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."