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.