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got a day or so before the next body turns up,” Miguel said.
    Helene’s determined gaze met his. “Not if we stop him first.”

Chapter Five
    “You’re so pretty-y-y.”
    He moved in time to his song, prancing around the table bearing his instruments of mayhem. In one hand he held cheap costume jewelry mucked up with gore from his earlier victims. Dancing the fingers of his other hand across the gleaming steel knives, probes, and clamps neatly laid out on the table, he grabbed one long, sharp probe, and tossed back the boa he wore around his neck.
    With the probe gripped elegantly in his hand, he neared the naked young man strapped to an adjacent table and continued with his serenade.
    “Oh so pretty-y-y…”
    He smiled and leaned his face close to that of the handsome male whose eyes bulged with terror. Muffled sounds escaped the gag around his victim’s mouth, although he would soon remove the binding so the young man could sing. He loved to hear them sing . He trailed the sharp point of the probe along the perfect skin of the man’s face, leaving behind a nasty scratch.
    But the scratch was nothing compared to what was to come.
    Nothing compared to what he had suffered . It hadn’t been bad enough that he’d lost the use of his legs. They’d rejected him time and time again for one role or another. He was “never right for the role” but he’d known what they meant. They didn’t want a cripple ruining their production.
    But no one could refuse him now, he thought as he started singing once and smiled at the pleasant tune. He knew what was soon to some.
    “Oh so pretty and witty and…dead.”

    Helene’s eyes blurred from reading the long list of numbers on the LUDS from all four victims’ cell phones and even a landline. As it turned out, victim number four might have been totally technologically challenged, but he had definitely known how to use both his phones.
    Even with her super-human ability to speed-read and interpret the data, the overload was taxing. Besides, she had never really been good with numbers. Maybe it was because she was a binary kind of goddess: “1” stood for good, and “0” stood for evil. In her book, that was all that was needed to mete out justice.
    As she let her mind play with all the numbers, mentally arranging and rearranging them in orders that might make sense, she leaned back in her chair and dragged her hair away from her face. Once again the numbers melded into a jumble, warning her that even goddesses needed a break.
    Did her partner? She looked over at Sanchez.
    His head of caramel-colored hair was bent down as he went through the weekly newspapers they had found at the homes of three of the four victims. All his attention was now focused on those materials, but during the long course of the day she had known when his attention had been on her.
    It had been disconcerting to feel the change in his aura as desire slipped out before he reined it back in. His need had awakened a corresponding pull within her. But his determined control had brought her an unusual spurt of disappointment.
    Which made no sense . Disappointment meant she had been hoping he’d do something about that desire. She didn’t normally bother with mortals. They were too frail and inconsequential. But it was getting harder to think that way about Miguel as she spent more time with him.
    Miguel was anything but frail and inconsequential. He was bright, respectful, and responsible, and she was finding it very easy to work with him. When combined with his looks, those qualities made him even sexier. Which was making it difficult to battle her attraction.
    Needing a jolt of sugar and caffeine to get her focused once again, she rose. “I’m going for coffee. Can I get you something?” she asked, the earlier camaraderie lingering.
    “Actually, I’ll come with,” he said, stood, and grabbed his jacket, slipping it over his broadly muscled shoulders.
    She asked, surprised, “You’ll come