Dream Eyes

  The kiss was incendiary, literally. Hot energy burned in the atmosphere. She was mildly astonished that they did not set fire to the drapes. But unlike the terrible energy of the dream, this was the fiercely exhilarating fire of turbocharged passion.

  Judson was running hot. She was still fully jacked from the dream therapy work. That made for a lot of heat. But it was the return of the breathtaking sensation of psychic intimacy that shocked and thrilled her. Something very strange had happened between them last night and it was happening again tonight. Her intuition warned her that the more time that she and Judson spent together—not just having superheated sex but within range of each other’s auras—the more powerful the bond would become—at least on her end.

  Judson freed one of her wrists so he could untie the sash of her robe. His palm closed over her breast. He moved his mouth down to her throat.

  She slid her hand up under his T-shirt and clawed at his muscled back. He was burning up with a psi-fever.

  “Judson,” she whispered.

  “Not a client,” he growled. “Say it. Not a client.”

  “Not a client,” she gasped. “You can’t be a client, because I never sleep with clients.”

  “That’s right. You don’t sleep with clients. You sleep with me now. Only me.”

  He yanked opened the top of her nightgown and kissed her breasts with a hungry, desperate reverence. At the touch of his tongue on her sensitive nipples, she cried out. He released her other wrist to unzip his trousers. He fumbled the hem of her nightgown up to her waist. Then his hand was between her thighs.

  “Wet and hot,” he said against her throat. “That’s how I like you.”

  She reached down and circled him with her fingers. “Hard and hot. That’s how I like you.”

  His laughter was low and dark and wicked. “We were made for each other, Dream Eyes.”

  Maybe, she thought, but probably not. This wasn’t love. They hadn’t had time to fall in love. This was raw passion fueled by the bond that had been forged in the paranormal fires of shared danger and the dream therapy experience. She knew she could not trust her emotions tonight, but in the heat of the moment she did not care.

  Judson got his pants off and then he was back on top of her, driving into her hard and deep. She pulled him close and wrapped herself fiercely around him.

  Her release swept through her in seconds. She heard Judson groan as he followed her over the edge and into the effervescent seas that awaited them.

  Twenty-eight

  It had been a good night at the online fishing hole. The grooming of the new client was coming along nicely. The woman’s ninety-two-year-old father-in-law was in excellent health and showed every indication of making it to a hundred. Unfortunately for the heirs, the old man was burning through the inheritance at a fast clip. At the rate he was going he would outlive his money. The daughter-in-law had a problem with that. She and her husband had been counting on her father-in-law’s money to finance their own retirement.

  It was all so unfair. Sundew understood that. And it wasn’t as if the old man enjoyed a good quality of life, after all. He had been forced to give up both driving and his beloved golf a few years ago. Now he spent his days playing cards and watching television with the other residents at his very expensive retirement community while he whined that no one ever came to visit him. Meanwhile his son and daughter-in-law were watching their inheritance go down the drain.

  The old man’s death would change everything.

  Back at the start, Sundew had been obliged to spend months drumming up business. The process involved hours of online research just to identify potential clients. Then followed the laborious task of introducing them to the notion that their inheritance problems could be made to go away as if by magic—for a price.

  The business was more streamlined these days, requiring less research and less risk. As always, word of mouth had proved to be the best form of advertising. The online whispers were so effective that Sundew had no shortage of potential clients dropping into the chat room.

  Money was no longer the object. Now Sundew worked to support a habit.

  Somewhere along the line, the murder-for-hire game had become a total rush.

  Until recently, Wilby, Oregon, had been the perfect lair in which to hide between hunts. True, the brouhaha two years ago had been a near disaster but things had settled down after Gwen Frazier left town. Then Sundew had discovered that Evelyn Ballinger had become suspicious. The problem had been resolved easily enough, but now the situation had begun to disintegrate.

  The bitch was back in town, and she was not alone.

  On her own, Frazier wouldn’t have been a problem. She was nobody, just a low-level talent who could view auras—not exactly a weapon of mass destruction. In spite of what had happened two years ago, it was hard to see her as a serious threat. One way or another, she could be dealt with.

  But Coppersmith’s presence complicated the situation. His family was powerful and would no doubt make a lot of waves if one of the sons and heirs to the business empire turned up dead in a small town like Wilby. Questions would be asked.

  The Coppersmiths also appeared to be a family with a lot of secrets. What’s more, they were very good at concealing those secrets.

  Secrets were always interesting. Sundew’s own family kept a lot of them. And they were just as good at hiding them as the Coppersmiths were.

  Twenty-nine

  Judson awoke just before dawn to a sure and certain knowledge of the killer’s mind.

  I know what you are and why you’re killing, you bastard. I’m one step closer. Not much longer now.

  He shoved aside the quilt and sat up on the edge of the bed. He was wearing only his briefs. Memories of the night slammed through him. He’d gone back into the damn dream—maybe too far into it this time—but Gwen had pulled him out. Like it or not, for a time he had become her client.

  He reached for the holster and gun. What mattered, he concluded, was that after she had yanked him out of the dream, they had gone back to being lovers.

  The door between the two rooms was open.

  He pulled on his trousers and went to the doorway. Gwen was still in her nightgown and robe, but she was not in bed. She was curled up in the chair, her head resting on a pillow. Her eyes were closed. Max was ensconced alongside her thigh. The cat glared at him through half-closed eyes.

  “Tough luck, pal,” Judson mouthed. “Just because you got to her first, don’t think you’ve got claiming rights.”

  Max did not look impressed. Judson was deliberating between scooping up Gwen and putting her on the bed or covering her with a blanket when she opened her eyes.

  “You’re awake,” she said.

  “So are you.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.” He paused and then did what had to be done. “Thanks to you. I’m not real sure we’d be having this conversation this morning if you hadn’t pulled me out of that dream last night. I owe you.”

  She raised her brows. “No, you don’t owe me any more than I owe you. We’re partners in this thing. Yesterday you saved me as well as Nicole and Max. Last night I was able to help you. That’s what partners do. You have my back; I have yours. Neither of us would leave the other behind. That’s how it works.”

  He moved closer to the fire. “You know about that kind of thing because of your time with Abby and Nick at Summerlight, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He looked at her, understanding sleeting through him. Partners. Lovers. Not client. He could work with that.

  “No,” he said. “Neither one of us would leave the other behind. Not ever.”

  “Glad we got that settled.” She smiled and stretched. “I did some thinking while you were out.”

  “I had a few thoughts of my own when I woke up.” The cold thrill of the hunt was riding him now. “I know him, Gwen. Not his name and identity—not yet—but I know him and I know why he’s killing.??
?

  Excitement illuminated her eyes. He knew then that she comprehended what he was feeling. He also knew that she didn’t have a problem with knowing that he was a little addicted to the rush. Make that a lot addicted.

  “You woke up with a flash of intuition?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  “We’ve been working on the assumption that we’re dealing with a copycat killer who managed to get hold of Taylor’s camera. But that’s not what’s going on here. This guy is a pro.”

  “A professional?” Gwen uncurled her legs, her expression sharpening. “Are you talking about a hit man?”

  The suddenness of her movement disturbed Max. He grumbled, rose and vacated the chair. He landed on the floor with an audible thud and stalked across the room. He vaulted up onto the windowsill and glowered out at the dawn-lit world.

  “The way he got rid of Evelyn Ballinger and Louise Fuller feels like the work of a pro who is cleaning up,” Judson said. He dropped into the chair across from Gwen. “It explains the controlled energy I picked up at the scenes. Pros get an adrenaline rush when they take out the target, but they know how to handle it. They’re crazy in their own way, but they leave a different calling card.”

  “A psychic hit man armed with a crystal that can kill without a trace.” Gwen leaned forward and folded her arms on her knees. She looked into the fire. “I don’t know which scares me more, the thought that we’re dealing with a wack-job of a serial killer or a hit man who kills for money.”

  “I’ll take the wack-job any day,” Judson said.

  She glanced at him. “Why?”

  “Because the wack-job is more likely to screw up. The pros tend to disappear fast when the heat comes down, and they know how to stay disappeared as long as necessary. Pros have several sets of IDs and rent houses on no-name islands in the Caribbean. Pros are very hard to catch.”

  Gwen frowned. “But this pro is evidently living in a no-name town in the Pacific Northwest.”

  “Principle is the same.”

  “But pros don’t go around murdering people at random,” Gwen said. “Or do they?”

  “No. By definition, they do it for the money or to protect their own secrets. Motives tell you a lot. If we’re right, he murdered Evelyn because she stumbled onto the truth about his day job. Now we need to find out why he killed Louise.”

  Gwen unfolded her arms, leaned back and drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I’m no psi-techie, but you said that the weapon the killer is using is probably crystal-based technology of some kind, right?”

  “That’s my working assumption based on where the killer was standing when the victims died. Can’t think of any other way the hits could have gone down.”

  “You also mentioned that most high-tech paranormal crystal gadgets, with the possible exception of that ring you are wearing, require periodic tuning if they are to maintain optimum power.”

  Adrenaline spilled into Judson’s bloodstream.

  “The bastard needed someone who could tune crystals,” he said softly. “Louise was his para-tech IT department. She tuned the crystal in his weapon. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s brilliant, Gwen. I like it. I like it a lot.”

  “Okay, slow down,” Gwen said. “There is one flaw in my logic. If the killer needed Louise to keep him in business, why would he murder her?”

  “He concluded that he had no choice. Like I said, this guy is a pro and he thinks like a pro. He’s cutting his losses. Louise knew way too much about him. He had to get rid of her before we talked to her.”

  “He’ll probably leave town now that he’s covered his tracks. Maybe he’s already gone.”

  Judson watched the dancing flames, thinking about what he had learned at the death scenes. “I don’t think so. He’ll leave eventually once the heat has died down, but he would prefer not to disappear while we’re here, not unless he feels he has no other option.”

  “Why not?”

  “This is one very small town. If the killer is living here as a pillar of the community, so to speak, and he suddenly vanishes, everyone, including Oxley, will notice. Questions will be asked. A pro would prefer to avoid that, if possible.” Judson shook his head, rerunning the insights he’d gleaned at the kill sites. “No, he’s hoping that with Ballinger and Fuller both dead, we’ll hit a brick wall.”

  “In that case, what do we do next?” Gwen asked.

  “Try to think like he does. One thing we know for sure.”

  “Yes?”

  “Sooner or later, he will need another crystal tuner,” Judson said.

  Thirty

  Judson’s phone rang. He snapped it off his belt, glanced at the coded number and took the call.

  “What have you got for me, Sawyer?” he said.

  “He’s a pro,” Nick said. “He’s getting paid.”

  “Believe it or not, I got that far.”

  “Gee, aren’t you Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

  “Given your astonishing skill and talent, I expect a little more information,” Judson said. “Anything else?”

  “I’ve got lots more, thanks to my astonishing skill and talent. First off, you were right, he wasn’t targeting psychics. None of the victims showed any interest in the paranormal. None of them claimed any kind of psychic ability.”

  Judson smiled a little at the hum of excitement in Nick’s voice. Sawyer and he had more in common than either one of them would ever admit, he thought.

  “So, what did all the hits have in common?” he asked.

  “That greatest of all motivators—money. Four of the six definitely qualified as elderly. The other two were suffering long-term chronic illnesses. All six were standing in the way of very healthy inheritances and/or insurance policies.”

  “We look to the heirs,” Judson said.

  “I’m way ahead of you on account of my astonishing skill and talent,” Nick said. “I checked out a couple of them already. The forty-two-year-old son of the last victim recently transferred a very large amount of money into an offshore account. A similar amount was paid to the same account by a nephew of one of the other hits.”

  “You know what? You’re good at this, Sawyer. I think you and my mother should spend some quality time together.”

  “I’ve spent some time with your mother,” Nick said. “I’m in the wedding, remember? Nice lady. Turns out she and Girard both think I have excellent taste. I’m the one who suggested deep violet and gold for the color theme.”

  “Glad to hear it, but that’s not why I think you and Mom should talk. Mom knows how to follow the money better than anyone else I’ve ever met. I’d say she has a psychic talent for it, but she doesn’t believe in the paranormal.”

  “You’re kidding?” Nick snorted. “After raising you and your brother and sister?”

  “Mom prefers to think we’re all just highly intuitive.”

  “Oh, right. That sounds so much more pleasant than thinking that her kids are freaks.”

  “Something like that.”

  “That’s a mom for you, always looking on the positive side when it comes to her little ones,” Nick said. His voice had gone utterly flat.

  Judson pushed past the sudden silence on the other end of the connection. “What I’m trying to say here is that it would be extremely helpful if you and Mom could get together for an afternoon, like today, and figure out if anyone connected to this case who is still here in Wilby has been moving large amounts of money around.”

  “You want us to vet an entire town full of aging hippies, chronic underachievers, failed artists and assorted misfits? That would take days, not an afternoon.” But Nick was sounding interested again.

  “I’ll have Gwen put together a list of folks who were connected to the Ballinger Study. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got the names.”

  “I’ll await your call with bated breath. Meanwhile, I’ve got one other factoid that might interest you. It’s true that none of the victims was
into the paranormal, but in the case of at least two of them, I can tell you that about a month before the hits were made, the heirs—a nephew in one case and a daughter-in-law in the other—spent some time in a chat room run by an online psychic counselor. Until that point, neither the nephew nor the daughter-in-law had shown any interest in psychics or fortune-tellers or tarot cards.”

  Judson tightened his grip on the phone. “You could have mentioned that sooner.”

  “I wanted to save the best for last.”

  “Got a name for this online psychic counselor?” Judson asked.

  Gwen’s eyes widened.

  “The online psychic goes by the name of Sundew,” Nick said. “And before you ask, I looked it up. Sundews are carnivorous plants. Cute, huh? I’m thinking that it would be interesting to find out if any of the other lucky heirs contacted Sundew prior to the murders.”

  “Yes,” Judson said. “It would be very interesting. How the hell did you come across the info on Sundew?”

  “I spent a little time on the computers of the two heirs I just mentioned,” Nick said smoothly. “It’s amazing how many people leave their passwords lying around.”

  “You know, it would be very inconvenient if you happened to get arrested in the course of this investigation,” Judson said.

  “You don’t need to spell it out.” Nick’s tone went cold and flat again. “I’m aware that if I get picked up, I will discover that the Coppersmiths have never heard of me.”

  “Much as we might like to pretend we’ve never heard of you, that’s not an option.”

  “No?”

  “No. For better or worse, you now fall into the friends-and-family category. Mom would brain me if you weren’t around to walk Abby down the aisle. If you run into trouble with the authorities, you keep your mouth shut and you call me.”

  “What will you do?” Nick said, reluctantly curious.

  “Coppersmith, Inc., has a herd of lawyers, very good lawyers. They will take care of the pesky details. You won’t sit in jail long.”