Looking through dark glasses, Cleo saw but pretended not to see two men moving toward her, both about six feet tall, one with dark hair, the other light.

“Daniel Sinclair’s an Aries,” the police chief had warned Cleo over the phone. “With more of the sign’s undesirable traits than desirable ones.”

Aries. A fire sign. The most energetic of the fire signs. Aries used that energy to bring about change. So what undesirable traits did Daniel Sinclair harbor? Was he intolerant, a poor judge of character, impulsive, or all of the above? But then there were the positive traits. Aries individuals were the risk takers, daring and aggressive.

Neither man looked like a cop, she decided. And they both looked rather…well, unusual. The dark-haired man was extremely tidy, the light-haired man sloppy in an almost equally obsessive way. The tidy one was dressed in a striped polo shirt tucked neatly into creased jeans. On his feet were Velcro sneakers. She didn’t know anyone over four years old who wore Velcro.

As they closed the distance, she could see that the Velcro man’s face was shiny, as if someone had held him down and given him a good scrubbing. In the back of her mind she thought, There’s something a little slanted here.

While the Velcro man was soft around the edges, his friend was rough. He wore khaki-colored cargo pants, leather sandals, no socks, and a camp shirt that had probably been black at one time, but was now a soft gray. Rounding off the slacker look was a need to shave. A shock of hair that was genetically brown, but had been bleached and streaked by the sun, fell over direct eyes. Bold, Aries eyes. Eyes that held irritation. At her? Or the heat? Both?