She was the “skeptical psychic,” as Ben had just described her. But there it was — a feeling crawling down her spine that she couldn’t ignore if she’d wanted to. She’d had the feeling many times before in her life, since she was a little girl, but it came and went and was never anything she could channel or control. An awareness that didn’t rely on any of her usual five senses.

Suddenly the coat closet just beyond the kitchenette was all she could concentrate on. Something was in there — possibly a clue to help find the maniac the police were looking for.

“What exactly did this creep do?” she asked quietly.

His expression turned grim. “What he did was kill one woman a week by posing as a pizza delivery guy. Eight weeks and eight deaths. Then suddenly he stopped three weeks ago— no more murders since then. It’s strange because usually serial killers begin to escalate once they’ve established a pattern. We don’t know when he’ll start again, but it’s only a matter of time.”

A chill went down her spine. If she could do something, anything, then it would be worth it. She pushed away from the counter and walked directly toward the coat closet.

“I know what I said earlier about not really believing in my abilities,” she began, “but I’m getting this weird vibe right now.”

“Weird vibe?” The cool, cynical edge was back.

The impulse was too strong to ignore. “This will only take a second. It’s probably nothing.”

Hell, with her track record, maybe it was the guy’s dog.

Eden wrapped her fingers around the handle. The hinges creaked as she slowly opened the door.

She blinked and stared with disbelief at what she saw.

She’d been right. There was a clue inside. A big clue.

A clue that was about six feet tall, 250 pounds, and held a large knife.