"You know what he's been through," Leah said.

"Some of it. Not all of it."

"But they're his stories. He has to be the one to tell me."

"That's the way it works. Sorry."

"No, it's okay. I get it."

Riley thought the other woman probably did get it; she was a cop and even in this small coastal town would likely encounter a few horror stories of her own during the course of her career.

Starting, possibly, with what she'd seen today.

A silence fell between the two women. Riley wanted to break it, but there didn't seem to be any good, reasonably casual way to guide the conversation back to her date or dates with the sheriff.

Dates? Jesus, what on earth had possessed her to do that?

With a reliable source inside the sheriff's department, it didn't seem likely that she'd gone out with him on a fact-finding mission, especially since he knew who and what she was. What he wouldn't confide professionally he wasn't likely to confide personally, not if he was like most of the cops she'd known.

Was it personal? Had she set aside the training and preferences of a lifetime to go out with a law-enforcement officer while she was investigating occurrences in his town?

Investigating, possibly, him?

What would have compelled her to do something so out of character for her? With her busy life, she barely dated at all, but to date someone during an investigation-

A sudden, uneasy suspicion surfaced in her mind as she abruptly recalled the fleeting memory of quiet voices and a lingering touch out on the deck of her house.

Surely she hadn't…surely to God she hadn't gone further than a few casual dates? She hadn't taken a lover. No. No, that would be so totally out of character it was unheard-of for her.

But. What if? In a situation so torn by uncertainty, how could she discount the possibility?

And, most important of all, what if neither her memories nor her clairvoyance kicked in when she saw the man again? How was she supposed to fake her way through that?

The woods were dense enough that getting a vehicle to the clearing near the center was virtually impossible. So Leah parked her Jeep near the other police vehicles, and they got out.

Riley had another flash of memory, and said, "Somebody's dog found the body, right?"

"Just like one found all that stuff in the clearing last week," Leah confirmed. "Different dog, though."

Riley paused to study the break in the fence, ignoring a bored deputy stationed there to prevent the idly curious from entering the woods at this point. It wasn't a particularly strong fence, meant more as a border delineating the park from the woods than a barrier to hold a determined animal in-or out.

She frowned as she half-turned to look back at the area used for local pet owners. "Odd," she murmured.

"What's odd?" Leah asked.

Riley kept her voice low. "Rituals aren't meant to be public. Especially occult rituals, and even more especially if you mean to sacrifice something or kill somebody. You don't want outsiders watching or even knowing what's going on."

"Makes sense."

"Yeah. So why choose this place? There are patches of woods farther from town and much more private. Forests with a lot more acreage that would offer far greater secrecy. Places where a fire wouldn't be seen. And where local dog owners don't bring their pets every single day."

"Something special about this patch of woods?" Leah guessed. "You did say that group of boulders looked like a natural altar. Or something old that was used a long time ago. Maybe that's it?"

"Maybe." But Riley wasn't convinced. Still, she continued with Leah through the break in the fence and into the woods.

She was trying very hard to focus and concentrate, to settle and ground herself so she could get through what lay ahead without making a fool of herself. Or betraying herself.

Professional, that was the ticket. Cool, detached, and professional. Whatever the reason she'd dated Jake Ballard, he would expect her to behave like a professional at a crime scene, however unofficial her presence.

Riley remembered all that sexy underwear, and winced.

Christ, she hoped he expected an FBI agent and not a lover.

Surely she'd remember if she'd taken a lover in the last couple of weeks.

Surely.

"Grand Central Station," Leah muttered as they reached the clearing.

There was plenty of activity, all right, and Riley was aware of a fleeting, though resigned, wish that she had been able to see the scene before it was trampled by many feet. Trained feet, for the most part, but not specially trained. And it showed.

Rather than join them, Riley stood where she was at the edge of the clearing, her hands in the front pockets of her jeans, and just looked for several minutes. She ignored the uniformed deputies and technicians moving about, ignored the snatches of conversation she heard, closed out everything except the scene of a murder.

Leah had been right: No one could see this and not know they were dealing with murder.

Riley looked at what the killer had left. At the headless body that was still hanging by its wrists, at the blood-spattered rocks below. At the evidence of a fire nearby, which a technician was currently photographing.

It all looked…familiar.

"Riley, thanks for coming."

She turned her head at the sound of his voice, holding on to her professional detachment with an effort. It was a nice voice. It was a nice package, of the tall, dark, and handsome variety. With piercing blue eyes thrown in just for gilding.

Okay, so he was gorgeous. Maybe that was why she'd dated him.

Sheriff Jake Ballard wore his uniform with an air that said he knew he looked good in it. He walked with an authority that wasn't quite a swagger. And he had the sort of smile-even here and now-that nature had designed to charm the female of the species.

Riley was hardly immune.

"Hey," she said. "Nice goings-on in such a pretty little town."

"Tell me about it." He shook his head, adding, "Sorry to pull you out of your vacation, but, frankly, I wanted an opinion from someone who probably knows a lot more about this sort of thing than any of us."

"And you thought I might?"

He looked sheepish, and Riley tried not to believe it was because he knew it was a good expression for him.

"Okay, so I checked up on you when you arrived. I didn't mention it later because…well, because I thought you'd tell me about it in your own time."

"It?"

"The Special Crimes Unit. It isn't exactly a secret in law-enforcement circles, you know. I made a few calls. And learned a bit more than the standard FBI line of bullshit double-talk."

Taking a chance, Riley said, "You don't believe in the paranormal."

His eyebrows lifted. "Is that a problem?"

"Not for me, no. It's the sort of thing we run into more often than not."

"I imagine you would."

"But if it isn't something you believe in, then how much value can my opinion have?"

"You're an experienced investigator, and your unit deals with murder on a regular basis. Yes?"

"Yeah."

"I believe in that. Your experience. That's enough for me."

Riley looked at him and tried to find a memory, a single memory.

Nothing.

As for her clairvoyant sense, it was as absent as her memory. All she knew was what her usual but slightly dulled senses were telling her. He was gorgeous, he had a nice voice, and he was wearing Polo cologne.

"Riley, I need your help," Jake Ballard said. "Or at least your expertise. I can call your office, make it official so you're on the clock. No need to waste vacation time."

She hesitated, then said, "If you make it official, my boss will probably want to send another agent or two down here. We seldom work alone."