Steve stood at the printer, scanning financial records.  The light bled from beneath the cover creating the only beacon in the otherwise dark office. 

“Come on, come on.”  He shifted from foot to foot, his eyes darting between the copier and the door, intently listening for any sound beyond the swish of the machine.  When the paper spit out, he propped open the lid and flipped the ledger to the last page.  As he hit the copy button, the cell phone in his pocket vibrated. 

“Shit.”  He flipped the phone open.  “Hey Jen.”    

“Where are you?”  Her groggy voice asked. 

“The office. Why?”   

"You need to come home.” 

“I have to finish this,” he said, yanking the copies from the tray and turned off the machine.

“I had another vision.”  

Steve took a deep breath calming his nerves.  He really didn’t have time to discuss her vision; he needed to get out of the building before someone saw him.  “Another dream?”  He asked anyway.

Silence.  

He stuffed the papers into his attaché case.  “When?”   

“I don’t know. A couple hours?”  

He slid the ledger back into the file cabinet and looked around the office one last time before crossing to the door.  “I’m on my way now.”  He closed the phone opting for the stairs instead of the elevator.   

He rapidly descended the stairway. The dim lights popped and flickered, sending shadows into the far corners of each landing. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow and he cast a quick glance over his shoulder when he reached the entrance leading to the parking garage.  He yanked the door open, turning his head toward the garage and nearly plowed over the man blocking the exit.    

Startled just as much as Steve, Charlie Wisnowski stepped back, putting his hands up to stop him. “Whoa! What are you doing here?” 

Steve halted, meeting the hard grey eyes of his boss.  “I, uh, got into an argument with my girlfriend, and needed some breathing room.”  He swallowed and shifted the briefcase strap on his shoulder.  “I figured I’d cool my jets here and take a look at those service contracts.”    

Charlie crossed his arms and pursed his lips.  His eyes landed on the briefcase.  “Contracts?”  He returned his intense stare to Steve’s face.

“Yeah.  The ones you gave me this afternoon.”  

“Right.”  He didn’t budge from his spot, blocking his escape route. 

Steve skirted around Charlie, taking a backwards step in the direction of his car, every muscle in his body tense and ready for flight if Charlie reached for the briefcase.  

“How do the contracts look?”  

“A couple things need tightening up.”  Sweat trickled down the small of his back, tickling his skin.  Steve squashed the urge to itch.  

“Like what?”   

“There’s a gap in the service agreement.  We need a better rate than triple time for off hour service,” Steve began, thankful he had scanned the documents before leaving earlier, “especially since they consider regular hours between nine in the morning and three in the afternoon.”  

“You’re shitting me?”  Charlie’s arms fell to his sides.  

Steve smiled and shook his head.  “No offense Charlie, but I’d be loving life with hours like that.”  

Charlie scoffed and turned toward the building entrance.  “Go home and screw your girlfriend,” he said over his shoulder.  

The door swung closed behind Charlie, leaving Steve staring at the heavy steel.   Glancing at the cameras mounted in the corners, he strolled to the car.  When he was clear of the garage, he took a deep breath and tilted his head back against the headrest, letting the relief melt into his taut muscles.   

"Holy shit.”   He looked at the briefcase sitting on the passenger seat.  If Charlie knew what was inside . . . .   He grabbed the bag and crossed the street glancing at the brownstone building.  

The lights in his apartment were on, which meant he’d have to deal with the vision tonight.      

He tossed the briefcase under the table by the door, crossing the loft to where Jennifer stood drying her hands.  “Are you alright?”  

“You should wake me up before you sneak out in the middle of the night.”   

The touch of anger in her tone took Steve by surprise.  He raised his eyebrows.  “Excuse me?”  

“I’m your wife, damn it.”  She stepped around him.  

He reached out, pulling her close and meeting her angry glare.  “I didn’t want you to worry.”  

Jennifer laughed.  “And you think waking up to an empty bed isn’t gonna freak me out? Especially when I’ve had one of my visions?”  

Steve tilted his head, looking at the floor before raising his eyes to hers.  He offered the crooked smile that always disarmed her.  This time was no different.  “I’m sorry babe.”  

Jennifer shook her head, still gazing in to his bright blue eyes; she let a sigh escape and leaned in to kiss him.  

Her lips were soft and inviting, with a faint flavor of cinnamon.  Running his hands down her back to the hem of her baby-doll night gown, Steve momentarily forgot about the close call with Charlie and led Jennifer to the bed in the far corner, his hands leaving her body only to flip off the lights. 

Jennifer settled in his arms, a small satisfied smile on her lips.  

“Tell me what you saw,” Steve whispered in her ear, spooning her in the soft bed.   

“A hunting knife covered in blood. It reminded me of the knife in the movie Rambo.”   She cuddled further into him.  “It was a blonde this time and the bastard played with her before he killed her.”     

“Anything else?”  

“There’s something on his right wrist, but I couldn’t make it out,” she said through a yawn.  “I think it’s a tattoo.”    

Silence filled the room. He needed to give his boss a heads up and when her breathing evened out, he slid out of bed and booted up his computer.  This was the third dream Jennifer had in the last few months involving a dead woman and a hunting knife.  

Typing in a special secure URL and his clearance code into the computer, the FBI logo appeared, giving way to the internal email system.  Steve scanned his inbox before typing a new message to his boss.  

                              Dream girl had another one.  Let me know if you find anything. 

He looked between the message and Jennifer sleeping a few feet away wondering if he was doing the right thing.  He put her in the line of fire before and that miscalculation almost got them killed.  But this is different.  He inhaled and pressed send before shutting the computer down.  Stretching, he crossed to the window and looked out at the street.  

Someone was watching and he stepped back, swallowed by the darkness.  The car in contrast, sat under the street light.  Steve sat on the edge of the bed, his mind racing over the steps he took to cover his tracks tonight. He must have missed something.