the vision was gone.  She was back in Tony’s loft, Anne was holding her, trying to calm her down.  She felt lightheaded and nauseated from hyperventilating.  “Oh no, Jesus, don’t—”

“It’s okay, Kate.  Tell me what you saw.  Do you know where Josh is?”

Kate put a hand up as she tried to gather her thoughts and regain her sense of reality.  She took several deep breaths, and her nausea passed.

The door opened.  Tony entered, his arms filled with grease splattered bags, the smell of French fries and onions wafting in with him.  He looked over to Kate and Ramsey and dropped the bags onto the counter.  “What happened?  Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.  How long was I out?” Kate asked Anne.

“Almost twenty minutes.  I couldn’t get you to talk, but you seemed much more in control than you did last night.  What did you see?”

“I know where Josh is, or at least where he’ll be tonight.”

“Where?”

“He’s in the trunk of a car.  Blake opened the trunk, he had a gun.  It was dark, there were trees around and Blake smelled like,” she paused, considering.  “He smelled like soil, all dark and  moist.  Behind him I saw an angel.”

“An angel?” Tony interrupted.

“A statue of an angel.  It looked so familiar, give me a minute to think.”

“Were they near a church?” Anne asked.

“No,” Kate said slowly, “not a church—”

“A cemetery?” Tony suggested.

Kate felt the blood drain from her face.  “He’s at my parents’ graves.”  The words emerged in a hush.  She choked back tears and looked at Tony.  He reached over and took her hand in both of his.  “How did he know?  How could he know?”

She shook her head, trying to make sense of this latest horror.  Tears threatened to spill.  She yanked her hand from Tony’s and left the chair, stalking over to the window, swiping away her tears before they could fall.  She stood rigid, seeking solace and answers in the rain now slashing against the window.  And finding none.

They all sat in silence, the rain beating against the windows the only sound.  Kate forced her fists to unclench and marched to take a position in front of Ramsey.  “We need to focus on Josh.  How did Blake find out where my parents were buried? Why there? Is he trying to send me a message—that it’s suicide going after him?  That I shouldn’t even try?  Is he offering me a chance to exchange my life for Josh’s?”

Ramsey was frowning, fingers drumming on her crossed knees.  She stood and approached Kate, her gaze narrowed in appraisal.  “Some people say that suicide is the ultimate form of control, of taking charge, defying death.”

Kate gave an impatient shake of her head.  “Defy death?  Been there, done that, don’t feel like I’m in control of anything.”

“No, but maybe Blake thinks you are.  Maybe he doesn’t care if he dies himself—as long as he’s in control.”

Ramsey placed her hand on Kate’s good arm.  She meant the gesture to be comforting, but all Kate could think of was the warmth that Josh’s touch brought.  Her stomach twisted with a dull gnawing as she realized how much she stood to lose if anything happened to him.

“Right now he is in control.  We’re on his schedule, at his mercy.”  Kate shrugged the shrink’s hand away.  “We’re wasting time.  We need to talk to Cohen, convince him to get some men over to St. Ursula’s.  Before it’s too late.”

CHAPTER 39

With some help from Carter and a blind eye from Ramsey, Kate and Tony found themselves sitting in the back of a fire department rescue vehicle parked almost a mile away from St. Ursula’s.  The waiting was unbearable.  Midnight had come and gone and they’d heard nothing.  Kate tested the radio once again, drawing looks of disdain from the paramedics, but she couldn’t help it.  She wished there was room to pace, she felt claustrophobic waiting in this cramped space.

Tony reached over from the bench across from the gurney and patted her knee.  “It’s going to be all right,” he said in a low voice.

The paramedics were eating hamburgers, obviously not bothered by either the confinement or the wait.  “We get paid either way,” one had told her, “just as rather all the bad guys are good and dead before we get to them.  You’d be amazed what kind of crap we have to put up with.  Rizzo there got stabbed in the arm last year by a gang banger when he was putting an IV in, didn’t you, Rizzo?”

Rizzo nodded in agreement, his mouth full of French fries.

“You try to save their lives—they don’t care, they just yell and swear—I mean that’s gratitude for you, right?  And it’s not just the druggies and drunks, otherwise normal people just freak sometimes.  You should hear the ladies yell when we have to cut their clothes off.”  The medic rolled his eyes.  “How’re we gonna know where they’re hurt if we can’t see them?  But no, they scream, not that, I just bought this outfit,” he finished in a fake soprano.

Rizzo laughed, spilling some of his pop. “You guys sure you don’t want any?  We got plenty.” He held out the bag to them.

Kate shook her head and resumed her position at the windows.  The darkness was so complete she could barely make out the silhouettes of the cars parked nearby.  It was an older neighborhood, and most of the houses sat back from the street.  The kind of neighborhood where people would sit out on their stoops in nice weather and actually talk to their neighbors.  Not many places like this anymore.

A squawk from the radio interrupted her thoughts.  They were monitoring the task force’s frequency, but had strict orders not to transmit unless they were responding to a medical emergency.  A man’s voice came over the speaker, low and hushed, but not hurried at all.  “I’ve got a light at the caretaker’s.  Wait, it’s moving.  I think it’s our man.”

“Hold your positions,” came Cohen’s voice.  “Anyone got him in your scopes?” he asked the snipers positioned near the gravesite.

No one answered in the affirmative.

The radio chatter continued as Kate tried to reconstruct the scene in her mind.  Her gaze was fixed out the window, but what she saw was a dark cemetery, quiet figures converging on a small shed beside a paved drive.  They crouched beside statues, slithered on their stomachs, peering over tombstones, looking through their night scopes.  She pressed her face against the cold glass, trying to transport herself there, wanting to help capture Blake and find Josh.

Suddenly she was there with Josh. She could see Blake standing over him.  Josh was so tired, so very tired, she could almost feel the will to live seeping from him.  He looked up from his contorted position in the trunk with glazed eyes, unable to speak because of the duct tape covering the lower half of his face, muscles twisted into pretzels, spasmed into uselessness.  Blake raised a gun, aimed it at him.

“Now who’s the one with power over life and death?” she heard Blake say.  “Think anyone will be able to bring you back, Lightner?”  He bent down, placing the gun between Josh’s eyes.  “I don’t think so.  Tomorrow when they find you—she’ll come here, I know her, she’ll feel compelled—and I’ll be waiting.  Not that there’ll be much of you left for her to see.”

Josh stared, his eyes wide and flat and hopeless.  Do something, Kate urged him, urged anyone, wishing she was there.  She caught her breath as Blake suddenly straightened and looked around.  Kate hadn’t heard anything, but obviously he had.  He crouched down and moved to the side of the car, peering through the darkness.  She saw him take something from his pocket.  A tremendous explosion ripped through the night.

Flames engulfed the shack. Footsteps echoed as police raced toward the car, but Blake was calm, moving slowly and surely in between the graves until he vanished into the night.

Kate fell back as the ambulance began to move.  Tony caught her and helped her to a seat.

“He’s okay,” she said.

“How do you know?” he asked.  “All they said was that there was a body in a car.  Jesus, look at that!”  He pointed out the front window toward the flames etched against the night sky.

“Blake headed west,” Kate told the paramedic nearest the radio.  “Tell them!” she commanded when he looked at her as if she was crazy, but he picked up the mike and repeated her information.  There was so much chatter over the channel she doubted the message got through to anyone. It wouldn’t do any good.  Blake had his escape well orchestrated.  She was certain that he was long gone.  It didn’t matter.  Josh was safe.

Josh had never felt so cold in his life.   Was this a dream?  He felt as if his body wasn’t his own, as if he were experiencing everything from a great distance.  The only things that seemed real to him were the piercing cold that encompassed his body and the fear that seemed to be the only thing keeping him conscious.  He knew, felt it in his marrow of his being, that he was about to die.

There was a blinding light.  The light exploded into a myriad of brilliant colors.  He shut his eyes against the intensity of it.  A loud noise echoed through his brain, reverberating with the pounding of his head and the ringing in his ears.

Then it was over.  Josh opened his eyes and saw nothing but a normal night sky.  He heard voices.  Men in dark clothes approached him, lifting his body, but he could not feel their hands.  Sharp, piercing spasms of pain shot through him as they moved him, stretching muscles hardened into concrete, touching delicate skin peppered with ice crystals.  They pulled the tape from his face.  He vomited into the dirt beside the car as they held his limp, useless body upright.  They spoke to him, but he could not understand the words through the haze of pain, cold and the pounding in his head.  He simply nodded, a movement which he instantly regretted as he vomited again.

He was moved onto a stretcher.  Where are my hands? Josh wanted to ask, but didn’t, afraid to hear the answer.

Bright lights, short bursts of searing pain, tourniquet, angiocath, the pain of the blanket against his skin, fire and ice mingling over his body, all beneath the rush of the ocean waves crashing in his brain and the nausea that racked his body.

Then she was there.

Her face was lit from behind—a halo, she wore a halo.  Him, she had come for him.  Somehow that thought was enough to soothe the pain and quiet the pounding, and he slipped into dark, quiet, peaceful unconsciousness.  He couldn’t remember his own name, but he knew her face and that was enough.

CHAPTER 40

The ambulance roared through the streets with all the grace of an elephant on roller skates.  Kate held her breath each time they were forced to slow to avoid a collision, her right foot repeatedly jamming against the floorboard as if she could take control of the accelerator.  It was all she could do other than twist around from the front passenger seat and watch the paramedic take care of Josh.

Excited by the prospect of a chance for a front-page story, Tony remained at the graveyard.  Blake had triggered a homemade bomb that blew up the caretaker’s shed and covered his escape.  Once more Kate marveled at Blake’s ability to anticipate their every move.

The paramedics were quick and efficient, one intent on driving, watching for the infamously reckless Pittsburgh drivers, the other starting an IV, monitoring and reporting on Josh’s condition to the doctors waiting for them in the ER.  When he turned away, Kate slipped out of her seatbelt and placed her good hand on Josh’s forehead, stroking his hair.  The medic frowned at her but said nothing, busy with his own work.

Finally, they arrived at the ER.  Hostile faces, bright lights, voices and hands blurred past Kate, pushing her to one side and eventually out of the trauma bay as they worked on one of their own.  Kate couldn’t blame them for holding her responsible for Josh’s injuries.

It was her fault.  Now that Josh was safe, she could finally face that awful truth.  She had been selfish to get him involved, selfish and stupid.  Blake was her problem, and she would have to deal with him herself.

No one else would get hurt because of her, she vowed.

She was sitting in the waiting room, thinking it would better be termed purgatory or the seventh realm of Hell, when Anne Ramsey came in, looking as exhausted as Kate felt.  Her usually impeccable tailored suit had been replaced by a black FBI windbreaker, jeans and a rumpled sweater.

“Any word?” Ramsey asked.  Kate shook her head and Ramsey went through the double doors leading into the examination area.  A FBI consultant had more clout than a shot-up cop without a badge.

By the time Ramsey returned, Kate had been driven back to pacing.

“They transferred him up to the fifth floor.  He has a bruise, contusion they called it, in his brain, and they’ll have to watch him carefully for that, but there’s nothing life threatening now.”

“What else is wrong?” Kate asked, noticing that Ramsey wouldn’t meet her eyes.

The older woman hesitated.  “He was hypothermic and has frostbite of both hands.  They said it will be a while until they see if they need to do any surgery on his hands or how much damage he sustained.”

Kate focused past Ramsey, her gaze locked on the Exit sign, staring until it blurred into a blood-red snarl.  What had she done?  It would be worse than death for Josh if he couldn’t be a surgeon any longer.  She blinked hard to fight back tears.

Ramsey put a hand on her shoulder.  “C’mon, let me take you home.”

“I can’t go home, remember?  Might as well stay here, at least I can keep an eye on Josh.”

“They have a guard on him, and you look like you need some rest.  You can crash on the second bed in my room if you don’t want to be alone.”

The words were spoken with kindness that Kate didn’t have the energy to respond to.  “They appointed you to keep an eye on me, didn’t they?”

Ramsey hesitated, gave Kate a discerning glance.  “Carter and I volunteered.  Figured that was better than someone who didn’t know about—”

“About my curse.  Maybe I’ll start howling at the next full moon as well.”

“You saved Josh’s life tonight.”

Had she really saved his life?  Would Josh feel that way if he suffered permanent damage, couldn’t be a surgeon?  Because of her.

“I’m going to stay here tonight.  Stay with him.”

“There’s a guard on his door already.  Call me in the morning and either Carter or I will come and pick you up.”

Once in the elevator, Kate pressed the button for the fifth floor and slumped against the side of the car, totally drained.  She didn’t know what to feel.  Joy that Josh would live, guilt that it was because of her he was in danger, sad that there was a chance he might lose function of his hands, angry that they were in this position.  Why couldn’t they have been left alone to discover each other?

I do love him.   The words echoed in her mind, a powerful truth she could no longer deny.  A truth that brought only pain.  After tonight, how could he ever feel the same about her?

She nodded, recognizing the officer at Josh’s door, and entered.  He was asleep, the bruises on his face highlighted by the stark white bandage around his head.  The rest of his body was hidden by the white hospital blanket, sparing Kate that sight at least.

Kate slid a chair closer to Josh but didn’t sit down.  She had to keep moving, keep the momentum going.  She paced to the other side of the bed, twisting the blinds open so that she could watch the city glow, bathed in the faint light of the coming day.

“Don’t do it,” came a scratchy voice behind her, almost lost in the deep silence of the room.  “You can’t go after Blake alone.”

Kate didn’t turn around; she couldn’t face him.  Instead she addressed the ruddy daylight insinuating itself into the night sky, refusing to be denied.  “I don’t have any choice.  Too many good people have gotten hurt.  Have died.”

“There’s always a choice, even Blake has choices,” Josh replied in a hoarse whisper.  “He could have killed me tonight.  All he had to do was pull the trigger before he ran.  Something stopped him.”

“What?” she asked bitterly.  “He didn’t stop with me or Rob, not with Conrad or Dimeo.  Why did he not—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.  Instead she leaned her forehead against the cold windowpane.  What if Blake had pulled that trigger?  Why was she so upset—surely not because Josh was alive?  That was all she had been praying for.

No, she was ecstatic that Josh was alive.  But Kate also knew the price to be paid.

She sighed and looked up, blinking hard.  It all came down to her and Blake, Blake and her.  They were part of the same equation, two sides of the same coin, balanced on an edge.  How could she tip him over without going with him?

“Maybe this is how it was meant to be.”  She halted, had to swallow twice.  “Maybe this is why I didn’t die the first time.”

“No.  Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s the truth.”  She drew her breath in, felt the pain of it as a distant memory, an old familiar friend.  “I should be dead.”

“Kate,” Josh’s voice was stronger now, but still without the warmth of the old Josh in it.  “Please, look at me.  Promise me you won’t do anything.”

She turned to him, stricken to her heart by the sight of his anguished eyes.  An old song began to echo through her mind, a voiceless rhythm of love lost, long ago and far away.  She brushed her hand against his forehead.

“Ssh,” she crooned.  “Go to sleep, everything will be okay.”

She bent down and kissed him gently on his swollen lips.  He closed his eyes, his breathing smoothed as she stroked his cheek.  Once he was asleep, she crept from the room, savoring the taste of him as the one thing she hoped never to forget.

CHAPTER 41

Kate knew the streets of East Liberty.  She would be the first to suggest that they were no place for a woman, particularly a woman with one arm useless, alone.  Yet she walked among the shadows without fear and without molestation, protected by what—she did not know.  Dawn came and went, the November sun playing hide and seek with clouds promising either snow or rain.

She walked, releasing herself to her precognition.  This power that grew within her had its own strength.  If she yielded to it, it would lead her, guide her to the proper path.  The sun faltered, lost its battle with the clouds and a dreary darkness descended.  Kate paid it no heed.

First thing was to get off the street.  She needed a quiet place, someplace where she could be alone and people wouldn’t interrupt her.  She thought about calling Anne Ramsey, decided against it.  If she called anyone, they’d only start keeping tabs on her, maybe even place her in protective custody, and she couldn’t afford that.  She needed to be free to act.

Her apartment was out, it would be crawling with Feds and cops.  It was too cold to stay outside on a park bench.  A library or church would be private, but she’d attract attention if she made any noise.  She thought about the hotel room, but couldn’t bear the thought of being where she and Josh had made love, not when she needed to focus on Blake.

Tony’s place seemed her best option.  Odds were that he wouldn’t be home, not with everything that went down last night.  She didn’t have cab fare, but two buses and a transfer would get her close.

She got caught in the morning commute.  It was hard to breathe once aboard the crowded, overheated PATA bus.  During the first leg of her journey she had to stand, along with half a dozen other passengers.  She watched as an obviously pregnant woman struggled up the bus stairs and down the aisle.  A middle-aged woman gave up her seat while the male commuters resolutely hid themselves behind their Wall Street Journals.

After changing buses, she was able to get a window seat.  She leaned her head against the cold glass, fighting against sleep, but the heat and motion of the bus were hypnotic.  Kate didn’t realize how tired she was until the bus came to an abrupt stop and she banged her head against the metal rail of the seat in front of her.  She woke with a start and looked around.  No one paid her any attention—the anonymity of public transportation.

Kate stood in the aisle for the remainder of the trip until the bus finally deposited her a block away from Tony’s building.  As she walked, inhaling the bracing cold air and leaning against the wind off the water, she noticed the low hanging clouds.  Dark clouds, promising rain.

She got out her keys, but rang the bell first on the off chance that Tony was home.  To her surprise, his voice came over the intercom, scratchy and blurred as if she had woken him.

“It’s Kate.”  She’d thought for certain he’d be down at the paper and now wasn’t sure what to say.  “Can I come in?”

“Oh.”  There was a long pause.  Then the door lock clicked open.

Kate slowly walked up the stairs, puzzled by his response—just “oh”?  That wasn’t like Tony.  She tried to think back to last night.  Had she done something to offend him?  He hadn’t sounded angry, merely weary—justifiably so after everything that had happened.  Still it nagged at her as she knocked on his door.  He’d gotten a great story, first hand account, true front-page material, he should be pumped with adrenalin.  She’d seen him work nonstop for days without giving in to exhaustion.  What was going on?

He didn’t give her any quick answers.  Tony opened the door and turned away before she was even through it.  He was dressed in sweatpants, a thermal undershirt and ragged old flannel robe.  There were dark circles under his eyes and a wariness about him that she’d never seen before.  He didn’t meet her gaze but sat at the glass topped dining table, gesturing limply to a seat for her.  She slid into the seat and watched him for a moment in silence.

“I wasn’t expecting you—at least not yet,” he mumbled, running a hand though his hair and tugging at it with his fingers.

He raised his head, almost but not quite meeting her gaze, his hair standing on end and a vulnerable look to him that Kate found disconcerting.  This wasn’t Tony, he’d never backed down from a fight in his life.  He was acting as if he’d given in—but to what?

“Tony, what’s happened?”  She placed a hand over his.  The warmth from their skin made twin impressions echoing each other on the glass tabletop.

“I’m sorry, Kate.  TV and radio were already running with it, so the editor overruled me.  Took the story away, it was out of my hands.  I actually threatened to quit, but they saw through my bluff.”

“Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

“Isn’t that why you came?  I figured you saw it on one of the morning shows.  Turner made his statement.”

”So what?  It was all unsubstantiated, rumors and his own vile imagination.  I don’t see how any responsible journalist could call it a story.”

“We underestimated him.  A lot is still only innuendo, but between what Internal Affairs and my brethren have dug up, well, you’d better see for yourself.  Here, I taped some of the early reports.”  He reached for a remote control and turned on the TV and VCR across the room.

A pert blonde reporter standing in front of Kate’s station house was speaking.  “In a thrilling new twist to the story that has gripped our city, a new victim was added last night to the serial killer stalking Pittsburgh’s finest.  This victim was not a police officer, however, but rather a surgeon at Three Rivers Medical Center, Dr. Joshua Lightner.  He is currently listed in serious condition at Three Rivers.

“Although officials refused to comment on the reason behind Dr. Lightner’s attack, they did confirm it was the work of the same person who has already killed three Pittsburgh police officers and critically wounded a fourth.  Of note, Dr. Lightner was the trauma surgeon who saved the life of one of the first victims, Officer Katherine O’Hern.”

The scene shifted from the reporter back to the anchorwoman at the newsdesk.  “In related news,” she announced cheerfully, “Action 11 news has discovered that Officer O’Hern has been suspended from the force pending an investigation.  Officials refused to comment on the nature of the charges against the policewoman who was been hailed as a heroine in her fight to survive a near fatal shooting.  Here with more on this breaking story is Tom Yardley.”

The background changed to a tree-lined street, then focused on a small ranch house.  A tall reporter in a trench coat stood at the sidewalk.  “Thank you, Carol.  This is Tom Yardley live from Mt. Washington.  A normal house in a normal neighborhood, but what lurks behind these closed doors?  Our investigators have discovered that here, at the home of now-deceased police officer Robert Hansen, there was more going on than meets the eye.  In fact, witnesses have identified that Officer Hansen’s partner, Katherine O’Hern, was a frequent overnight visitor here during times when his wife was out of town visiting relatives.

“Additional sources near to the police department have speculated that indeed this reign of terror haunting Pittsburgh’s finest may be the product of an all too ordinary love triangle between O’Hern, Hansen and the unknown killer.  They have also alluded to the possibility that O’Hern’s immediate superior, Sergeant Conrad, was targeted because he was aware of the affair and was about to discipline the involved parties.”

The anchorwoman leaned forward in excitement and the screen was split between her and Yardley.  “Is the thought that somehow Katherine O’Hern is responsible for these deaths and the attack on her own doctor?”

“Unknown at this time, Janice, but the investigation is proceeding,” he replied with a smug smile.

Carol placed her hands in front of her and rustled papers.  “Thank you Tom.  Channel 11 will keep you updated with any further progress.  Now turning to sports—”

Tony clicked it off.  “There’s more of the same on the other channels, but you got the gist of it.”

Kate was wordless.  How could they tear her life apart with insinuations and absolutely no facts whatsoever?  What would Jenn be thinking?  How far would the reporters go to find the truth?

“I know Turner arranged the leak,” Tony said, “but he was slick.  Did you notice all the qualifiers?  A lawyer had a look at that copy before it went on the air, you can bet on that.  Kate?  You look really pale, here.”  He went to the cabinet and poured her a drink.  She took a sip, the whiskey burning its way down her suddenly dry throat.

“Do they have any idea how many people’s lives they’ve destroyed with that sixty-second story?”

“Welcome to my world.  News is news—you have to look past the human factor, be objective.”

She stared at him as if he were a stranger from another planet.  “How can you be objective when you have no facts?”

“Let’s not have this conversation now,” he said.  “I think we both need to get some sleep before we say something that we’ll regret.”

“You believe that crap?” she flared.  “You think I slept with Rob?”

He sighed and ran his fingers over the two-day stubble of his beard.  “All I know is that they wouldn’t say they had witnesses if they couldn’t produce them—”

“Great, go ahead and lynch me just like the rest of your journalist friends did!”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“You don’t have to.  Everyone with a TV, radio or who can read a newspaper will become my judge and jury, all based on innuendoes and speculations about something that is none of their damn business in the first place.”  She slammed her hand on the table top, sending the tumbler skittering.  “I can’t believe this,” she muttered, standing up, pacing.  “Like I don’t have enough with Blake still out there.”

Tony watched her in silence.  After two laps, she collapsed onto the couch.  “I wasn’t having an affair with Rob.”

Tony moved to sit beside her.  “What did happen?”

“After Caroline was born, Jenn went through post-partum depression.  I guess it makes some women psychotic.  I don’t know, but Jenn had it bad.  The baby was about six weeks old when Rob came home one night and found the gas on, but the pilot light off.  Jenn was sitting in the kitchen with the baby and Patrick, he was three then, and she had this old Zippo and she’s staring at it and flicking it.  They were lucky they didn’t all get blown up.

“She was in Western Psych for a couple of months.  You can’t afford a live-in babysitter on a patrolman’s salary.  So I moved in and watched the kids while Rob pulled a moonlighting job to pay for the sitter to watch them when we were on duty and to cover the hospital bills.”

“That’s it?”

She nodded.  “It would’ve killed Rob if he thought anyone found out about what happened to Jenn.  She’s fine now.”

She was silent for a moment, considering her options.  If only she had told Turner all of the truth, he never would have let the story leak, would have shielded Jenn.  Instead, he probably thought he was practicing his own form of tough love, exposing the truth for all to see while also punishing Kate and Rob.  Leaving poor Jenn caught in the middle.

Tony looked at her, the old warmth back in his eyes.  “You’re not going to tell them the truth, are you?”

“No.”  She gave him a wan smile.  “In fact, let them waste some time and money on the chase.  Could you start a rumor about Rob and I being seen in some out of the way places, I don’t know, the Poconos or Niagara Falls or whatever?  Anything to get them out of Rob’s neighborhood and away from Jenn.”

“I can, but are you sure you want me to?  This kind of thing is liable to backfire on you.”

She shrugged.  “What have I got to lose?”

CHAPTER 42

Josh awoke to the scent of jasmine.  Kate, where was Kate?  He opened his eyes, the room was empty.

He strained, tried to remember the blurry morning.  White-coated ghosts on rounds, poking and prodding at him, testing reflexes and pupillary responses, examining his hands.  His hands.  He lifted the bandaged appendages before his eyes, fearful of what may lay beneath the layers of gauze.  They were quietly throbbing in tune with his headache.

He thought of Kate asking what he would do if he could no longer be a surgeon, remembered her warning that Blake would come for him.  She’d seen him die, more than once, in her visions.  Would Blake be back to finish what he began?  Worse, was he going after Kate next?

Josh swallowed hard against the knot of fear tightening his throat.  Kate’s words of comfort echoed in his mind, the only color in the grey, hazy world he had woken to.  Everything wasn’t going to be all right, and there was nothing he could do about it.  Kate was still out there somewhere and sooner or later she’d be in Blake’s sights.

For the first time in his life, Josh felt powerless.

He finally saw his hands later, during a hydrotherapy session.  The pain was intense, but he knew that was a good sign, meant the nerve endings were intact.  Mainly he felt embarrassed.  Nobody treated him like a patient, but they didn’t treat him like a doctor either.  Instead they seemed uncomfortable and often wouldn’t look down to meet his eyes as he was pushed in a wheelchair through the hallways.

The most painful moment came when the orderly wheeled him around a corner past the nursing station, and he came face to face with his own team making rounds on his patients—patients that he no longer knew anything about since he hadn’t received report on them since Friday.  They were talking and moving quickly in and out of each room, a medical student following them with a chart rack, writing notes and orders on each patient, Adams, the junior resident, and the intern carrying supplies for dressing changes as his senior resident guided them.  Josh watched them, and couldn’t help but smile when the senior asked a question that no one had the answer to, the same question he had pimped her on when they had scrubbed together on Thursday.

Today was only Monday and already he was obsolete.  Somehow that knowledge hurt him more than the pain in his hands or his head.

Tony offered her the bed, but Kate refused.  Finally they flipped for it and Kate lost.  It felt good, warm and familiar, being back in Tony’s big waterbed.  Even with the door shut, his snores echoed from the living room.  Poor Tony, he sounded as if he was coming down with a cold.  Something about him always made Kate feel maternal, just as something else about him always made her feel as if they were in constant competition—for what she had never figured out.  Control, maybe.

Right now she felt more out of control than ever.  Because of her Josh was injured, lying in a hospital bed.  Not to mention the FBI and police watching her apartment, Blake trying to hurt everyone dear to her, reporters destroying her reputation, this blessed shoulder throbbing like hell, and now she was miles past exhaustion but unable to shift her brain out of overdrive.

Kaleidoscope images shifted through Kate’s brain: Josh, Blake, Rob, Conrad, Turner, Ramsey, Carter, Tony, Josh again.

She finally fell asleep, a fitful, sweaty, turbulent sleep haunted with nameless and faceless demons.  In her dreams she ran for her life.

It seemed all that she could do in the ashen landscape that closed in on her.  Her feet splashed through puddles; water dripped from the roof of the tunnel she was trapped inside.  Footsteps echoed behind her.  The air was thick with the sickly-sweet odor of death.  The water turned into blood when it hit her.

A shot ran out.  She stumbled, tripped over a body.  Rob.  His face was gone, but still a gurgling noise came from him as he reached a bloody hand, grabbing her ankle.  Kate pulled away, slipped in the river of blood and got to her feet, running once more.

The monster wasn’t far behind.  His footsteps grew louder, thudding into her brain.  She saw a light up ahead, felt a surge of hope.  Did it lead to the house of her dreams?  The one filled with warmth and love?  She pushed herself harder, raced toward the light.

A man’s figure was silhouetted in it.  She grew closer, giddy with the realization that she was going to make it to safety.  Then he turned.

Kate skidded to a stop.  It was Josh, hideously burned, holding his hands out to her in supplication.  Behind her, the monster laughed, his footsteps slowed as if he knew there was no longer any need to rush.

Kate swallowed hard, turned to protect Josh and face the evil.  The sewer was filled by a shadow that devoured all light, all warmth, all hope.  She had no choice but to stand.  To stay and fight as best she could with no weapons other than her hands, her heart, her soul.

She clenched her hands into fists and held them up before her.  They seemed frightfully tiny against the darkness.  She planted her feet and shouted, a sound made of part fear, part anguish, part battle cry.

She stood firm as the darkness advanced.

CHAPTER 43

Kate awoke to the sound of thunder.

A gust of wind blew a cascade of rain against the window.  The sky was dark, but that didn’t mean anything in this town, especially not in November.  She looked at the bedside clock, three in the afternoon.

She debated going back to sleep.  She was still exhausted, almost as if she hadn’t slept at all.  Then she remembered the dream and decided against it.

Her clothes lay in a pile at the foot of the bed.  She wrinkled her nose at them and rummaged through Tony’s dresser until she found a flannel shirt and pair of sweatpants.

His bathroom wasn’t as luxuriously appointed as Josh’s, but it was much better than the old clawfoot tub and hand-held shower Kate had in her apartment.  Tony’s shower was larger than standard with a wide shelf convenient for storage, shaving legs or making love, depending on your needs at the moment.  She turned the water up as hot as she could stand it, trying to drive away the chill her nightmare had brought.

She wondered if the demon in her dream was Blake or a more primal evil.

The shower disappeared, and she was in Josh’s kitchen, down on her knees, cleaning blood from his floor.  Blake was there, standing over her.  She reached for her gun, but he was faster.  The shot slammed into her.  She felt herself sink down into that black void where she had traveled once before and this time Kate knew she would not return.

The vision faded.  Shivering in the hot water, she sat down on the ledge, dropped her head between her legs, fighting the nausea that shook her.  She forced herself to breathe calmly, slowly, but it was several moments before she had the strength to stand.

She emerged from the shower stall.  The bathroom mirrors were fogged over, and a harsh rain beat against the window.  Before she could take more than two steps the vision hit her once more.

Again she was at Josh’s, this time she and Carter were entering, their weapons drawn.  Blake was waiting for them, she watched as he shot Carter, then turned and fired on her.  She shot Blake and went down, blackness swarming over her before she could see if she had killed him.

Kate grabbed onto the counter in an attempt to remain upright.  Chills and nausea racked her, drenching her in a cold sweat.  She raised her eyes.  The only reflection she could see in the misty mirror was the image of a wraith.  She was going to die.  After everything she’d been through, Blake was still going to kill her.  Somehow she felt more angry than anything else.

Why give her a second chance if it was going to be wasted?  Why allow her to meet Josh, fall in love with him—Kate stopped herself.

Her second chance hadn’t been wasted, had it?  Without it she would never have met Josh, have the chance to feel his arms around her, the warmth of his gaze, the way he made her catch her breath when he smiled at her.  She had waited all her life for a man like him, to feel like this—only she had to die before it could happen.

How could she ever repay this wonderful gift that she’d been granted?  She’d had a chance not only to meet Josh, but to see her friends and family again—so much more than Rob had.  She was certain Jenn would give anything to have Rob back for a few hours, a few moments.

Even the visions that threatened to devour her, that tore at her soul, even those were a gift.  Without them Josh would be dead now.

Of course, if Josh hadn’t saved her, then he wouldn’t have been in danger to begin with.  She ran her fingers through her wet hair, shook her head.  It was all too confusing.

Maybe the only way she could save Josh from Blake was to sacrifice herself.  If so, it would be on her own terms.  After she put things right in her life.

Glad to have a plan of action, however tenuous it may be, Kate wiped the mirror with a towel and made a face at herself, sticking her tongue out at the demons that hid in the fog.

She dressed, then called the vet and checked on Hershey.  There was no permanent damage, the doctor assured her, but Hershey would need to stay there another day.

She collected her shoes and socks from the bedroom radiator where they had dried.  Her Beretta lay on top of the dresser, and she reached for it, but was overcome with a wave of terror and nausea as she saw herself in Josh’s kitchen reaching for the gun and feeling the blast of Blake’s bullet slam into her.  She jerked her hand away from the Beretta and the feeling passed.

She leaned against Tony’s bureau, forcing her breathing to slow, trying to remind herself of what was reality and what existed only in her mind.  Slowly the room came into focus around her.

She was worthless out on the street without her weapon.  Worse, she was naked.  She grabbed the Baretta.  Fire jolted through her with a glimpse of a muzzle flash, then a second followed by the scene of Carter’s body dropping to the floor.  She knuckled her fist into her abdomen, trying to push back the gut-wrenching terror that flooded over her.

She edged away from the dresser, caught her breath.  Remembered her visions in the shower.  Seemed like someone or something didn’t want her carrying a weapon anymore.

What kind of a cop was she without her gun…She sank down onto the bed.

Not a cop.  Not anymore.  No weapon.  Naked, alone.

That was how she would face Blake.  Tears filled her eyes, stinging as she blinked them away.  There was no way she could beat Blake, not all alone. She was going to die.

Finally she mustered enough courage to pull herself back onto her feet.  Her visions were her last weapon against Blake.  She had no choice but to trust them.

Kate could see no signs of any news crews as the cab pulled up to Rob’s house.  Thank God, she thought as she waited for the driver to make change from the twenty she’d borrowed from Tony’s wallet.  As usual with Pittsburgh cabbies, he was slow in counting it back, pausing after each bill as if waiting to hear those magic words, “keep the change.”

Kate disappointed him, the rest of the twenty was all the money she had, and the cabbie gave her the finger as he drove off, splashing her with mud and rainwater.  A week ago she would have taken his name and number, but a week ago she was still a cop.  Now she wasn’t certain she had the strength to carry her up the steps to Rob’s front door.

She stood in the rain, looking at the house, remembering so many good times.  Rob and Jenn were famous for their cookouts in the summer and frequently hosted the House’s get together at Christmas.  In the three years she and Rob had partnered, Kate had come to depend on the Hansen house as a safe refuge.  Genetics not withstanding, Rob and Jenn and their children were part of her family.  She had cried with them, laughed with them, babysat, petsat and housesat.  She was even Caroline’s godmother.

They had been kind enough to allow Kate to share their lives, trusting her with the only dark moments which marred their otherwise storybook family—those months when Jenn had been lost to the abyss of psychosis and postpartum depression.

Now Jenn was alone dealing with not only Rob’s death and the prospect of raising her children without a father present, but also with the sudden intrusion of the news media as they attempted to destroy Rob’s memory and reputation.  Kate had to wonder how Jenn was holding up under the pressure.  The doctors had said she was cured, but doctors didn’t always know everything.

Kate’s legs had brought her to the top of the steps.  She leaned against the doorway, unable to force her hand to press the doorbell.  Would Jenn want to see her?  Kate had the sudden image of Jenn opening the door and spitting in her face.

Then the door opened, and Jenn was there.  Her face was pale, dark circles making her light blue eyes seem as faded as stonewashed denim.  Her eyelids were puffy and her nose red from crying.  For a moment her expression was vacant as if she didn’t recognize Kate.

There was a crack of thunder, and the rain pounded a staccato rhythm on the porch roof.  Kate saw Jenn’s mouth move but couldn’t hear the words.  Then Rob’s wife took a step forward and placed her arms around Kate, hugging her and pulling her into the house.

They stood in the foyer for a minute, both women releasing the grief that Rob’s death had brought to them.  Finally Jenn stepped back.  She closed the front door, locking the winter storm winds out and turned back to Kate.

“Jenn, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say,” Kate stammered.  “I wasn’t sure if you would see me after what happened this morning.”

“I’m glad you came,” Jenn said, leading the way into the kitchen.  “You look awful.  When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Jenn hustled around the kitchen filled with well-wisher’s gifts of food.  In a domestic whirlwind she put together a plate of assorted pastries, breads, chicken and pasta salads and placed it in front of Kate.  She followed this with a cup of coffee for each of them.

Kate stared at Jenn’s hyperkinetic activity and realized this was another defense against thinking and remembering, similar to her own need for action.  But Jenn couldn’t do anything to help catch Blake, could only wait for others to avenge Rob’s death.

Jenn sat, then immediately stood again and got milk from the refrigerator, even though they both took their coffee black.  She had barely returned to her seat when she started to rise once more.  Kate stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.  Jenn sat still, staring down into the depths of her coffee cup.

“We have to talk,” Kate began.  “About that night—”

A spasm passed over Jenn as Kate continued.  “Rob did everything right, there was no way he could have predicted what Blake did.”

Jenn’s pale eyes locked with Kate’s.  “And what about you?  Was there anything you could have done?” she asked Kate in a strangled voice.

It was the question that had haunted Kate since she had woken in the hospital.  She had re-lived that night over and over in her mind and still had no answer that her heart could accept.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted, “but I can’t think of anything that could have changed things.”

Jenn sighed.  “I’m sorry, Kate.  I know that you were hurt really bad.  I can’t believe he’s gone.  He was a good cop, you know that. He was always careful.  I don’t understand, why him?”  Silent tears began to flow.  Jenn wiped them and sniffed.  “I’ve cried more in the last week—after the first couple of days I thought I was doing okay, then today—”

“You know that what they said about Rob and me isn’t true.”

“Of course it’s not,” Jenn snapped.  “Do you think I’d let you in here, let you near my children, if I thought even for a moment—”

“No, I don’t.  The point is, we’re in the minority here.  I don’t want Rob to be remembered that way and I know you don’t either.”  Kate put up a hand as Jenn began to interrupt.  “I also don’t want to tell them about when you were in Western Psych.  So I’m here to ask you, what should I do?”

Jenn exhaled and her entire body seemed to deflate.  Suddenly she was a smaller person, an empty shell of the willowy blonde Kate had always been slightly jealous of.

“It was my father who told them those horrible things about you and Rob, wasn’t it?”

Kate was silent for a long moment, uncomfortable being placed in the position of having to defend Turner.  “In his own way, he meant well,” she faltered.  “I think he truly thought he was defending your honor.”

Jenn jerked her head up at that, tears glistening in her eyes.  “My honor?  When has that meant anything to him?  He could care less about my honor as long as I was a good girl and did whatever he wanted.”

“It’s me he’s mad at.  He blames me for what happened to Rob, for what you’re going through—”

Jenn stared at her for a long moment, her face growing so pale, her body so rigid that Kate wondered if she was going to faint.

She reached out and took Jenn’s hand, then pulled her into her arms.

The kitchen grew silent once more.  The black cat clock on the wall twitched its whiskers in time with the swish of its tail and movement of the second hand.  Kate watched, transfixed.  Something so normal, yet it seemed horribly out of place here among the talk of killers and dead men.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked Jenn after the other woman had regained her composure and pulled away.

“To hell with the truth, I really don’t care,” Jenn finally said.  “I almost laughed at those news people when they started calling and asking me their stupid questions.  When they didn’t get the answers they wanted, they just kept hounding me, complaining about deadlines and the public’s right to know.  What about my right to have my husband here by my side?  What about my kids’ right to have a father?”

She paused and looked up at Kate with red-rimmed eyes.  “Nothing is going to bring him back.  The only thing you can do for me is to get the bastard who killed him.”

Kate was silent, then placed her hand over Jenn’s, squeezing gently.

“I’ll do my best,” she promised.  “I’ll stop Blake.”

Kate’s chest constricted as she said the words.  Fleeting images, visions of her own death raced through her mind, but she didn’t care.  As she sat with Rob’s widow in what used to be the most joyous place in Kate’s universe, she knew that it didn’t matter if she lived or died.  All that mattered was that Blake was stopped.  And Kate knew she alone could do it.

Her only regret was Josh and the pain she’d caused him.

CHAPTER 44

Jenn went to check on the kids while Kate called Anne Ramsey.  She needed back up before she faced Blake.  She might be willing to sacrifice herself if necessary, but she wasn’t suicidal.  She may have lost everything important to her: her career, her partner, maybe even Josh if he couldn’t forgive her for getting him hurt, but still, Kate wanted to live.

“Anne Ramsey here.”

“It’s Kate.”

There was a pause.  Then Ramsey’s voice returned, now quieter.  “Where are you?  Everyone’s looking for you.”

“Look, Anne, I—”

“No, you look, Kate.  I’ve tried to help you, but you should have told us about you and Rob.   Turner made the whole task force look like jerks.  Your local brass aren’t taking it well, not to mention the flak that Cohen and I have had from Quantico for trusting you.”

“I didn’t tell you because there was nothing to tell.  Rob and I never had an affair.    Either you believe me or you believe Turner.”

“It’s hard to believe you when Blake has confessed to the entire thing.”

Ramsey’s words hit her with a force that made Kate sway.  She grabbed the edge of the counter, slumped into one of the stools, the sunny yellow and blues of Jenn’s kitchen swimming around her.

“You’ve got him, you caught Blake?”  If so, then it was over, everyone was safe, she and Josh—

“No.”  The single syllable dashed Kate’s hopes with a brutal impact.  “He called, Cohen spoke with him.  We didn’t get his location; he was using a throw away cell phone.  He confessed to everything—you and Rob, how you asked him to take care of things but they got out of control, even said you told him to watch Lightner’s house and take care of him when you had an alibi.  Turner pushed the DA and a friendly judge into issuing a warrant for your arrest.”

Kate’s entire body shook with anger and disbelief.  She wanted to hurl the phone away from her, hide from Ramsey’s cold tone and colder words.

“He’s lying,” she finally stuttered the words past the fist of anger that had lodged in her throat.  Ramsey was silent for a long moment.  “You know that, you believe me—” She clamped her mouth shut, embarrassed by the pleading in her voice.

If Blake wanted to isolate her, take everything away from her, then he’d accomplished that.  She imagined Blake watching the local news, laughing as they portrayed Kate as an out of control, vengeful madwoman.

Her rage pushed the fear and embarrassment aside.  He wanted out of control?  He wanted vengeful?  He was going to get what he wanted.  And much more, she vowed.

“I believe you,” Ramsey finally said.

“I’ve a feeling—one of my strong feelings, you understand—that Blake is going to return to Josh’s house.  I thought maybe you could arrange for surveillance.”

“Are you sure?  There isn’t anything there for him.  Not with Josh in the hospital.”

“You’re the one who kept at me to use this gift, or whatever you want to call it.  I found Josh for you last night, didn’t I?  Why don’t you trust me now?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that it will be a hard sell. Especially as they already have three teams out: at the hospital with Josh, at your place with your decoy and here, in case Blake comes back.”

“You’re at Blake’s apartment?”

“Yeah, the forensic guys finished, and I wanted to go through everything, try to get a better angle on him.”  Ramsey paused.  “Why don’t you join me?  It might help you to get a feeling about where he is.  We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

“What about the surveillance?”  Kate rested her forehead against the cabinet.  Was Ramsey setting her up?  Would Kate be arrested as soon as she arrived?  Could Kate trust her?

“The man out front is your friend, Carter, so I doubt he’ll give you any problems.  In the meantime, I’ll get in touch with Cohen and suggest that he put Josh’s house under the microscope.”

She hung up after giving Kate an address in East Liberty.  Kate went upstairs, found Jenn nursing Caroline in the baby’s room.  Kate stood in the doorway, listening to Jenn’s soothing murmur, Caroline’s quiet, wet noises of contentment.  She imagined cradling a baby with Josh’s brilliant blue eyes against her body, could almost feel his strong arms wrapping around them, sheltering them from the world outside.

Jenn looked up, gave Kate a small, tired smile.  “You’re leaving?”

“Could I borrow your car?”

“My father left Rob’s here yesterday, take it.  Keys are hanging by the garage door.”

Kate couldn’t resist.  She crossed the room and knelt down beside her goddaughter.  She gave Caroline a quick kiss on her head, inhaling the sweet perfume of baby freshness.  She pulled herself back to her feet, one hand on the crib.

“Thanks,” she told Jenn, trying to keep her voice level.  “Thanks for everything.”

Jenn nodded slowly.  “Kate, be careful, all right?”

Kate left without looking back or acknowledging her words.

Blake’s apartment building was distinguished by only its total featurelessness, leaving it an incognito blur, blending with the other yellow brick buildings that huddled alongside.  Across the street was an abandoned warehouse whose broken windows gaped like the smile of a hockey player.

Kate knew Carter saw her, but she hurried past him, not wanting to get him in more trouble.  He must already be on Turner’s black list if the commander had stuck him here.  After all, they’d found Blake’s apartment yesterday morning, the chances of Blake coming back were exceedingly slim.  It was a waste of a detective like Carter to be forced to sit on the place hour after hour.  And Turner hadn’t given him any back up, another slap in the face.

Anne waited for her on the landing.  “I should have warned you, this is not a pretty sight, especially when you start to get a feel for the man behind it all.”

Kate brushed her aside.  “What did Cohen say?”

“He’s trying to arrange for some manpower, but Turner’s really screwing him.  Turner’s out to get you.  What did you ever do to him?”

Kate smiled slightly as she remembered the Christmas party and the look on Turner’s face when she cold-cocked him.  Bastard had deserved it.  Deserved even more after the way he was dragging Rob’s good name through the muck.  She pushed open the door to Blake’s apartment and stopped inside the threshold.

On the surface it looked very ordinary, almost too ordinary.  Neat piles of magazines and mail on the hallway table, an afghan folded on the couch in the living room beyond, coasters squared off on the glass-topped coffee table.

The furniture in the living room was ex-hotel surplus tweed.  No art adorned the walls except for two chrome-framed Nagel prints.  Why did single men always think women would be impressed by glitzy art nouveau blondes with impossibly large busts and thin legs?  No personal photos, no mementos, very sterile.

“He’s a private person.  He’s learned how to make the surface look normal, but it’s a facade,” Kate was mainly speaking to herself as she walked around the room.  She rifled through a stack of magazines, some militia, sports and a few porn—nothing too hard core.  “Did you find any exercise equipment?”

Anne gave her an appraising half nod.  “No, we didn’t.  Why?”

“He’s a very physical person.  I’ll bet he works out in a gym close by.  Most likely a co-ed place so that he can impress the ladies.”

She crossed into the next room and found a small linoleum table scarred with cigarette burns in an otherwise meticulously neat kitchen.  No magnets on the refrigerator, nothing on the counters except a coffee maker, no stains.  The pantry was completely empty, its shelves marred only by the silver tinge of powder left behind by the fingerprint techs.  The powder shadowed several impressions, and she knew that they must have found something interesting enough to take as evidence.

Kate turned to Anne.  “Trophies?”

“I’ll show you the photos when you’re done.”

Kate frowned at her, wondering, but continued her trip through the apartment.  Down the hall and into the bedroom, she found a full-sized bed, the blanket that covered it tucked in tightly with squared hospital corners.  The bathroom was equally unimpressive with no hair in the sink, only a bar of soap, razor, toothbrush and cup sitting on the sink edge.

Kate went out to find Anne lounging in the recliner, flipping through one of the magazines.  “This guy is a zombie or something.  I couldn’t even find any toothpaste splatters on his bathroom mirror.”

Anne nodded.  “That’s the point, isn’t it?  Total control over his environment.  But the one thing he can’t control is what’s going through his mind.”  She threw the magazine down and got up.  “Here’s what we found, forensics has everything now.”  She pulled a stack of Polaroid photos from her purse and handed them to Kate.

They showed the inside of the kitchen pantry.  Displayed on the shelves were four police uniform caps, two from dress uniforms, and a ticket book.  Surrounding them were news stories on the shootings, including several with photos of Kate.  But what caught Kate’s attention were the stories from September, when they’d lost Sherrie Thomas during a routine traffic stop.  They’d never found the driver who had run her over, taken her gun and shot her.

“He killed Sherrie Thomas. That’s what started all this, isn’t it?” she asked Anne.

“Right.”

“He’s been planning this for some time.”

“From what we’ve pieced together, Thomas’ murder took place on the same night that Blake was fired from his last job.  He was head of security for a dance club downtown, the Rose Tattoo.”

“I know the place.  Lots of loud music, underage kids and drugs.”

“Cohen interviewed the manager.  She says that Blake was responsible for most of the illegal activity there and when she found out she fired him.  Cohen thinks she’s only telling part of the truth, covering for herself, but he did believe her when she told him that Blake had a penchant for being rough with the ladies.  She also said he enjoyed it when he had to get physical with rowdy customers and always carried a knife on him.”

“Is he into martial arts?”

“Nothing organized.  Did have some training while he was in the army.  His dishonorable discharge was for sexually harassing a female reserve officer.  We’re still trying to track her down to interview her.  Everyone we’ve talked to who knew him when he was in the military describes him as cunning, brutal and, let me quote here, ‘totally focused on his own objectives, whether or not they were in line with the objectives of his unit’.”

“You’re the expert, but sounds classic so far.  What about his childhood?”

“Perfect training ground for a future monster.  Raised in Rochester, New York, father unlisted on the birth certificate, mother was Rhonda Blake.  Mother and son were homeless and out on the streets by the time he was three.  She met and married a church deacon who was a volunteer in a shelter.  His name was Gordon.  Both he and the mother are dead now, died right at the time Blake left home to join the army.”

Kate looked up at that.  “Anything suspicious about their deaths?”

“Not at the time, not officially.  They died in a single car crash.  We canvassed the neighbors and found one old lady who said she saw Blake leave the house with them that night.  She also gave a pretty convincing description of his maltreatment at the hands of Gordon.  Apparently the good deacon was from the ‘spare the rod’ school of parenting and used to regularly beat the boy and publicly humiliated him on more than one occasion.”

“Why didn’t someone do something?”

Anne shrugged.  “The neighbor said she tried to call the authorities, but with Gordon’s standing in the church and community, the matter was dropped and she was told to mind her own business.  Said she felt sorry for Blake, that she kind of felt his parents got what was coming to them, which is why she never told anyone she saw him in the car with them the night they died.”

“You think he killed them.”

“I think that is exactly the kind of thing a teenager living through that kind of hell would fantasize about.  When the opportunity presented itself, he took advantage of it and acted out his fantasies.”

“Like the opportunity to vent his rage at being fired by killing a cop.  But it felt good, he began to think about it, relive it in his fantasies, then he wanted to experience that feeling again.”

Anne nodded in agreement.  “We’ve recovered notebooks outlining the security of the convenience store, patrol patterns, recent robberies and response times from the police.  Enough to show premeditation, but nothing that tells us what he’s going to do next.”

“I have a feeling even he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.  I think he’s coming apart.  The attack on Josh had a more emotional feel to it.”

“Inside he may be decompensating, but on the outside he still has enough control to avoid capture.”  Anne sighed.  “Maybe he’ll pack up and move on to more fertile ground, so to speak.  That happens a lot with organized serial killers when they are threatened.”

Kate looked at her.  “You don’t really believe that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Blake’s not going to leave until he’s finished what he started.  Until he’s finished with me.”

CHAPTER 45

Blake almost walked right into him.  Damnit, be more careful, he told himself, turning into the nearest doorway.  He’d been so busy reading the paper, so entranced by the stories about O’Hern, that he’d almost missed seeing the beige Ford with the black detective staring out across the street.  Staring at his apartment building.

Stay calm.  He folded his newspaper and held it over his head and face.  There, now he looked like anyone else trying to stay out of the sleet.  He knew this detective—he’d been at the hospital when O’Hern was still in ICU,  one of the few people they’d let in to see her.

So you want to catch me, put me behind bars for killing your friends?  Blake felt that familiar tingling.  Wait, he tried to tell himself.  Be careful.  But the thrill of doing the cop right here in the middle of the street, without planning and just walking away from it—that overwhelmed any sense of caution that he felt.

He angled himself in the doorway so he could look out through the rain and see both the car and the entrance of his building.  There were probably more cops in there right now, going through his stuff, messing it up, touching his things—the thought enraged him further.  This was his reward for restraining himself with Lightner, for showing mercy?

Rage roiled through him, flames licking his skin, making it crawl.  She would pay.  They would all pay.

Blake had his hunting knife.  Would it be enough?  The image of  him going up to the cop, reaching in and slitting his throat before the cop could say a word filled his mind.  He’d never done one from such close proximity.  The thought felt wonderful, delicious.

The fantasy played out in his mind.  He could feel the warmth of the blood as it sprayed forth, smell the coppery odor of death, see the cop’s eyes bulge out in horror.

He slid his hand under the hem of his parka and fingered the knife.  Time to remind them who’s in charge.

They were walking out of the front door when Kate stopped and turned, peering into the fog and rain.

“Kate, what is it?”

Kate motioned Anne to be quiet.  She had the sudden feeling that they were being watched.  It wasn’t a vision or premonition.  This was something more tangible, something she could rely on—a cop’s instinct.  She glanced over at Carter’s car.  It was too dark to see inside it from this far away.

“Wait inside for me, Anne.  I have to talk to Carter.”

She started across the street when she saw a figure crouched down at the rear corner of Carter’s car.  Blake. He saw her coming, and stood, arms palms out at his sides, issuing a silent challenge.

For a moment their eyes locked through the mist.  A car honked its horn, forcing Kate to jump back onto the curb as it passed.  Just like the first time she’d seen him, Blake smiled at her, as if she were the answer to his prayers.  He held a long, wicked looking knife up to his mouth and kissed it.  Then he pointed it at Kate, leering at her.

Kate felt icy fingers grip her heart, twisting it, crushing it.  Tendrils of fear stole her breath.

Water from a passing car splashed over her, breaking the spell.  She bolted off the curb, running after Blake.

CHAPTER 46

Blake’s laughter cut through the swirling mist, taunting her as she jogged across the street.  Carter’s door banged open.  Blake gave Kate a jaunty wave and spun around.  He sprinted through a narrow opening between buildings.

“Carter!” Kate yelled as he emerged from the car.  He caught her as she ran past, stopping her.

“Where are you going?”

“Blake!  Damn it, he’s gone.”

Carter looked down the alley.  It was empty except for shadows.  He grabbed his radio, called in a report.

“Why bother?  He’s long gone.”  Kate’s frustration weighed on her, making her shoulders sag.  Blake’s laughter rang through her memory, accompanied by an image of Rob’s shattered face.  And once again, she’d stood by, powerless.

“Goddamn it!”  She smashed her fist against the Impala’s trunk.  Pain lanced through her arm, but felt good—better than fear and helplessness.

“We might as well pack it up here,” Carter said when he finished talking to the dispatcher.  He frowned.  “I didn’t even know he was there until he stood and ran and I saw the movement in the side mirror.”  He leaned against the car, ignoring the rain pelting them both.  “Son of a—”

Kate didn’t say anything, simply put a hand on his arm and squeezed slightly.

“I’m lucky you came along when you did,” he finally said.

“Does that mean you’re not going to arrest me?”

“I should, just to keep you out of trouble.”  He gave her a long look.  “You’re not getting ready to do anything stupid, are you, kid?”

“I’m going to see Josh.  Anne said she’d help me get past the guys at the door.”  Kate told him the truth, but not all of it.

“After you see him, will you let them take you in?  I’d feel a whole lot better knowing you were someplace safe.”

The idea of being placed in her own House’s lock up didn’t comfort Kate, but she understood Carter’s sentiments.  “Who’s on Josh’s detail?”

“Rowen and Scher.  Tabitha won’t give you any trouble; she knows this is all bull.  Hell, everything Blake said in his so-called confession came right from Turner’s statement and the news reports.”

Tabitha’s partner, Marc Scher would be the problem.  An ambitious man noted for his lack of originality and imagination, Scher prided himself on playing everything by the book.  Which meant arresting Kate if he saw her.  Maybe Anne could help her with a diversion.  She stood on her tiptoes and gave Carter a quick peck on the cheek.

“What the hell was that for?” he bristled, rubbing his cheek where her lips had touched.

“For you being a good cop and a good friend.  Thanks, Carter.”

Josh had had quite enough of life as a patient, taking orders, being disturbed, no privacy, wheeled here, wheeled there.  He was supposed to have gone down for his CT scan two hours ago, they had put him in this wheelchair, but no one had come to take him.  He wanted to go home.

Of course home was where Blake had found him before.

If only he could figure out what had happened yesterday, understand it.  Why hadn’t Blake killed him?  Josh kept replaying those moments when Blake looked down on him, before he ran, all he had to do was squeeze the trigger—it would have taken half a second.  Instead Blake just stared.  Josh shivered as he remembered those eyes; they hadn’t seemed human.

He tried to tell himself that he’d been only semi-conscious, maybe most of what he thought he remembered was all some weird, trauma-induced nightmare.  But he knew that wasn’t the answer.

There was a knock, and the door opened.  Josh looked up, expecting the transport attendant.  Instead it was Kate.  His breath stopped short, as if not wanting to startle her into flight.

She looked awful—dark circles under her eyes, her hair soaking wet, wearing baggy sweat pants and a ragged flannel shirt under her leather jacket.  She resembled a refugee from a homeless shelter and all he wanted to do was gather her into his arms.

“Okay if I come in?” she asked diffidently, standing in the doorway.

“Sure, I’m just waiting to go to CT scan.”

She took a step, letting the door swing shut behind her.  They stared at each other in silence.  She swiped away the trail of water dripping down from her hair onto her forehead.  He remembered when they’d made love, the way her face flushed with pleasure, the warm feeling that engulfed his heart when she fell asleep in his arms.  His hands ached, itched beneath their bandages.  Last night seemed a thousand years ago.

“You look like hell.”

Kate grimaced.  “Thanks, doctor.  I can always count on you for your excellent bedside manner.”

“I’m not your doctor anymore,” Josh replied quietly.

Kate’s eyes widened, and he followed her gaze down to his hands.  She came closer and knelt beside him.  “Josh, your hands—”

He flexed them for her and tried to ignore the pain.  And the fact that his fingers looked and felt like swollen sausages.  “They’ll be all right.  It’ll take some time, though.  Let’s hope I’m a better patient than you were.”

“They say doctors make the worst patients.”

“That was before you came along, O’Hern.”

There was another silence.  Somehow it didn’t feel uncomfortable, rather as if they were each moving at their own pace.

She looked over her shoulder at the closed door.  He’d overheard his guards talking about some kind of trouble she was in, wondered if maybe she wasn’t supposed to be here.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

She considered.  “Not as bad as I would be if you weren’t around.  We found Blake’s apartment.  It’s amazing going through it, seeing how his mind works.  A lot of what Anne said in her profile is right on the money.”  She paused.  “Blake came after Carter tonight.  We scared him off.”

“We—what we?”

“It happened when Anne and I were leaving Blake’s place.  Carter’s fine, but we lost Blake.  I think I have an idea where he might be going, though.”

“An idea, or did you see something?”

She sighed.  “I saw something.  He was at your house.  I told Anne, so hopefully they’ll catch him.”

“Why don’t you stay here?  I’ve got my days and nights so mixed up that I probably won’t sleep, anyway.”  He couldn’t stand the thought of her out there on the streets.  The knowledge that Blake had been near her again was enough to make Josh’s heart race with fear.  Please God, he sent up a silent, fervent prayer, keep her safe with me.

Kate’s gaze cut to the door.  “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

Before Josh could argue, the door opened and the transporter arrived.  “Ready for your CAT scan?” she asked in a chipper voice.  “Let me grab your chart.”  She disappeared again.

“I’d better be going.”  Kate stood.  “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am that I got you mixed up in all this.  I wanted you to know—”

“No,” he interrupted.  He leaned forward in the wheelchair, pushing his forearms against the sides, trying to untangle himself.  “Don’t go.  I can’t let you go.  I won’t do it, sit by and watch you risk your life.”

“What gives you any right to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

The words cascaded through the small room.  Silence filled the space between them.  They both knew the answer to her question.  His fingers curled, trying to claw their way free of their prison, aching to touch her, hold her again.

“I love you,” he said finally.  His center felt emptied by the admission as if he had surrendered everything he had left with the words.

The transporter returned before Kate could answer, but the look she gave Josh sent a shudder through him.  As if he might never see her again.

The transporter took up a position behind his chair, pushing him away from Kate, ignoring his protests.

“Wait for me, we need to talk,” Josh said over his shoulder, willing all cheery transporters to a special hell as she continued to push him past Kate and into the hallway.  “Please wait.”

CHAPTER 47

Kate watched the aide push Josh away.  The door swung shut behind him with a click that echoed into her soul.  She stared at the closed door for a long moment, well aware time was short, but unable to surrender the memory of her last look at his face.

His words echoed through his mind.  All of his words.  She bowed her head, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.  She hadn’t had the chance to tell him how she felt about him.  Or that she was doing this for him, that keeping him safe was worth anything, everything she had to offer.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and she shook herself back into action.  Tabitha Rowen would accompany Josh down to CAT scan, so she had the room to herself for a few minutes until Marc Scher returned.

She remembered her vision.  Now it made sense.  Blake wouldn’t return to his own place, hers would be too risky, so why not thumb his nose at the cops by hiding out at Josh’s?  He’d have no idea that she asked Anne to place it under surveillance.

Or maybe he didn’t care, maybe after missing Carter he was willing to take the risk, maybe he was already stalking the officers at Josh’s house—and she had sent them there.

Kate pushed her wet curls away from her face and wiped her tears on her sleeve.  This was getting too complicated.  All she knew was that every vision she’d had today showed Blake at Josh’s.  And Kate with him.

It had to stop now, tonight.

She opened the nightstand drawer and rummaged through it.  She could break into Josh’s house, but it’d be a lot simpler with his keys.  Her fingers closed on the key ring, and she pocketed it.

Scher would be back any moment, but she wanted to leave Josh a message, something to explain how she felt.  Just in case.

She scribbled a quick note on the back of one of the charting sheets and tucked it under his pillow.  Hoped that she’d be able to explain in person.  Someday.

Kate walked out into the hallway.  She glanced up and down, nobody was looking at her suspiciously.  Tabitha was down with Josh, but Scher would be back any minute, wouldn’t let Anne keep him any longer than the fifteen minute break he was entitled to, no matter how excited he was by her FBI recruitment pitch.

Too risky waiting for the elevator out in the open.  She pulled open the door to the fire stairs.  And almost ran into Scher climbing the steps.  His eyes met hers and he frowned, his hand moving down to his holster in that universal gesture that separated the good guys from the bad.

Right now Marc Scher obviously thought Kate wasn’t one of the good guys.

“Stop right there,” he shouted.  Kate didn’t give him time to finish.  She braced herself against the railing and propelled a side kick into his abdomen, catching him off balance.  He fell backwards down the four steps between him and the landing.

Kate prayed that she hadn’t hurt Scher, looked like he’d landed on his well-padded butt.  She raced down the hall to the other set of stairs and opened the door.  Silence.  She sped down them, emerging in the frenzied chaos of the ER, panting by the time she arrived.  Her left side hurt like hell after the kick she’d given Scher.  A couple days on her back, and she was totally out of shape.  Of course, being dead probably hadn’t helped either.

She moved down the rear hallway, toward the employee exit.  You needed a key to get inside, but going out would be no problem and there were no guards stationed there, only a security camera.  If she could get there before Scher had time to lock the whole place down.

She clutched her left arm to her chest.  Never should’ve tried that kick.  She turned the corner past the nurses’ station.  Almost there.

“Hey you!”  A man’s voice shouted behind her.  Kate bolted for the door, twenty interminable feet away.

She pushed through the door, ignored the footsteps pounding behind her, finally gaining the cover of rain and darkness.  She ran down the path into the parking lot.  Just as she stepped off the curb, a squeal of brakes and flashing lights announced the arrival of reinforcements.

A patrol car pulled across the path.  She skidded to a stop and swerved to her right, into the shadows beneath the skywalk that led from the main hospital building into the parking deck.

She’d stumbled into the hospital’s trash collection area.  Foul smelling dumpsters, some marked with large Biohazard signs, were lined up beside a large metal box.  Incinerator, she realized, wrinkling her nose and trying not to think about what a medical center the size of Three Rivers might be burning in there.

One good thing about the dark maze of trash containers, it was the kind of place cops hated.  Narrow, cramped, with plenty of places for an ambush.  The men behind her would take it slow.

Not that Kate could move very fast herself.  Each breath jolted through her rib cage, and the ground was slick with refuse.  Once she moved away from the lights of the main hospital building, the darkness became impenetrable.  Sweeping her good hand before her, Kate felt her way farther into the garbage collection area, praying she didn’t tumble into any of the containers of medical waste.

A rustling sound came from beside her, and she froze.  The skitter of tiny paws followed.  She let her breath out.  Rats.

Then the glare of headlights illuminated the cramped space behind her as someone had the bright idea of pulling the squad car down the service drive.  She crouched behind a large red square plastic trash container that had the distinct odor of burnt and decaying flesh, watching as flashlight beams began to dance around the dumpsters and containers closest to the main building.

Kate used the light her comrades provided to look around.  The space was flanked by hospital walls on two sides and the wall of the lowest level of the parking garage on the third side, the side she was moving toward.  A mound of earth completed the fourth side of the area beneath the walkway.  The service drive she’d entered through seemed the only way out as well.

Good job, O’Hern.  Waltzed right into a trap.  Forgot what your old man told ya, didn’t ya?  Never run anywhere without having a way out.

The crash of dumpster lids and oaths of officers recoiling from the assorted sights and smells of the hospital garbage covered the sound of her movement.  She shimmied out from behind the red trash container and edged over to the wall of the parking garage.  There was a small clearance between the top of the dirt and the concrete foundation of the walkway overhead.  She could see the thick shrubbery, trunks of evergreens poking out through the dirt above her head.

No way she could climb that, not with a bum arm.  Too noisy to use a trashcan as a ladder.  She looked behind her.  The lights were getting closer.  She could hear someone’s radio squawking.

She kept low, scuttled back until she was against the foundation of the parking garage.  Water sloshed around her ankles.  She felt around and realized there was a puddle collected at the end of a storm drain that tunneled beneath the dirt embankment.

Water streamed through a concrete pipe that was as wide as her shoulders.  At least it was at this end, would it narrow once she was inside, trapping her?  There could be worse fates waiting her.  She looked into the maw of the sewer pipe.  The darkness was punctuated by the scratch of claws and the sound of water rushing.  The sights and sounds of Kate’s nightmares.

There had to be another way.  A flashlight’s beam hit the wall beyond her.  Whatever she was going to do, she had to do it fast.  Her fellow officers were closing in.

Another rat, bigger than the last, ran from the storm drain.  Kate tried to pretend that her heart wasn’t racing with fear.  The bright red Biohazard signs everywhere and the stench of decayed flesh weren’t helping.

The grate protecting the entrance to the storm drain was wedged partially open by debris.  Not enough for a bulky man, but wide enough for a woman Kate’s size.  Kate glanced heavenward.  Finally, someone up there seemed to be listening.  It took several movements worthy of a circus contortionist, but Kate squeezed past the grate and into the drain.  The water was freezing, numbing her legs.

Kate took one last deep breath of fresh air and crawled into the tunnel.  The voices behind her grew more agitated.  She crawled forward on one hand, ignoring the pain that shot through her left arm every time it banged against the concrete walls.

Don’t panic, don’t vomit, don’t make a sound, move faster, and for Godsake, don’t have a vision and freak out.  The words drummed through her mind in a mantra of anxiety.

Strange sounds like the tap-tap of a blind man’s cane echoed past her and she froze.  A rat’s claws sank into the flesh of one exposed ankle.  Kate bit her lip against her cry of surprise.

She shook her leg into the air, dislodged her unwelcome hitchhiker, and it splashed into the water.  The smell of damp earth smothered her and the darkness was so complete she couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or closed.  Was this what it felt like to be buried alive?  She had a sudden image of Josh, trapped in the darkness of the trunk.  At least she could move.  She had keep going, had to get out of here, make it to Josh’s house.

The thought echoed through her mind, giving her the strength to continue forward, her body trembling with cold and fear.  As she moved, Kate’s thoughts slowly quieted to a state of calm acceptance.  She now understood what Anne Ramsey had meant by losing control.  Sometimes you had to let go of everything in order to save the people you loved.

Even now, with everything that had happened, Kate could still protect and serve.  She would stop Blake.  She would keep him from hurting anyone, especially Josh, most especially Josh, ever again.

And then, hopefully, she and Josh together could weave their own fairytale spell.  After the magic of their night together, Kate almost believed it was possible.

She stopped.  Almost wasn’t good enough.  She had to believe wholeheartedly that she and Josh could somehow find their way back to where they were last night.

Wholeheartedly.  She whispered the word, savored it.  Body and soul and heart.

Her breath echoed from the darkness.  How far had she come?  How far to go still?  Kate had no idea.  The pain in her left side, the frozen stabbing in her arms and legs ceased to be a distraction, had instead become familiar companions.

Body and soul.  She was giving everything she had to complete this—quest? it felt like the right word—to stop Blake.  And her heart?

Yes.  Most definitely her heart.  Without Josh and the love he had inspired, she would have never found the courage to come this far, much less keep going.

Suddenly, Kate wasn’t cold anymore.

Finally she came to a dead end.  A cascade of water flowed down a two-foot high vertical wall that blocked any further progress.  She rolled onto her back and looked up, half expecting to feel the splatter of her own blood on her face, to see her face outlined on the grate above, eyes glazing over as she hemorrhaged her life away.  She blinked hard and cleared her vision.  There was no one above her. Just several pipes opening into the roof of the drainage system.

The opening on top of the short wall wasn’t one of the narrow grates that lined the streets, but a wider one shaped in a semicircle.  This grate was hinged to one side, like the one on the opposite end of the pipe, but this one was shut.  She pushed at it, was relieved when it moved.  It was designed to keep animals out, not people in, thank God.

It gave way easily, but there was no way she could muffle the squeak of the rusted metal.  She froze, listened for exultant shouts, but heard nothing except the wind rustling through the bushes and the patter of rain hitting the overhang.  Kate shimmied up through the drain, mud squishing around her as she rolled under the cover of some bare forsythia bushes.

Kate looked around.  She was on the other side of the parking deck, away from any pursuers.  She hauled herself to her feet and began to stumble through the shadows, headed toward Josh’s house.

CHAPTER 48

While he waited outside the CT scan, Josh looked through his chart, his fingers fumbling with the thin pages.  He tried to think of it as physical therapy, tried his best not to imagine these same clumsy digits blundering while suturing a blood vessel or re-anastomosing a length of intestine.  Tried to believe that he had a future.

Tabitha Rowen sat beside him, leafing through a two-year-old Newsweek without really looking at it.  They both jumped when her radio squawked.  Josh strained to make out real words in the midst of the cop jargon.

“All units, all units!”  Josh recognized Tabitha’s partner’s voice.  The man sounded hysterical.  “Suspect is at 3RMC, proceed with caution, she’s in the east stairwell, all units respond.  Dammit, O’Hern!”  There was a pause.  “Lost her on the first floor, near the ER.”  Josh and Tabitha exchanged glances.

“You know she didn’t hurt anyone, she wasn’t working with Blake,” Josh said.  “If someone like your partner finds her, they might shoot first and ask questions later.  Go, please. I’ll be fine.  Someone has to help Kate.”

Tabitha’s gaze narrowed.  “I can’t leave you alone.”

The CT tech opened the door and began to wheel Josh into the scanning room.  “You have to wait outside,” he told Tabitha.

The tech closed the lead shielded door before Josh could argue further.  Damn cops, were they all so stubborn?  Blake wasn’t going to find him here.  He wasn’t the one who needed protecting, Kate was.

He climbed onto the table and lay still for the exam, impatient for it to be over, his mind racing, wishing he was with Kate, anywhere but trapped here, helpless.  The scan itself took less than a minute, but the tech left Josh there while he checked the images with the radiologist.

Tired of having nothing to do but wait, Josh sat up.  If the cops weren’t going to help Kate, then he was the only one left.  He slid down from the exam table and walked through the connecting door.  Good thing that after seeing his team this morning, he’d changed out of the flimsy hospital gown that marked him as a patient and had put on sweats and sneakers.

He crept down the hall to the nearest bathroom, tore off his bandages and pulled his IV out, stopping the bleeding with a paper towel. The gauze on his head was already gone, leaving only a row of staples in his scalp, mostly hidden by his hair.  He emerged from the bathroom a free man.

He headed toward the nearest exit, rounded a corner and ran into Sal Bianchi pushing Josh’s empty wheelchair.  Busted.  Damn.

“Thought I’d come see if your brain was okay,” Sal said.  “Imagine my surprise when I saw you pull a Houdini.”

Josh looked past the anesthesiologist.  “Did you see any cops?”

“There’s a very attractive female officer looking bored on the other side of radiology.”  Sal parked the wheelchair in a row at the volunteer’s desk and gestured for Josh to accompany him into the physician’s lounge.

“By the way, I saw the CT, your brain looks fine.  I take it this has something to do with your cop.  They’re swarming the hospital looking for her.”

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sal opened his locker, handed Josh his Gortex jacket.  “I know.  I’m parked on the second floor of the garage, keys are in the pocket.  Do you know where to find her?”

“I have a pretty good idea.”  He hoped that by the time he got there Carter and Anne Ramsey and a brigade of burly FBI agents would already have Blake in custody and Kate would be safe.

“Need help?  I could get someone to cover for me.”

Josh smiled and shook his head.  He couldn’t risk anyone else’s life.  “No, thanks.  Wait a few minutes and tell Officer Rowen that I’ve gone back to my house.”

“All right.  Be careful.”

Kate’s teeth chattered from a combination of cold and adrenalin, and she smelled like the sewer she’d crawled out of.  Slowly she approached Josh’s house, looking for any signs of surveillance and spotted none.  Turner had probably pulled everyone over to Three Rivers, looking for her.  So much for backup.

She walked up the porch, turned the key in the door, then looked over her shoulder.  Nothing moved in the darkness and rain.  She was going into the lion’s den alone.

The thought of facing Blake again tightened her chest with terror.  She shuffled one foot forward, closed her eyes for a brief moment, summoning all her strength to force herself to cross the threshold.

Nothing happened.  She clicked on the hall light.  There was no one there.  The house didn’t feel deserted, though.  Kate stood inside the doorway, concentrating her senses.  Blake was here, somewhere.

She considered her options.  She was unarmed, defenseless.  Should she antagonize him further by hunting him down, or let him assume that he was in control by allowing him to come to her?

Face it O’Hern, he is in control.  For the time being.  Just let it play out, the tide will turn.  She remembered her vision, she’d been in the kitchen washing the floor.  She edged through the hall way into the back of the house, turning on lights as she went.  The kitchen and great room were a mess, blood mingling with debris left behind by the crime lab.

She retrieved a bucket and cleaning solution from under the sink.  The hot water felt good, stopped the trembling in her hands.  As she ran water into the bucket, she heard a floor board creak from upstairs.  Blake was here.

He held a gun to her head.  His fingers stroked her bare skin.  Kate forced the vision away.  She couldn’t afford to have her mind clouded with possibilities, whether or not they might come true.  And if she was going to die, she certainly couldn’t bear to see that now.

She filled her mind with memories of Josh.  The goofy grin he’d given her on the swing set when he told her he loved her, the tears he’d shed when he professed his belief in her visions, the way his eyes flashed when they made love....

With her good hand, she hauled the bucket out of the sink and took it over to the worst of the blood stains.  Kneeling, she swished some of the water around, soaking the coagulated brown slime.  She took a sponge and began to wipe the blood clean.

An eerie calm descended over her as her hand moved in a hypnotic rhythm.  Then the hairs on the back of her arms bristled.  The air around her grew still.

“Hello, Mason.”

CHAPTER 49

Odd, now that this moment had finally arrived, Kate felt relieved.

“Officer O’Hern,” he replied with a casual formality.  He came around her, kicked the bucket like a petulant teenager, splashing the blood-tinged water over both of them.  He held the Taurus Raging Bull in his hands and a large knife was strapped to his right thigh.  Fatigues, olive drab long-sleeved T-shirt, combat boots—he was dressed to face a platoon, not one half-crippled woman.

“Stand up,” he commanded, the gun not wavering.

Kate reached out with her good hand and slowly pushed herself upright.  She felt old, as if her time had come and gone like the grains in those old fashioned saltshakers that were shaped like hourglasses.  Her mother had a set of those, she suddenly remembered, uncertain where the thought had come from.  She almost laughed, what was she doing thinking of saltshakers at a time like this?

Concentrate, she told herself firmly.  If you let him win, you know Josh will be next to die.

It seemed her death was a foregone conclusion.  Kate could see it in the look in Blake’s eyes.  Even in her own mind it was hard not to accept her obvious fate.  After all, Rob, Conrad and Dimeo had no chance, why should she?

She had to figure out how to take Blake down with her, returned a pessimistic doomsday voice, the part of her that was too exhausted to care any more about self preservation.

Blake’s appraising gaze was like a murky oil-slick that clung to her, smothering her will.  She forced herself to meet his eyes, feeling triumph in that small victory.  That’s right, show him what O’Herns are made of.

“So you’re the one,” he said.  Somehow he sounded disappointed.  She wanted to slap him, but instead simply held his gaze.

He took a step toward her.  “Let’s see my creation,” he gestured with the gun.  “Take the sling off.”

When she didn’t comply immediately, he reached forward and ripped the Velcro swath off, jarring her shoulder and sending a jolt of pain through her.  She held her hand up before he could grab the sling.

“Slowly now,” he said in a hard voice.  “That’d make a good place to hide a gun.”  He assumed a marksman’s stance, raising the cartoonishly large gun at her.

The whole scene was surreal.  When she looked at Blake, she thought he seemed a lot smaller than he had the night he shot her and Rob.  No body armor, she realized, that was the difference.  Maybe that was his fatal mistake—thinking that he had all the protection he needed in a gun designed to take down 400 pound game animals.

Kate gingerly slipped the sling off.  It fell to the floor, puddling at her feet.  She cradled her left elbow in her good hand.  Allowed him to assume she was weaker than she was by slumping, rounding her posture into one of submission.

Blake gestured with the gun again.  “Now the shirt.”

Kate hesitated for a moment before unbuttoning the flannel shirt.  What the hell, half the hospital saw her naked.  Somehow the thought didn’t comfort her as Blake’s eyes glittered, watching every move.  As if she was participating in some perverted striptease for him.

Look at him.  He’s riveted, obsessed.  You can use this, take control.  She remembered what her father always said: figure out what they want and don’t give it to them.  Make them come to you to get it, and you’ll have the advantage.

What did Blake want?  The question raced through her mind as her fingers fumbled with the shirt buttons.  Sex?  That was only part of it.  What had he called her?  His creation?  That implied power, control over another.  She was starring in an X-rated Pygmalion, the hysteric thought sped through her.  Kate suppressed the waves of panic that followed.

He had come to her after each attack.  He needed her for something; she was the one that got away.  The one who died, but came back.  Blake wanted not to play God, but to be God.

He wanted a human sacrifice—for her to come to him, offer herself to him.  That was why he hadn’t killed her when he’d had the chance, had gone to all this trouble orchestrating their final meeting.

She finished unbuttoning the shirt, allowed it to hang open. Focus, focus now. Don’t jump.  Watch for an advantage.  She stood there, shivering, but resolutely not covering herself, refusing to reveal the terror crashing down behind her eyes.

“Turn around,” he whispered hoarsely. He waved the gun, his tongue flicking over his lips in anticipation.

Why was it crazy men always got religion and sex all mixed up?  She turned her back to him, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the bullet she would never hear.  She flinched when instead she felt cold metal lifting the cotton fabric of her tank-top so that he could examine his handiwork.  His sweaty hand slid from behind, grabbed her left breast.  Her injured nerves cried out with a burning that shot through Kate.  Then his tongue began to lick the scar above her shoulder blade.

“Entrance, exit,” he named each wound as he moved around her, caressing and kissing them.  “Entrance, exit.  And these?”  His fingers traced the two short scars under her arm on the side of her chest.  He met her eyes with the question, the gun in his right hand, resting against her cheek.  She smelled gun oil and a faint residue of cordite, also the rancid acridness of his sweat.  The armpits of his close fitting T-shirt were soaked.

“Chest tubes,” she replied, amazed her voice sounded so normal.

“Ahh.”  This seemed somehow to please him.  “This is where they cut you to operate.”  He touched the long thin line that ran from back to front, stopping under her breast.  “Where he cut you, where he touched your heart.”

Again he looked into her eyes, and Kate couldn’t read his expression—anger or jealousy at Josh’s work?

“C’mon,” he said, pushing her from behind.  “Let’s go upstairs.”

Together they climbed the steps, his arms encircling her, the gun firmly stationed at her head.  Blake steered her into the guest room.  The bags she had left behind were open on the floor, her few possessions scattered about the room.  The bed itself remained as she’d left it, the sheets tucked under the pillows and the comforter pulled up.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear.

He pulled her closer to him, and she could feel his erection.  His left hand reached back to grab her hair, forced her gaze up.

“I love these old four-posters—so solid, well crafted,” he continued in a voice that would have better suited a furniture salesman.  “So romantic.”

Kate tensed and her panic returned when she saw the handcuffs he had wrapped around the tops of the thick posts.

“I don’t know how long you’ll last.  It will be interesting to see.  We’ll have some fun first, then I’ll revise some of the good doctor’s work.”   His free hand roamed over her chest, stroking the prickly ends of her stitches.

“I’ll be waiting.  Waiting for you to ask me, beg me to let you out of the misery.  You’ll look down on me, plead with me to use my power to release you.  And then, finally, I will.”  His voice gained a singsong quality as if this was a speech he had rehearsed many times in his head.

His grip on her hair relaxed.  Kate allowed her right hand to fall to her side, trying to keep her body from tensing as she visualized where his knife was.

“Don’t be a fool,” she said.  “You’re smart enough to realize that you’ll be caught.  The police are already placing this house under surveillance.” Distract him, keep him talking.  She was a goner if he got her up there in those cuffs.  She stretched her fingers, searching millimeters of air for the knife handle that she knew had to be close.  Don’t touch him, don’t tense, it had to be sudden and decisive.

“I’m not the fool, O’Hern,” he said in a angry whisper.

His words were almost drowned out by the sounds of multiple gunshots.  Shots that existed only in Kate’s mind.  A kaleidoscope of death barraged her, blackening her vision.  She and Blake struggling, Blake shooting her, her shooting him, her stabbing him but he refused to die, then Josh rushing into the melee, Blake shooting Josh, Josh’s face shattered by bullets—

Kate slumped into Blake’s arms, not caring what he said or did.  What did it matter, if after all this Josh still died?  Why?  She sent out a heartfelt prayer.  Why let me live the first time if he still dies?  Please show me something I can hold on to, any sign that there’s still hope.  Please, God, is that too much to ask?

Suddenly her vision cleared.  She was jogging through a meadow of wild flowers, a white house with red shutters at the end of the path.  The door opened and Josh emerged, his back to her.  A beautiful lullaby filled the air and Kate’s heart was pounding with joy she could not contain.  She sprinted to the house.  Josh turned as she bounded up the steps, and she saw the baby he cradled in his arms.  A baby with dark hair and Josh’s brilliant blue eyes.  Josh wrapped his arm around her as she lay her face on their baby’s soft curls.

Blake’s hand jerking a handful of her hair brought Kate back to the here and now.

“Why did you let him live?” she asked, trying to buy time.

“Lightner?  I was angry at first, that he dared to defy me.  Until I realized there was a reason he saved you.  He saved you so we could be together.”  His voice dropped into a soft croon as he nuzzled the side of her neck.  “You need me.   I’m that missing part of you, the reason you fight so hard.”

“You know they’re coming, probably have the house surrounded already.”

“No, I don’t think so.  Not yet anyway.  No matter—we live and die together you and I.  Don’t worry, Kate.  I’m never going to lose you again.”

He yanked her gaze back up to the torture device he had constructed.  “I don’t care if they come.  You’re the message I’ll leave for them.  The symbol of my ultimate conquest.”

Kate had to force herself not to laugh.  She knew now that she could win, that she would win.  After all, what was Mason Blake but a pathetic wretch of a madman who couldn’t overcome his ugly childhood?  He was no monster, only a man, flesh and blood—just like Kate.

His head tilted back as he looked up at the posts, dreaming of his moment of glory.  With the movement, Kate could feel the gun move slightly as well.  Her fingers brushed against the knife handle.

Now!  She grabbed the handle, pulled it from its sheath in an explosion of movement.  She pivoted, gaining maneuvering room.  He grabbed her left arm, wrenched it until she thought it would dislocate.

The gun went off, the sound deafening as it echoed past her.  Kate thrust the knife into the triangle immediately below Blake’s breastbone.  His mouth opened in a wordless gasp as he looked down at the knife, buried to the hilt.

She stepped back, sensing movement from the corner of her eye.  Josh rushed in, swinging a fireplace poker.

Blake raised the Taurus, holding it at Kate’s heart.  Josh connected with Blake’s forearm.  The gun flew from Blake’s hand.  Kate threw all of her weight against the knife, angling the blade up into his heart.

Blake fell against her.  He landed hard, arms outstretched, the knife a stake driven between them.  They both toppled to the floor, Blake’s weight on top of her.  He looked at Kate, his eyes holding hers as his mouth moved.  “It’s not over.”

His body slumped.  The light in his eyes died out, replaced only with a grey dullness.

Kate heard an inhuman growl of fury and for a moment panicked—Blake was still alive.  Then Blake’s body was hurled off her, and she realized it was Josh making the sound.  He dropped the poker and knelt at her side, cradling her in his arms, his hands caressing her as they checked for injuries.

“God, Kate, I thought, I was afraid—” his voice trailed off as tears choked it.  “Don’t you dare ever do anything like that again!”

She said nothing, just burrowed into the warmth of his embrace.

Before she could muster enough energy to ask him how he’d found her, an alarm began beeping, shattering the silence.

“What the hell is that?”

Kate looked at Josh in surprise.  It was the first time she’d heard him swear.

He grabbed Blake’s wrist.  A large black watch was beeping frantically.  Attached to it were wires that stretched below Blake’s sleeve.

Josh’s eyebrows drew together in a frown.  “Kate?  This isn’t a watch.  It’s a heart rate monitor.”

Kate yanked at Blake’s shirt, exposing the wires taped to his chest leading to a cell phone duct taped to his belly.  “Deadman’s switch.”

Before she could say anything more a whoosh of heat and light and sound bombarded them.  The house shook.  A wall of fire blasted through the open door, coming from the direction of the staircase.

The shockwave flattened Kate, tearing her away from Josh.  Blake’s body flew past her, a puppet cut from its strings.  A howl of rapacious noise deafened her.

The four-poster bed collapsed, half burying her.  Her vision was tinted red but she saw Josh struggle to his feet, reaching for her.  The room filled with thick, black smoke, too heavy and hot to breathe.  A spasm of coughing racked through her, leaving her gasping in pain.

Flames raced over the ceiling, licking hungrily.  Josh grabbed her ankles, began to drag her toward the window.

She tried to push him away from her.  “Leave me.”

The words came out in a whisper immediately devoured by the roar of the fire.  But she saw by the narrowing of his eyes that he had heard her.  He shook his head, not wasting breath, and tugged at her once more.

She slid free of the bed frame.  He scooped her into his arms, turned to the window.  Flames danced all around them, but what was worse was the smoke searing through her with every breath.

The window had blown out, revealing the welcome promise of the cool night rain.  Josh struggled under her weight, coughing, gasping.  Freedom was so close, yet so far.  She felt his legs buckle just as her vision went black.

CHAPTER 50

Josh ignored the pain hammering through him, fought for every inch as he dragged Kate toward the window.  He felt her body go limp and cursed in frustration.

“God damn it, Kate.  Don’t you dare give up on me now!”

Broken glass crackled beneath his knees as his shoulder hit the splintered edge of the window frame.  He stuck his head through the opening, heaved in a breath of fresh air and then reached for Kate once more.  He hauled her out onto the porch roof, then rolled over the windowsill and joined her.

Flames licked the torn curtains, smoke gusted and swirled around them.  Sirens already were nearing—he spotted the lights from a fire truck pulling up to the curb.  They were safe for the time being.

“Kate?”  His voice was a rasp.  She lay limp across the corrugated roof.  He felt for her pulse, slow, too slow.  She wasn’t breathing.  “Damn it, Kate!”

He lowered his face to hers, gave her two rescue breaths.  No airway obstruction, the rational part of his mind, the part that was calmly assessing her injuries, said.  The blast could have torn the vessel he’d repaired, she could have bled out into her lung cavity.  Or the bed hit her on her head, gave her a skull fracture.  Maybe Blake had hurt her before Josh had gotten there.  Maybe he was too late.  Maybe he couldn’t save her again.

“Like hell I can’t.”  He inhaled deeply, ready to breathe for her, but felt the soft ripple of her exhalation.

Her eyes fluttered open.  A fireman was calling to them from a ladder.  Josh ignored him, hugging her close, not caring who saw the tears streaming down his face.

“You’re back, you came back,” he kept repeating.

A lazy smile blossomed on her face.  “Not going anywhere,” she whispered.  Choked and coughed, then ran one finger across his jaw, wrapping her hand around his neck.  “Glad you came by, doc.”

A firefighter clamored across the roof, pulling them apart.

After the ER docs finished poking and prodding her, Kate spent the rest of the night at the station house, re-living the details over and over again for the record.  The police had kept her separated from Josh, protecting the integrity of both of their statements, and she was fast losing her patience.  She had to talk to Josh.  Wanted to be with him.

The sunrise filled the interview room with a rosy haze, and she could hear the clatter of day shift arriving.  Carter, Cohen and the two anonymous IA detectives had just finished taking her through everything one last time when the door opened and Turner entered, his face flushed and red.

“Do you feel that any charges should follow from Officer’s O’Hern’s actions?” he addressed the IA detectives, ignoring Kate’s presence.

They exchanged a look.  Finally the thin one spoke.  “No sir, we don’t.  We’ve completed our investigation and have been unable to verify any wrongdoing on behalf of Officer O’Hern.  We have also been unable to prove any connection between her and Blake prior to the incident on the first,” he replied in a formal tone.

“What about her involvement with her partner?” Turner snapped.

“To tell you the truth sir, we find absolutely no evidence of a sexual relationship between O’Hern and Hansen.  In fact, all the evidence that we’ve uncovered tends to suggest otherwise,” he finished, looking at Kate rather than Turner.

Damn, Kate thought, they’ve found out about Jenn.  As the IA men turned to leave, the fat one turned back around and winked at her quickly.  Her mouth opened in surprise, they weren’t going to reveal Rob’s secret.  They walked out past Turner as if he didn’t exist.

Turner pursed his lips and his face grew scarlet as he stared at Kate.  “If you gentlemen will excuse us, I believe that I have something to discuss with Ms. O’Hern.”

Cohen stood.  “We were just finished.”  He extended his hand to Kate.  “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Officer,” he said, putting a slight emphasis on her rank.  “I apologize for underestimating you.”  He left the room.

Turner stood over Carter, who was making no effort to get up.  Finally Kate intervened.  No reason for him to go down with her. “Go on, Carter.  I’ll see you later.”

“You sure?”

She nodded.  He took his time getting his coat and sauntered from the room, giving her a salute on the way out.  Finally she and Turner were alone.  Turner continued pacing in front of her, but she refused to play power games with him, she ignored him.

“You seem to have a lot of friends in the department,” he started in a sarcastic tone.

“Well, sir, we’re all on the same team.”

“That’s what I want to discuss with you.  I think the team,” he stressed the last word, “would be better off without you on it.”

“Sir, are you relieving me of duty?”

“I’ve noticed that you also have a lot of friends in the media.  Wouldn’t they love it if I fired the hero who stopped Mason Blake?” He paused. Then he surprised her by collapsing into the chair across from her, his shoulders slumped in defeat.  “Jenn came to see me last night.”  His voice emerged a strangled rasp.  “She told me—what she said—it confirmed your story.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.  “I probably won’t be around much longer.  It has been suggested that I consider early retirement.  But Cohen told me that there are other reasons,” he cleared his throat, “certain medical reasons for you to consider leaving the force as well.  Shoulder injuries can be very tricky.  Before I go, I can ensure that you get medical disability.”

Kate stared at him, not believing what she was hearing.  Was Turner actually, in his own warped fashion, trying to help her?

“You’re offering me a pension?  What about the doctor’s exam?”

He waved a hand in dismissal.  “I’ll take care of all that.  You can decide to take your chances on that shoulder, but I warn you O’Hern, if you’re coming back, I wouldn’t count on a promotion either.  Because I’d be forced to report your—er—disability.”

Kate knew all too well the implications of her particular—well, gift.  She had never intended to return to the force or carry a gun again.  At least he was offering her a choice even though the decision was obvious.

“I guess you’re right about how tricky shoulder injuries can be,” she said, almost choking on the words.  She’d prepared herself to give up the job, but it still hurt.

He stood, straightening his uniform jacket, not meeting her eyes.  “Very good, then.  I’ll attend to the paperwork immediately.  Good day, Ms. O’Hern.”

Kate sat there in silence after he left.  So this is what it all came down to.  No gold shield, no dramatic career to look back on, all of the sudden she was a civilian, on the outside.  God, she was going to miss it.

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” Anne’s voice cut into her reverie.

“Yeah, go away.  On second thought, I’ll go.”  She pushed back from the table and stood.  “I think I need a drink, or two.”

“Turner give you your walking papers?”

“More or less.  He’s arranging for a disability pension, which should be enough to live on, I guess.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I told you, I’m going to go get drunk.  The case is over, there’s no need for further analysis, doctor.” Kate started to walk past her, but Anne blocked her way.

“Kate, I know you’re angry, but don’t take it out on your friends.”

Kate turned away, tears suddenly filling her eyes.  Dammit, pull yourself together.  God, she was so tired, she just wanted to crawl into a hole and sleep, ignore the world and everyone in it.  Everyone except Josh.

“How’d you like to work for me?” Anne said.

Kate looked up.  “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.  It would mean going back to school, a whole new field.  Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Not every crime-fighter carries a gun, Kate.  You could do consultations like I do.  Learn how to profile, get in a killer’s mind, help the local cops know who they’re dealing with and how to catch him.”

“Don’t I have to be a psychologist like you?”

“A lot of us started out as cops.  You’d take courses in psychology as well as some of the forensic sciences.  And you’d get a chance to see what this new gift of yours could really do, once you have it under control.”

A chance to keep doing the job she was born to do.  What would Josh say?  Then she smiled, glanced out the window.  It was a new day—and both she and Josh were still alive.  But were her future and his bound together?  Her stomach did a flip-flop and she wasn’t sure if it was nerves or hunger.  “Can I give you an answer later?”

“Of course.”  Anne handed Kate her jacket.  “Need a ride home?”

Home?  Where was that?  Her apartment?  Josh’s house?  It was now a crime scene, cursed forever with dark, bloody memories.  Would he forgive her?  Because of her, he’d lost his home, maybe his career, almost his life.

Kate looked down at herself, she hadn’t had a bath in over a day, she was still wearing the blood and water stained sweatpants and shirt.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said.  “I’m going to clean out my locker so I won’t have to come back.”

“Chicken,” Anne said.  “Remember what I said about not trying to control everything.  Some things have to happen at their own time.”

Kate couldn’t argue.  All night she’d been anxious to get to Josh’s side, to talk to him about everything she felt, and now she was nervous, stalling.  What words could she say to make up for everything he had suffered because of her?

Anne gave her a knowing smile as they walked down the hallway.  Uniformed officers streamed past them, heading into roll call.  “Take care, Kate.  Let me know what you decide.”

Kate watched day shift gather in the cavernous room.  How many hundreds of times had she reported here to have her day mapped out for her?  Now she was on her own, no direction.

Other than toward Josh.  Kate shook her head and rushed down the hall and out the door.  To hell with her locker and dry clothes and a shower.  She knew what she wanted and where she was going.  She only hoped that he would forgive her; give her a second chance.

Josh watched the sunrise from the comfort of his car parked outside the precinct house.  The police hadn’t kept him very long, so he had the luxury of a long shower at the hotel, followed by a stop at Krispy Kreme to reward Kate’s fellow officers, and finally had picked up Hershey at six o’clock when the veterinarian opened.

Hershey barked, tail thumping against the leather of the back seat where he stretched out, his head leaning against the arm rest, nose pressed against the window.  Josh followed the dog’s gaze to the station house door.  Kate came through it, still wearing the same filthy clothing he had last seen her in.  Her curls were matted to her head, her face was pale, but her eyes glowed with a radiance that competed with the brilliant sunrise behind her.

He covered the distance between them in record time and took her into his arms.  He had so much he wanted to say, but once she was there in his arms, he forgot everything.

“Are you all right?” she asked, breaking away and scrutinizing him.  Then she looked past him to the car and Hershey.  “Both of you?”

“Nothing a little R and R won’t heal,” Josh assured her.  “Let’s get you home and cleaned up, then we’ll talk.”

Instead of the rebellion he’d come to expect whenever he tried to take care of her, the look she gave him was filled with uncertainty.  She was more exhausted than he’d thought.

Had Blake done something to hurt her before Josh got there?  The thought raced through him, made his heart skitter.  He almost asked, but one look at her bruised expression made him keep silent.  There would be plenty of time for talking later—an entire lifetime for them both, if he had his way.

Kate collapsed into his arms, her body trembling as he held her. His arms around her were everything she had ever hoped for—more than she deserved considering what she had put him through.

“Can we stay like this forever?” she whispered when she finally found the strength to speak.

He chuckled.  “I don’t think I can leave Hershey in the car that long.  Besides, we’re leaving for Ohio.”

Kate’s heart misfired.  How could she be so stupid?  She was trying to find the courage to ask him to forgive her, to give her a second chance, and he was trying to say good-bye!

She pushed away from him, pulled her shirt around her as if the thin cotton could block the icy fingers squeezing her heart, stealing her breath.

Josh watched in dismay as she moved away from him.  Light years away, it felt.  Damn, he should have made his invitation to go to Ohio sound more like an offer, less a command.  But taking her away from this dreary city with its bloody memories was the only thing he’d been thinking about all night.

“This isn’t easy for me—” she started, then frowned and stopped as if considering her words.   A chill raced through him, had he misunderstood, assumed too much in thinking that she’d join him?

“I need to ask you, tell you,” she faltered again.  He stood, took a step closer to her, trying to bridge the distance between them.

What was so difficult for her to say?  The most confident, strong woman Josh had ever met, a woman who could face a killer unarmed and come out on top, but who could not meet his gaze?

“I love you.”  The three words came from her with a defiant edge.  She raised her face, stared at him head on, daring him to respond.

Josh couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his lips.  He’d been so worried that she had been about to say something else.  She glared at him, her good hand fisted on her hip.

“What’s so funny?”  Her voice lowered.  “I’m sorry I left you at the hospital, sorry I didn’t tell you what I was doing.  Can’t you give me a second chance?”

“I want to give you more than that,” he told her, his lips caressing her cheek, his hands resting on her hips, pulling her back to him, where she belonged.  “I want to give you the rest of my life.”

He felt her draw her breath in, watched as she closed her eyes for a long moment.  When they opened again, it was with a smile that filled her entire being.

“Really?”  Her voice was filled with awe and wonder.

He kissed the freckles on her nose.  “Really.”

She nodded at that, then her smile widened into a devilish grin.  “I’ve always liked your bedside manner, doctor,” she said in a husky whisper as her hand slid beneath his shirt.  “Guess it wouldn’t be so bad having you around on a permanent basis.”

EPILOGUE

The hum of the wheels against the blacktop quickly lulled Kate to sleep.  She woke as the car slowed, opened her eyes in time to see an Amish man in a horse and buggy nod to Josh as Josh carefully passed him.  Josh shifted gears, then his hand returned to her leg and Kate realized it wasn’t the car’s change of speed that had awakened her.

It was missing his touch, his warmth.

Hershey’s snores filled the car, mingled with the classic rock on the radio.  The landscape was a rich medley of golds, reds and greens, all spread out across rolling hills, forests and farmland.

“Where are we?”

Josh glanced at her, flashed her a quick smile.  “Almost home.”

The road curved through a small town with one red light.  Kate noticed two buggies hitched at a community hitching post and several people dressed in Amish clothing mingling with the other townspeople.  Then Josh turned onto a rural route that led through a dark forest for several miles before emerging into more farmland.  He pulled the car onto a dirt lane and they drove over one last hill.

Kate caught her breath.  “This can’t be it.”

Josh stopped the car.  “Why?  What’s wrong?”

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Kate climbed from the car and stared at the house before her.  A white farmhouse, red tin roof, red shutters, red front door.  Gingerbread adorned the porch, wide, welcoming stone steps led the way up.

The house of her visions—of her dreams.

Josh’s arms circled around her from behind, snugged her close.  “Welcome home, Kate.”

She turned within his embrace, raised her face to his and kissed him deeply, ignoring the tears that streamed freely down her cheeks.  Home.

It wasn’t the house, the safe haven of her dreams, that inspired the joy she felt.  It was the man who was with her, the man who would always be at her side, who would always believe in her.  Josh was her home.

She never wanted to leave the warm comfort of his presence.  After all, she’d died once to get here.

Till death do us part, she vowed.  Again.

About CJ Lyons:

As a pediatric ER doctor, CJ Lyons has lived the life she writes about in her cutting edge suspense novels.  She has assisted police and prosecutors with cases involving child abuse, rape, homicide and Munchausen by Proxy and has worked in numerous trauma centers, as a crisis counselor, victim advocate, as well as a flight physician for Life Flight.  CJ credits her patients and their families for teaching her the art of medicine and giving her the courage to pursue her dream of becoming a novelist.

Her first novel, LIFELINES (Berkley, March 2008), received praise as a “breathtakingly fast-paced medical thriller” from Publishers Weekly, was reviewed favorably by the Baltimore Sun and Newsday, named a Top Pick by Romantic Times Book Review Magazine, and became a National Bestseller.  LIFELINES also won a Readers’ Choice Award for Best First Novel.

Her second novel, WARNING SIGNS, was published by Berkley in January, 2009, with the third, URGENT CARE, in November, 2009. To learn more about CJ and her work, go to www.cjlyons.net.