Magnum Force Man

He said nothing.

Claudia maneuvered him into the bedroom and, against her better judgment, unwrapped the tape around his wrists so that she could help him out of his wet clothing. She did the latter in almost complete darkness, not because she was a prude or anything, but because she respected his privacy.

“If you turn out to be a killer, all bets are off,” she warned as she tugged off his jacket. He didn’t offer so much as a flicker of protest, even when she peeled away his soaked shirt.

“I’ll, uh, let you take care of the rest.”

He stripped without a word.

The first thing that struck Claudia about him—well, maybe the second—was his demeanor. Perhaps because he was barely conscious, but he seemed as docile as a child. He shrugged out of his drenched clothing without comment or protest, then climbed into bed and allowed her to re-tape his wrists and ankles. Curling himself into a ball, he drifted off.

The electricity couldn’t have been off that long, but it was already cold inside the cabin. Grabbing extra blankets from the closet, Claudia piled them on the bed, then stood for a moment gazing down at him.

Angling the flashlight beam over his face, she told herself she was checking for injuries, but truth be told, she wanted to get a better look at him. Carefully, she took stock: Dark hair, high cheekbones, a firm jaw and chin. Full lips.

Very full lips.

He had what she and her high-school girlfriends used to call a kissable mouth. Her first crush had had a kissable mouth.

So did this guy. This naked stranger in her bed.

Naked. Stranger. In her bed.

If she were the swooning type, she might feel a little lightheaded at her current situation, but Claudia was no shrinking violet. She had a healthy respect for the human body and her own sexuality, but this little scenario pushed even her boundaries.

She reminded herself she was almost like a doctor here, and he, a patient in her care. She needed to make sure he wasn’t seriously injured.

Or packing a concealed weapon somewhere.

Speaking of which …

She turned and scooped up his dripping clothes and quickly searched through all the pockets. No ID, no money, no car keys. Nothing. So he wasn’t just an unlucky motorist then.

Unless, of course, he’d lost both his wallet and keys. Possible but not very likely.

“So who are you?” she murmured as she turned back to the bed.

“Cold …”

As she drew the down comforter up to his chin and tucked the spare blankets around him, her knuckles brushed against his cheek.

He stirred in his sleep. “Find her.”

“Find who?”

“Danger.”

Claudia swallowed. “Who’s in danger?” Silence.

She put her hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. “Hey! Who were you looking for out there? Who’s in danger?” When he still didn’t answer, she said in frustration, “Who the hell are you? And what am I supposed to do with you?”

“… kill me …” he whispered.

“What?”

He sighed in his sleep and was silent.

Chapter Four

Claudia left the bedroom door open so that she could hear him if he roused. Then she lit some candles, started a fire and after changing out of her wet clothes into some sweats, headed into the kitchen to put on the teakettle.

Ah, the luxury of a gas stove, she thought. At least the power outage wouldn’t deprive her of a hot drink. Nothing like a nice cup of chamomile tea to warm chilled bones and relax taut nerves while waiting for the electricity to come back on.

The chamomile tea addiction was a by-product of her migration to the Black Hills. Back in Chicago, Claudia had preferred black coffee—gallons of it—to keep her alert during her long, tedious hours in the lab. Now she just needed to stay calm.

Her job as Dr. Lasher’s research assistant had been to painstakingly analyze the mountains of number graphs spit out daily by strategically placed REGs—Random Event Generators. It had been Dr. Lasher’s contention that each REG, which resembled a jetliner’s black box, held within it the power to change the world by predicting natural and manmade catastrophes before they happened. And his theory had seemingly been validated when just four short hours before the planes hit the World Trade towers on 9/11, unusual spikes had been observed in the number sequences generated by REGs placed all over the world. Anomalies had also occurred hours before the Asian Tsunami had struck.

Of course, it was one thing to predict a catastrophic event using fluctuations in the number sequences, quite another to determine when and where it would occur and how to stop it. To that end, Dr. Lasher had eventually teamed up with a mysterious colleague who had supplied him with a test subject exhibiting signs of extraordinary precognitive abilities. Their goal was to create a “psychic” machine that interfaced a human pre-cog with the REG in order to better pinpoint pending global disasters.

But Dr. Lasher had come to regret that collaboration, once his suspicions panned out about his colleague. Turned out, he was involved with a covert multinational organization with nefarious plans for the project.

After his discovery, Dr. Lasher became tense and withdrawn, and when Claudia pressed him for more details, he’d mumble inane warnings that made little sense. But in combination with some unusual glitches in the REG graphs, his vague foreshadowing troubled her. She began to wonder if the disturbances in the number sequences were, in fact, indirect communications from the pre-cog. Maybe he was trying to warn her, too.

And then Dr. Lasher had been murdered, and that brief glimpse of the killer’s face had told Claudia everything she needed to know. If she stayed in Chicago, she would be next. The police couldn’t protect her. No one could.

Leaving the city by cover of darkness, she’d driven north by northwest for no particular reason that she could explain. The strange compulsion had eventually led her to Rapid City where she’d rented her little hideaway in the woods and begun a whole new life.

With her research days behind her, Claudia now made a modest living as a website designer, a career that perfectly suited someone who needed to fly underneath the radar. She called her business North by Northwest Designs, and even her most trusted clients were not privy to her real name.

She’d taken other precautions as well, and up until tonight, she’d almost begun to believe that she was safe there.

Now she wasn’t so sure. The stranger’s presence made her uneasy in a way she hadn’t been for a long, long time.

There was something about him that just didn’t seem right. The way he’d appeared so suddenly in front of her car … that unnatural glow in his eyes …

Her thoughts scattered as the high-pitched whistle of the kettle caused her to jump. Then she let out a shaky laugh as she hurried into the kitchen. Obviously, she needed her chamomile tea fix in the worst way.

Carrying the steaming brew into the living room, she grabbed her laptop and settled in before the fire. Luckily, her battery was fully charged and she also had a spare. Since she had no intention of closing her eyes while a strange man was in her bed, she might as well get a little work done. Come morning, when the road had been cleared, she’d take him into town, drop him at the hospital or the police station and wash her hands of the whole nerve-wracking affair.

As she scrolled through her stored images, searching for the right color combination for a collage header, she heard a sound from the bedroom. The incoherent mumble set Claudia’s blood tingling.

Who was he talking to?

Setting the laptop aside, she rose and grabbed the flashlight and pistol, then eased up to the door. Her gaze tracked the light beam from his form on the bed to every corner of the room. He was alone.

Just to be on the safe side, she crossed to the window and checked the lock.

The delirious rambling started up again, and as Claudia walked slowly toward the bed, she experienced an inexplicable feeling of familiarity. Not déjà vu exactly, but something close to it. Something that deepened the chill in her bones and caused her pulse to race. What on earth was going on here?