Danger Signals

with any reluctance he may or may not have felt about parting company with her.

He was careful to keep his vague sense of guilt blocked, but it accounted for the edge in his voice when he spoke to her, and the silence in the car on the way to his place.

It's police business, he told himself. He needed her in the car with him so he could get her impressions on the spot. But as he pulled up to the curb across the street from the Hofmeyers' 1930's style bungalow and parked in the approximate spot where the watcher's car had been this morning, he looked up at the windows of his apartment and his mind insisted on putting Tierney Doyle in the room behind those windows. In his bedroom. More precisely, in his bed. Naked. With her hair tousled on his pillow and her cheeks flushed and rosy and a very satisfied smile on her kiss-swollen lips. And her body…

He swore silently and earnestly. Shifted in his seat and twitched his suit jacket around to hide his growing discomfort as he looked over at Tierney. 'Well? You getting anything?'

Damned if her cheeks weren't flushed and rosy, exactly like his daydream version, except she wasn't smiling. Her hands were knotted together in her lap and the shine in her eyes looked more like embarrassment than sexual fulfillment. Lord help me, he thought. I tried to block it, I really did.

'Um…I'm picking up some really strong emotions.' Tierney said, 'but I don't think they're from The Watcher.' She cleared her throat and flashed him a small, tenuous smile. 'I think somebody must be-' She put a hand over her eyes and muttered. 'Lord, this is embarrassing…um, making love-really close by. Because all I can pick up is-'

'Yeah, yeah,' Wade growled, 'I get the picture.' He did, too-all too well. Evidently some emotions were just too powerful to block.

'Wade, I'm sorry. I'm not getting anything else. That one-it's just that it's one of the most powerful emotions-'

'Yeah, right up there with killing.' he said dryly as he reached for the ignition key.

He felt her eyes on him. 'It's true. I hadn't thought about it, but yes…two of the most powerful human emotions involve the creating of life, and the taking of it. But I do wish-'

'Forget it.' Please! 'It's not your fault.'

Which was putting it mildly. He was pretty sure the idea of cavorting naked in his bedsheets would be the furthest thing from her mind.

And if he wasn't careful, thoughts like that could get him in a load of trouble. Charges of sexual harassment, at least. He'd have to watch himself from now on. He'd let himself get too damn comfortable with her today.

Picnicking with her, for God's sake. Couldn't let that happen again.

He drove her back to the Rose Garden to pick up her car with his elbow on the windowsill and his hand covering his mouth, angry with himself. And even though he remembered to block it, he knew from her troubled silence that Tierney still felt the anger and believed it was directed at her.

What the hell-it's better this way.

So why did he feel sick, sorry and sad, as if he'd just been involved in a lover's quarrel?

Wade had just draped his jacket over the back of his chair and was in the process of taking his cell phone and weapon out of their holsters when Ochoa and Washburn, the Robbery-Homicide twins, surrounded him. Ochoa dropped a short stack of papers on his desk, then hitched one hip onto a corner while Washburn took the visitor's chair beside it.

'What the hell's this?' Wade was in no mood for cryptic.

'Officer Williams's traffic citations that fit the 'profile.' And that's just for the last month.' Washburn said.

Ochoa chimed in, 'Evidently, the majority of traffic miscreants tend to fall into the category of young single males. Go figure.'

Wade cut the stack of citations like a deck of cards and handed one to each of the detectives. 'Okay, start running 'em down. See who's in the system for something worse than a traffic ticket. Check out the addresses. Check everything. See if anything jumps out. We're looking at somebody who's probably been in trouble as a juvenile. Maybe foster care.'

Ochoa and Washburn looked at each other. Washburn, the comedian, said. 'Job would go a lot faster if we split the pile three ways, boss.'

Wade, who was already turning to his computer, swiveled back to glower at the pair, then gave an impatient 'gimme' wave. 'Okay, divvy up. I got something else to take care of first, though. Might take me a while…'

Wade waited until the two detectives had each slapped down a wad of citations and had gone off looking pleased with themselves, then brought up the Google screen, typed in 'Cory Pearson journalist' and hit Search.

'Oh, Cory-you actually met him?' His wife's voice on the phone sounded choked-up, which naturally made his throat do the same.

'Yep,' he said, grinning like an idiot. 'I introduced myself and everything. Didn't mention the part about us being brothers, though.'

There was a pause, and then. 'You told him your name? Was that wise?'

'Well, I guess we'll see. I wanted-I don't know, I guess I was hoping it might jog a memory loose.'

'Yes, but like you said, he's a cop. They're suspicious by nature. What if he decides to check you out?'

'Good-let him. Maybe that will bring something back. Although I'm not sure he's going to have a lot of time to devote to looking into my background, with this serial murder investigation they've got going here.'

'I heard about that,' Sam said. 'It's made the national news.'

'Yes,' Cory said sadly. 'Serial killings always do.'

'Speaking of killing…' Sam's voice sounded sorrowful. 'Your office called. Seems Beirut's exploded again. They want you there-yesterday.'

He swore inventively, raked fingers through his hair and closed his eyes.

'He's not going anywhere, Pearse,' his wife said gently. You know who he is and where he is. He'll still be there when you get back.'

'Yeah, okay, you're right,' he said on a long exhalation.

But he was a journalist who'd seen more of sudden death and young lives cut short than most people would in several lifetimes. Enough to know that what his wife had said wasn't always true.

The rest of the week passed the way Tierney's days always did. She tended the gallery, painted when she could, spent time picking up after Jeannette. And something new: tried not to think of Wade.

She thought about Wade a lot. There had been no more torture killings, and so no word from him. for which she was grateful on several counts-besides the obvious. She needed all the time she could squeeze out of every day to paint, getting ready for the Rose Festival. Or so she told herself. And she didn't like to leave Jeannette alone so much-she told herself that, too. Both of those things were true, but her biggest and best reason for being glad Wade hadn't called her-other than natural relief that no more women had suffered hideous deaths at the hands of a monster-was because she so badly wanted him to.

Although, why she should want to see him ever again was a mystery to her, after the way their picnic lunch at the Rose Gardens had ended.

She'd known immediately the erotic impressions she'd picked up were his-of course she had. And that she was the object of them-she'd known that, too. The feelings had been strong, clear and explicit, and as feelings like that did sometimes, they'd actually formed images in her mind. It wasn't the first time she'd picked up sexual fantasies involving her from men, and even, on a couple of occasions, from women. What was different about this time, and so unsettling to her, was the way she'd responded to them.

To him.

Usually when she picked up something blatantly sexual, she would throw up a mental block, remind herself it was normal and human to have such feelings, and ignore them. But this time… How had she let it happen? Had her guard been down? Or was it because she was attracted to him already? She tried not to ask herself those questions because every time she did it all came back-the way her heart had picked up his slow, heavy, sultry beat. The way the heat had spread through her body like lava, sizzling beneath her skin and settling in the lowest parts of her so that she felt both weighted and restless at the same time. The way she'd longed… ached…needed to be touched.

It had been a long time since she'd been touched that way.