What happens when saucy, independent musician, Cassidy James, finds herself with newly discovered psychic powers and must rely on handsome, maverick FBI agent Zach Hatcher to keep from becoming a psychic serial killer's next victim?  Cassidy must learn to control her powers to help stop the killer while learning that relationships between people with psychic powers are just as confusing, but much more steamy than normal ones.  Zach fights to control his growing attraction for the killer's intended victim, while overcoming his past, which has caused him to be leery of relationships with women who posses psychic gifts. 

“Dix—come on, I need you to help me secure the witness.”  Zach stood up from his kitchen table and slapped his friend on the shoulder.
Instantly alert, Dix glanced up at Zach.  “Is she in danger?  Is the Reaper back?”
Zach motioned Dix to relax.  “No.  But from the sounds of it, she’s drunk off her ass.”
“From the sounds of it?”
“Don’t ask—I tuned out after they started talking about Mel Gibson’s ass.”  He thought men were bad, but these women had a detailed discussion about the actor’s anatomy like they were discussing a fine piece of art.  He wondered if he had been a topic of discussion as well before she’d gotten so drunk she was broadcasting her every thought.
“Can I finish my pizza and wings first?  And what do you mean they?  Who’s over there with her?” Dix asked around a mouthful of hot wings.
“Her best friend, Kathy.”
Dix stopped with a wing halfway to his mouth.  “Wait—do you mean the really hot blonde who visited her the other day while I was doing the cable guy thing?”
“Down boy, she’s a friend of the witness—remember?”
Dix frantically wiped hot wing sauce off his fingers and inspected his clothes to see if he was wearing any stains.  “But, she is not the witness.  Besides, I’m hoping she has a thing for red heads.”  He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
“Okay, stud, but I need to get over there to Cassidy.  She’s broadcasting loud enough for the whole west coast to hear—including the Reaper.”
Dix seemed to have forgotten he didn’t believe in psychic abilities.  “I thought you taught her how to put up blocks or shields or whatever you call them.”
“I did, but she’s drunk, which lowers the inhibitions and usually the shields.”  Zach picked up his Glock 9mm off the bar and tucked it into his waistband at the small of his back, pulling his T-shirt over it so it wouldn’t show.  The Glock was like his American Express card—he never left home without it.
Five minutes later, Zach rang Cassidy’s doorbell and hoped the women heard it over the gales of drunken female laughter.  “Cassidy,” he yelled through the door.  “Open up, it’s Zach and Dix.”
He heard the chain slide open, the deadbolt unlock, a thump and then a click, which unlocked the door handle.  “Come in.”  Cassidy spread each word into two sing-song syllables.
Zach opened the door and immediately figured out what the thump had been—Cassidy lay on the floor giggling.  “Cassidy, what are you doing down there?  Are you okay?”  He reached down and helped her up.
She leaned heavily on him.  “Perfectly,” she said with the careful enunciation of the intoxicated.
Dix walked over to the couch to look for the second source of giggling.  Kathy crawled on her hands and knees diligently searching for her shoes—which Zach noted were still on her feet.  Zach heard Dix’s thoughts about Kathy’s mini-skirt and what wonderful things it exposed by riding up.  He cleared his throat and looked over at Dix.
“Right, I’ll help Kathy up.”  Dix pointed to her.
Zach struggled to keep Cassidy upright, mostly because she kept leaning over trying to look at his butt.
“I bet yours is as good as Mel’s.”
Zach ignored the comment.  “Why don’t we get you to bed, Cass?  I’ll get you some aspirin and a glass of water.”
“Are you coming to bed with me?”  She twined her arms around his neck and pressed the long line of her body against him.
“Come on, Cassidy, I don’t think you’re up for anything like that right now.”  He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “You’re drunk and have dropped all your shields and the Reaper and half the neighborhood are probably picking up everything you’re thinking.”
Cassidy pulled back, her eyes glistening with unshed tears and pain.  He felt like a heel, but his comments seemed to have sobered her better than anything else he could’ve done.  “Damn you, Zach.  You won’t even let me forget for one night, will you?”  She pushed further away from him, anger and hurt making her steadier on her feet.
“You’re used to dealing with death and danger and fear and mind rapes and God knows what else, but I’m not.  I’m terrified Brian is going to find me and I won’t be able to protect myself, besides the fact I don’t know if I can stand to feel more women die.”
She swiped brusquely at her tears with the back of her hand.  “And most of all, I feel guilty—guilty for being alive while Tia and all the others are dead, and guilty for being glad it wasn’t me.”
Zach stepped toward her and took Cassidy in his arms.  She melted against him as her tears flowed.  “Shhh, it’s okay.”  He put his shields up for both of them and fervently hoped neither the Reaper nor Kathy had heard the exchange.