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.