Total Eclipse of My Heart
For the first time in his impeccable fifteen-year career, FBI agent Sam Lincoln can’t solve a murder. The equally meticulous killer leaves only astrological clues. This cosmic caca doesn’t exactly blend well with Sam’s by-the-book methods.
Orders from Sam’s boss force him to work with Star O ’Rourke, a beautiful and brilliant astrologer. More feminine than Venus herself, Star sends his senses orbiting out of control.
With every changing sign of the moon, the lunar lovebirds collide over passions and investigative methods. Yet they band together with the common goal of catching the Pink Cotton Ball Killer — and discover the eclipse ignites some very unexpected predicaments
Sam watched Star as she worked. Her hair was tucked behind one very delicate ear, an ear adorned with a fine gold hoop with dangling stars. Hell, he liked watching her flip through her guru books researching God-only-knew what. He had to admit she was thorough, taking notes, making charts, accounting for the cities and times of each murder victim. He smiled, shaking his head. Missing lunch with this celestial goddess wasn’t so bad.
“He’s not nearly finished, Sam.”
“Probably not. He is a serial killer, after all. They usually keep right on killing ’til we catch ’em.” Sam sat at his desk across from her, watching the Latin beauty’s eyes darken at his sarcasm. If he had to work with one of these intergalactic cheerleaders, it might as well be a beautiful one.
“I imagine that is the case with most, but not our killer.”
“Why? Tell me something I don’t know. Something I can understand.”
“Five victims so far. There are two you haven’t found yet. And if he stays on course, a total of twelve.”
“What?” He shoved away from his desk. “Are you sure? How?” The gorgeous angel with the crazy name most certainly had his attention now, damn it.
“The times of death… He’s motivated by the movement of the moon.”
Sam had hunted just about every kind of serial killer but had never been able to predict the exact number of victims or when they’d be killed. “Damn. You can really tell all that with this stuff?”
“Stuff? Uh, yes, Sam, I can. The times of death coincide perfectly with when the moon changes signs.”
“I deal in facts. You’re telling me the moon has signs, too?”
Star looked up. “Sure. You know Aries, Taurus, Gemini…Virgo?”
Star got up, moved behind the desk next to Sam, and pointed to his large flat desk calendar.
“I’ll show you. The moon moves into a new astrological sign approximately every two and a half days, or less. The killer appears to be following the normal order of the signs.”
She opened a large book. “This is an ephemeris. It tells the positions and astrological signs of the planets.”
“Yeah, Martha has one of those. Only hers is little.” Sam tried to sound knowledgeable but failed miserably.
“Yes, she does.” Star grinned. “I gave her a yearly pocket version. This one has the whole century in it. As I was saying, Agent Lincoln…”
“Please call me Sam. Okay? Back to the galaxy.”
“The moon, Sam. The three victims were killed when the moon changed into Taurus, Gemini, and Cancer; the second, third and fourth signs of the Zodiac, respectively. Aries is the first sign of the Zodiac. That means we haven’t found the first victim, yet. The fifth victim died yesterday evening when the moon changed into Leo.”
Her words hit his empty stomach like a twelve-pound bowling ball. “Five? A total of twelve? Damn, that first one’s been dead over a week.”
“Yes, Sam. The moon moved into Aries the evening of August eighth.”
Sam stared at his desk calendar while Star notated each victim’s death. She was still standing next to him. He leaned on his left elbow to give her room to write. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, he watched her pencil move to tomorrow’s date.