Agnes Malloy walked into the Arvada Police Department, holding her Pumpkin Spice Latte. It was only September, but her favorite drink was already available. She took a sip, trying to ignore the shivers rustling up the back of her neck that meant something was wrong.

“Good morning, Detective.” Evelyn Gomez greeted her from the behind the glass partition. She was always cheerful no matter the circumstances and, even on Agnes’s worse days, brightened her mood.

“Every time you say that, I still can’t believe I made detective.”

“You earned it. Your dad would have been proud of you.”

In a split second, Evelyn had doused her morning. Her father would have only been proud of her if she had buried her psychic abilities. Even if she had pretended that she wasn’t psychic, she wasn’t sure he’d be proud of her. Nothing she had ever done pleased him.

But she brushed the pain behind her and smiled. “Thank you, Evelyn. Is Detective Peters here yet?”

“You’re kidding, right? He’s late, as always.”

Evelyn buzzed her inside.

Agnes smiled. “Have a good day.”

“You, too…Detective.”

Agnes headed for her desk that held five days of paperwork. Her partner’s desk was neat as a pin.

Captain Brian Morgan peeked behind his door. “Malloy, my office.”

His gruff voice made her wince. The day hadn’t even started yet, and she was already in the dog house.

He sat behind his desk in an overstuffed chair. The overhead light shined off his bald head. The only hair he had was his bushy eyebrows. He took a drink from his cup that had the words captain written on it. Papers and files were scattered across his desk. Organization was not his forte.

He glanced at his computer screen, then wrote something on a piece of paper. She stared at the photograph that hung behind Captain Morgan, one of her father when he was a rookie. He actually looked happy. The captain and her father had been partners for fifteen years, but five years ago, her father had been killed in the line of duty. That day had been the worst day of her life.

Her mother had died of breast cancer a year before her father was murdered, so she was an orphan. Or at least that’s what she thought. However, the captain had appointed himself to not only to act as her captain, but her father as well. Not a good combination.

Captain Morgan handed her a piece of paper with an address. Agnes knew the area. It was a new development that had just opened.

“This just came in,” he said. “There’s been a murder. Tom’s already on his way to the crime scene. From the reports, it’s pretty grisly. I want this done by the book, Malloy. None of this feelings crap.”

Her muscles tensed tighter than an overly stretched rubber band. Tom must have been shooting off his mouth again. He’d always admired her older brother, Frank, who had made fun of her abilities since she was a child.

“I understand.”

“Good. Tom says that you’re relying on feelings rather than evidence. Feelings don’t get convictions.”

She was so tired of this argument, but she nodded. “I know. Have I ever given a case to the DA that didn’t have hard evidence?”

He frowned. “No. I took a big risk in promoting you to detective. You know your brother was against it.”

She bristled. How could she forget? Her brother thought she should be a meter-maid and use her so-called abilities to guess which car ran out of time first. He thought his jokes were so funny. Unfortunately, so did her dad. He was the superstar and had been Dad’s favorite. “Yes, I know.”

“Don’t let me regret it.”

“You won’t.”

She left the station as quickly as she entered. When she pulled up to the scene, there were black and whites along with Tom’s trusty blue Ford truck. As being senior officer, he was always called in first. They’d only been parters for the last five months. Unfortunately, he’d been her brother Frank’s partner before Frank went to Quantico to train to be a FBI agent.

He drank from the same Kool-Aid as everyone else. He thought psychics were crack-pots. If she wanted to be respected, she’d better keep any mumbo-jumbo to herself, or she would be a meter-maid.

She found Tom in the kind of wide-open kitchen that she envied–granite counter tops, an island, double door refrigerator, both a conventional and convection oven. He was bent over examining the dead woman spread out on the floor.

“About time you got here,” he muttered. Coolness flashed in his silver eyes.

She refused to play his game of always being one up. “You could have called me.”

“I thought you would have sensed the call.” He chuckled at his own joke. When she didn’t take the bait, he shrugged. “Besides the captain wanted a word with you.”

She glared, biting back a retort of calling him a rat-fink, but it would only get her in more hot water. He was well respected in the department, but as far as women’s rights went, he hadn’t gotten on that bus, which was why his desk was neat. He made her do the paperwork. She wanted to complain, but she had too many strikes against her, thanks to her overbearing older brother telling everyone that she saw ghosts.

She looked at the poor woman spread out on the floor. Blood had seeped down the woman’s throat, drenching her pink suit, and had spilled onto the floor.

She took out her iPad.

“Forensics just finished up. They’ve already taken the crime photos.” Tom Peters frowned, his bushy gray caterpillar eyebrows nearly touching each other. “Why do you need that cumbersome thing?”

Agnes laughed. “It’s not cumbersome. It’s an iPad and with the Apple pencil I can write on it.”

He was still old school and didn’t like technology. She didn’t know why he always insisted on having this hundred-year old argument. But then, he was fifteen years older than her and was counting down the days to retirement, which as far as she could tell, he had another long decade before he’d cross the finish line.

Not wanting to argue, she changed the subject. “Who is she?”

“Name’s Sharon Reese. She’s an accountant.” Tom said, as he scribbled notes on his note pad. He even made a quick sketch of Sharon. Unlike her, his few lines were done remarkably well. He always said drawing out the grim scene imprinted it on his mind.

But she doubted he’d have any problems remembering this horror.

“Someone was really pissed off.” Agnes walked around the victim, acid burning her gut at the grisly scene. She took pictures of Sharon with her tablet in different positions, so she could go over them later. “Forensics already been here?”

Three slices of bacon were flattened onto a blackened frying pan. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of burnt coffee and bacon. “Must have been cooking breakfast when he attacked her.” Grease was splattered onto the stove. “I wonder if she managed to throw grease onto his face before he killed her. Maybe we should check the nearby hospitals for anyone coming in with grease burns.”

“I’ll call it in,” he said.

Agnes knelt next to the body. “God, whoever did this must really hate women.”

Sharon’s eyes were frozen in horror. Her throat had been sliced from ear to ear, and her shirt ripped into two. A long ugly cut ran from her belly button to her breast bone. Her intestines draped over her stomach as if they’d been pulled out. Near Sharon’s stretched out hand, there was a broken mug and a brown stain of coffee on the tile and wooden cupboard.

“Poor woman.” Tom shook his head.

“Her fingernails are clean.” Agnes studied Sharon’s pale hands. “He must have caught her by surprise. Doesn’t appear to be much of a struggle.”

“According to the first officers on the scene, neighbors didn’t hear anything.”

“Who found her?”

“Car pool came to pick her up at seven-thirty this morning like always.” Tom tilted his head. “Front door was unlocked.”

Agnes lifted her eyebrow. “The killer went outside in broad daylight?”

“Apparently, he’s pretty damn brazen.”

“I’d like to talk to the first person who found her.”

Tom checked through his notes. “It was a woman in the victim’s carpool. There were five of them who drove together every morning, according to patrol. A woman named Doris Walters found her. She’s pretty shook up. Patrol has them outside near their car…A blue Subaru.”

“Forensics done with the rest of the house.”

“Yes, it’s not a big house. They’re working on the backyard now. We think that’s how he got inside, since they found footprints in the dirt and grass leading to the patio door.”

“I’m going to take a look around the house.”

“Going to try and get in touch with the victim?” Tom gave her a dry smile.

Agnes shrugged, pretending his comment hadn’t peeled back her wounds. “No. I just have an uncanny knack of knowing the victim by wandering through the crime scene.”

He gave her a dubious look. He knew she was lying, but she refused to admit she was psychic. Psychics had no place in the police department. Her father had drilled that into her skull.

Despite what father had said, her ability had helped her solve many cases.

Not that she got any credit for it.

She left Tom who was still sketching the victim while she took pictures of the path from the kitchen to the living room to the entry way. Neither room was very big. For an accountant, Sharon had a modest ranch. Her kitchen and living room were both open, and she had a large screen television set, so obviously robbery wasn’t the motive. Or at least, he didn’t have time to take it before the car pool arrived.

She leisurely walked into each room, starting with the bathroom, wanting to understand Sharon. She’d been someone’s friend, lover, or daughter that had been brutally taken from them. Sharon had been extremely neat–everything was put away–curling iron, hair dryer, make-up all lined up perfectly in the cabinet. Unlike Agnes, whose bathroom looked like an explosion went off. But then again, she hadn’t had any house guests for a long time. Her mother used to say she was too consumed with her work. She thought it was because she was a plump homicide detective, who worked twenty-four seven and couldn’t stop looking at every man as a potential suspect.

She entered another bedroom, which she suspected was a guest bedroom. There were no clothes hanging in the closet or folded in the antique looking oak dresser. A smaller flat screen television hung on the wall and the remote control was on the nightstand. Another opportunity the killer had missed.

The last room she went into was the master bedroom, where Sharon had a king-size four-poster bed that of course was neatly made. Agnes hadn’t had time to make hers–again. She was definitely not a morning person, and struggled to roll out of bed when the alarm sounded, but Sharon told a different story.

Stuffed animals were arranged neatly on the bed. The dresser, nightstand, and entertainment set were all dusted. Sharon had perfume bottles on the dresser that sat on a pristine glass mirror. Her movies were alphabetized on a shelf below another flat screen television. This was definitely a woman who liked everything neat and organized.

Pictures of Sharon in happier times filled her room, as if she wanted those she loved to be close to her. In the corner of the room, she had an oak desk that faced away from the television. Agnes bet Sharon had liked perfect quiet while she was working, but there wasn’t a stitch of paper or writing utensil.

She opened one closet door, and as she suspected, shirts were with shirts, sweaters with sweaters, suits with suits, and pants with pants. Even the shoes were lined up based on weather–sandals were all together, high heels all together, boots all together. Sharon didn’t like to take anything for chance. She wouldn’t be someone who liked to take risks. Order and organization had rated high for her.

So, how did the killer get inside? Sharon would have locked every door and window before she went to work.

Something glowed and flickered out of the corner of her eye. The ghostly apparition of a woman formed. Sharon Reese. She had the same pink suit on–minus the blood and looked at Agnes with desperation. Refusing to acknowledge her, Agnes stiffened and held out her palm. “No!”

The shimmering apparition faded, and Agnes sighed with relief. Seeing ghosts was definitely against departmental rules–one she refused to break.

Alarm–a voice echoed in her ear.

Agnes groaned. Unfortunately, ghostly voices were harder to ignore, especially if they made sense regarding a crime. Agnes hurried out of the bedroom to see if the voice meant an alarm system. Sharon seemed like a person who would have wanted her home protected. Agnes flicked through the pictures on her iPad to see if she missed anything. Sure enough in the corner of doors were little white motion boxes, but they obviously hadn’t gone off.

She hurried back to the kitchen. “Tom, what time did Sharon turn off her alarm system?”

“I don’t know. Another thing on our list to do.”

“We’re going to have a big one.”

“Detective Malloy?”

Agnes turned to a female officer who was looking less than happy.

“What’s the problem, officer?”

“Officer Patricia Evans.” She pointed her thumb toward the front door. “There’s a man outside insisting upon seeing you.”

Agnes frowned. “Is he one of the witnesses?”

She shook her head. “No. But he swears he has evidence about the case and will only share it with you. He’s getting insistent.”

By her nervous tone, Agnes thought she’d better go. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Tom waved his hand. “Go ahead. I’ll be out in a few minutes anyway. Agnes?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. This guy could be the killer coming back to look at his handiwork.”

“I don’t think anyone would have missed him,” Evans said. “He’s kinda hard to overlook.”

Intrigued, Agnes followed the officer out of Sharon’s home. Evans hadn’t had to point the man out. Her heart sped when she glanced at him. She couldn’t help but be awed by the sheer size and presence of the persistent man. She had never seen anyone with golden eyes. They were the eyes of a predator.

Definitely out of her league, but man, he turned on all of her libido senses. Whoever he was, he looked like he’d just got done doing a model shoot for Marvel comics. He was at least a head taller than any man there, and his chest and arms could have flattened a sumo wrestler. His neck was rock solid, the jaw blunted under a veiled week’s worth of bearding, with a deep cleft shadowing the middle of his chin. “He’s the one with the long, black hair?”

She wondered if it was as silky as it looked.

Evans nodded. “That’s the guy. Have fun. He doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Let me in! I need to talk to her!” He slammed into two officers like a bowling ball crashing into two blue pins.

The officers staggered, but managed to keep him back. The smaller of the two actually reached for his taser.

“Stay back or I’m going to zap your sorry ass.”

They were having a devil of a time keeping the man behind the yellow crime tape. If the man couldn’t tone down his insistent behavior, he’d find himself sitting in the back of a squad car.

Agnes tucked her iPad underneath her arm. “I’ll take it from here.”

“I told you that you can’t cross the crime scene tape.” The taller officer had his hands up as if to prevent the overeager man from breaking it.

Other people were crowded outside and had moved away from him, so the officers weren’t the only ones he was making uncomfortable. She thought about what Tom said and left her libido at the crime scene.

Although he was no slouch of man, his efforts would have proven useless if the Hulk wanted to break inside.

The man pointed. “She’s coming toward us. Will you please let me speak with her? It’s urgent.”

His voice was so husky it made her palms sweat.

This was ridiculous. She was at a murder investigation, not at a bar. She refused to think about her traitorous body tingling at just looking at this man.

“Officer.” Agnes lifted the tape over her head. “I’ll take it from here.”

“I need to see the crime scene,” he blurted.

Agnes narrowed her eyes. “No, you don’t. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes, in private.” He glared at the two officers.

An image of what he could do with his lips in private made her squirm uncomfortably. Why was she having hot fantasies about him? She’d never done this before.

Using her sternest voice, she said, “Follow me.” She led him across the street where a huge oak tree offered some shade.

He was too close, and she got a whiff of smoke, as if he’d been sitting next to a camp fire.

She whirled around, frustrated at losing control around him. “What is it that you want?”

Her voice was harder than the captain’s.

He hadn’t even blinked, but she suddenly realized his eyes reminded her of a tiger’s, studying her, ready to pounce. His lashes were absurdly long for a man, black as night, framing tiger’s eyes that burned with dominance and arrogance. This was a man used to getting his way. He’d better get used to disappointment.

She might find him insanely attractive, but she was a police detective used to setting the stage.

“I have information vital for you.”

“First of all, who are you?”

“My name is Anonghos, but everyone calls me Hoss.”

“Fine. Anonghos what?”

“That’s just it. We don’t have surnames like you humans do.”

“Humans? So, you dropped your last name?”

So, this was a crazy super hero.

He stopped, then opened his mouth and shut it, as if he realized his mistake.

“I have never had one. Look, I know how insane this is going to sound, but you have to believe me, or more women are going to die.”

“I’m listening,” she said calmly, ignoring her cramping gut that was always a warning something bad was going to happen. Her grandmother had always said it was a shining gift, but Agnes always attributed it to good police work.

“The man you’re looking for is pure evil.”

A total understatement.

“Go on.” She wasn’t sure about him and slowly moved her hand toward her gun, not sure what this man was capable of. Her only concern were the curious onlookers who could get seriously hurt.

“He has a list of women he’s going after.”

“How do you know this? Have you seen this list?”

“No, but I know one person who is on it.”

Uneasiness crept up her spine at his penetrative stare.

“And who is it?”

“You are.”

God, he was the killer. She slowly removed her revolver careful not to make any quick moves.

Still trying to remain in control, she asked, “Why do you say this?”

He clasped her shoulders. “Because you’re my mate.”

A shock shimmered up her arms. Instantly, images flowed through her mind of intimately embracing this man in exotic poses that made her gasp. She jerked away.

“What did you just do to me?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head, but studied the front and back of his hands, as if he’d felt the same thing she did. “I just touched you to get you to listen to me.”

Strange images of space ships and dragons popped into her head, replacing the sexy pictures, and she shook her head. They felt real, too real.

She stepped away. “Stay where you are.”

Her stomach twisted into tiny knots, and her heart beat wildly in her chest. She shouldn’t have come over here alone. He could easily overpower her, but he hadn’t made any sudden moves. She whipped out her gun and aimed it at his heart. “Freeze. You’re under arrest.”

“On what charge?”

“For threatening a police officer.”

His mysterious tiger’s eyes burned brighter, and she thought she detected a low animal growl. “You don’t know what threatening is.”

Four police officers surrounded him, their guns drawn.

“Don’t make me shoot you.” Agnes flicked off the safety.

“I won’t. But we’re not done yet.”

She shoved her gun back into her holster. “Read him his rights.” Unfortunately, she was shaking violently.

He had to be the killer, but why did every ounce of her rebel? She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was making a deadly mistake.