3

The sound of my phone ringing wakes me up and I look at my watch—8:00 a.m. How did I sleep so late? More to the point, I’m late for work! I give my alarm clock the evil eye, even though it’s probably human error, my error.

I take a breath and answer the phone. “Hello.” I try to fake an awake, bright voice but don’t know if I pull it off or not.

“Sophie. Sorry, did I wake you?”

Okay, so I didn’t pull it off. “No. Of course not,” I lie.

“How are you?”

My sluggish mind finally comes out of its stupor and I recognize the voice. “Good thanks, Darren. And you?”

I worked with Detective Darren Carter from Tucson Homicide on the DC Slasher case. He’s a good cop and a nice guy. In fact, if I hadn’t already been involved with someone at the time, our relationship might have extended beyond the professional. But I was taken, full stop.

“Pretty good,” he says. “Still planning on heading out this way for some R & R?” His voice is slightly hesitant—maybe he thought I’d cancel.

“Of course.” I get out of bed. “Flying out Friday…God, that’s tomorrow.”

He laughs. “Yes, it is.” A pause. “Had any of those dreams of yours recently?”

Darren’s the only person who knows about my visions. He saw me “experience” a young girl’s murder during a particularly realistic vision. I still remember his words: My aunt had the gift and you’ve got it, too.

“No, no dreams.”

“That a good thing?”

“The jury’s out.”

“I can understand that,” Darren says.

A big part of me feels overwhelming relief that I’m not dreaming about murdered women, not experiencing the perverted feelings of pleasure in the mind of a killer. It freaked me out big-time, even though it helped me solve the Slasher case. And that’s where the guilt comes in. It helped me save lives, so does that mean if I was dreaming and having waking visions now, I’d be saving victims from some other sick psycho?

“So, are you working on anything interesting at the moment?” I move the conversation away from the visions.

“We’ve got a professional hit. That’s unusual for us.”

“Any leads?”

“None to speak of.”

“I guess that’s why they call it professional.”

He laughs. “The good news is it looks like I’ve managed to wangle a few days off. I’ll show you the sights of Tucson.”

“Excellent.” I pause. “Well, I better get moving—I’m late for work. I presume your spare bedroom’s still on offer.”

“You bet. See you tomorrow.”

“Nine a.m.”

BlackWidow has entered the room.

DialM: Finally she returns. Was it good, BW?

BlackWidow: Yes. He didn’t even hesitate when I started coming on to him. Who could resist him, right? Men…your egos truly are out of control.

NeverCaught: I almost feel sorry for Malcolm. Almost!

BlackWidow: What about what you’re going to do to Cindy, Susie, Ling, Clair and Brigitte?

NeverCaught: I wish I could have them all.

DialM: What’s the house like?

BlackWidow: Beautiful. Big, modern, quiet.

AmericanPsycho has entered the room.

BlackWidow: Hey, Psycho.

AmericanPsycho: Nice work, BW. He looked very content. Satisfied.

NeverCaught: Hey, how come we didn’t get to see photos?

AmericanPsycho: I didn’t see a photo of Malcolm.

BlackWidow: So you dumped the body?

AmericanPsycho: He was disposed of in the early hours of this morning in Tucson, just like we agreed.

BlackWidow: And the scene?

AmericanPsycho: Also like we agreed. All the bodies will be found around the same area, with the same marks.

BlackWidow: Malcolm was a great ***. And I did enjoy that body of his. Six-foot-four and all black, rippling muscle. I can see how he got his job.

AmericanPsycho: Nice to know you’re a satisfied customer.

BlackWidow: I’m satisfied, all right. And definitely no links to me, right?

AmericanPsycho: I’ve taken care of everything. Trust me.

I walk through Tucson airport, maneuvering my bag toward the pick-up area, where Darren and I have arranged to meet. I’m annoyed by the slight butterflies I feel over seeing Darren again and I walk faster in a futile attempt to look and feel focused.

Before I make it to the automatic doors, I see him. He catches sight of me at exactly the same moment and walks toward me. My stomach does an extra flip—damn it. Darren hasn’t changed a bit—then again, it was only six months ago. He’s five-eleven and skinny, with slightly tousled black hair and midnight-blue eyes. His eyes are spectacular and I remember having to pull myself away from them on several occasions. He smiles, and even from here I can see his dimples, which make him look younger than his thirty-odd years. I sigh, trying to work out why I find his dimples so incredibly attractive. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Once we’re within touching distance things become awkward. A kiss on the cheek? A hug? A handshake? There should be an in-between greeting for these sorts of circumstances. I go for the hug, figuring that’s the safest option. A handshake might offend and a kiss may have other implications. Too complicated, even though I guess I’m officially single now.

“Hey, you,” he says, his big smile still firmly planted across his face.

“Hi.”

His hand reaches down in an offer to pull my wheelie bag.

“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s light.” Besides, I’m not giving up my bag when it gives me something to do with at least one of my hands.

We both start walking.

“You’re looking well.” He glances at me briefly then looks ahead again.

“You too. Fully healed of course.” I resist the urge to touch his left arm, which was in a sling last time I saw him.

“A little bullet never hurt anyone.” His tone is sarcastic macho bravado.

I laugh. “God, I wonder how many cops have said that.”

“Too many.”

His unmarked navy-blue Mercury Sable is parked near the arrivals gate, in a no-standing zone. He pops the trunk and I throw in my luggage before climbing into the passenger side.

He starts the car. “It’s great to see you again.” He doesn’t look at me.

“You, too.” I follow suit, eyes front.

“How are you?”

“Good. Fine.”

He’s silent for a few seconds. “Not very convincing.” He studies my face briefly before pulling into the traffic. “How are you really?” We move forward slowly, backed up with the other cars leaving the airport.

I lean my head back against the headrest and let out an exhausted sigh. “I don’t know, Darren…” I bring one knee up to my chest. “I’m not sleeping.”

“Well, no wonder you’re not having any special dreams.” He smiles. “Can’t dream if you’re not asleep.”

“Okay, so I’m sleeping a little bit. But not much.”

“And nothing at all?” He’s asking for confirmation, perhaps concerned I might be hiding something from him. Truth is, he’s the only person I don’t have to hide from. He knows my secret and he’s not going to fire me or write something detrimental in my file.

“No.” I move my head off the rest and look at him. “I don’t even know if I want to see anything.” I flick my eyes back to the road, scared to witness his response.

We follow the stream of traffic onto a highway, and speed up to about sixty.

“What cases have you been working on?” Darren asks.

“The usual—serial killers, cold cases, abductions.”

He nods. “But nothing in the field?”

“No.” I look out the car window at the trees and notice the branches weighed down by plump leaves.

“I can help you, Sophie. My aunt told me lots of things about her gift. When she first knew, how she controlled it—all that stuff.”

I pull myself away from the alluring trees and focus on Darren. “The question is, do I want to know?” I let out another sigh, this time a sigh of relief. Honesty feels good.

“Well, that’s up to you.”

We’re interrupted by the very loud ringing of Darren’s cell phone.

“Sure you can hear it?” I joke, relieved to be able to lighten the mood.

“Ha, ha.” He flips the phone open. “Detective Carter…right…uh huh.” His voice becomes uncertain and he shoots a strange look my way. “Damn. Can’t Bolson handle it? All right, all right, I’ll see you soon.” He flips his phone shut and looks at me. “Sorry. I’m not officially on leave until tomorrow.”

I smile. “Duty calls.”

He swings the car around in a U-turn. “Doesn’t it always?”