Текст книги "Copper Beach"

Автор книги: Jayne Krentz

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

20

THE URGE TO CONFIDE THE FULL SCOPE OF THE DISASTER TO her special friend was almost overwhelming, but Orinda Strickland had resisted, at least until today. Some things simply could not be spoken of outside the family. Not that she didn’t trust Lander Knox. He was a very discreet young man. He was the only one who really understood her. She looked forward to these luncheons so much. Nevertheless, one had one’s pride. The loss of the family fortune and the possibility that Dawson might be facing bankruptcy, perhaps even prison, was simply too devastating to reveal. That sort of thing had to be kept secret.

“You look lovely today,” Lander said. He held her chair for her.

She managed a light, gracious chuckle and sat down at the table. “You always say that. But thank you, anyway.”

“I say it because it’s true.” Lander sat down across from her. “You radiate qualities that are increasingly rare in the modern world. Grace, style, dignity. And wonder of wonders, you can carry on an intelligent conversation. Do you realize how few women of any age can do that these days? That’s why I savor our luncheons together so much.”

It was shortly after noon, unfashionably early for lunch, but the advantage was that the downtown restaurant was only lightly crowded. That meant there was less of a chance that she would run into an acquaintance, Orinda thought. She would have preferred to lunch at her club on Lake Washington. The Stricklands had been members for several generations. But she knew that there would be raised eyebrows and a good deal of curiosity if she were to show up with a handsome, distinguished man who was young enough to be her grandson.

There was absolutely no reason for her to feel awkward about her relationship with Lander, of course. He was a friend, nothing more. They were intellectual companions with a wide range of mutual interests who, sadly, happened to be decades apart in age.

They had met quite by accident at the opera during intermission. Both of them had attended alone that evening. It had been obvious from the start that Lander was well-bred and well educated. He did not say much about his background, but it soon became clear that he was descended from an old, established East Coast family. The faint hint of a Boston accent was so charming.

The conversation that had followed had been the most stimulating one she had enjoyed in years. Her husband, George, had never enjoyed the opera or the symphony or high art. His greatest pleasure had been a string of yachts, each one larger than the last. She had never liked being out on the water. Their marriage had been conducted along parallel lines that had suited both of them. Losing him ten years ago had been a shock, but she had not truly mourned.

In spite of the sick dread that was eating her up inside, Orinda managed a smile. But the phone conversation with Dawson had left her thoroughly unnerved. The realization that Abby was the key to the family’s financial salvation had come as a terrible blow. She had been forced to take an antianxiety tablet to calm herself.

Dawson and Diana were right, Abby viewed the situation as a gol-den opportunity to take her revenge against the family. Dawson had reported that she wanted more than a simple cash payment for her services. She would no doubt demand to be named as a full-fledged beneficiary of the family trust. It was unthinkable. The woman was not a Strickland. There was no blood connection whatsoever. And she was mentally unbalanced.

As incomprehensible as it seemed, Orinda was starting to believe that Abby actually wanted to see the family lose everything. The ungrateful bitch. After all I’ve done for her. Brandon Radwell could never have afforded the tuition and fees at that special school on his own.

“I see your son–in–law is having a signing event for his new book on Friday night,” Lander said.

“Yes.” Orinda shook out her napkin. “It’s the start of his book tour. He’ll be gone for almost a month. I understand the publisher has scheduled a number of appearances.”

“Have you read Families by Choice?”

“I glanced through it.” Orinda sniffed. “I’m afraid it’s the usual psychobabble that passes for deep insight and wise advice these days. But my daughter tells me that there’s a very good chance it will sell quite well, and may even lead to a TV show.”

Lander’s smile held both sympathy and condescending amusement. “It’s all about marketing and packaging, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so. My son–in–law is very good at both.”

Orinda opened her menu and reminded herself to be careful what she said about Brandon. Not that Lander wasn’t aware of her feelings on the subject. He never pried into personal matters, but over the past few months it had become very easy to talk to him about so many things.

Their luncheons were supposed to be reserved for conversations about opera, literary works and other cultural matters. But all too often she found herself confiding certain matters that really should be kept in the family.

She gave thanks yet again that Lander could be trusted to be discreet. In spite of the difference in their ages, they were similar in so many ways. He had a charming, poetical way of describing their relationship. We are old souls who have found each other.

21

SAM GAZED INTO THE GLOWING COMPUTER WITH THE BROODING air of an alchemist pondering his fires.

“There was no indication that anything was stolen from Webber’s home,” he said. “The county officials have concluded that he died of natural causes.”

“Well, we knew that would be the official cause of death,” Abby said.

She sank down into the corner of the massive leather couch and curled her legs mermaid-style. Newton bounded up and settled down beside her. She rubbed behind his ears, taking comfort from the physical contact with him.

The toxic mix of adrenaline and nerves following the discovery of Thaddeus’s body and the kidnapping attempt was starting to dissipate, leaving exhaustion in its wake. But she had a feeling that a restful sleep was going to be harder to come by than usual tonight.

“The local media mention that Webber appears to have been a hoarder who collected old books related to the occult, magic and the paranormal,” Sam said.

“That is absolutely wrong,” Abby said. “Webber had no interest in the occult or magic. But I don’t suppose it will matter. So many people don’t understand the distinction between the paranormal and the supernatural. Regardless, those reports will be enough to fire up the rumor mill in collectors’ circles. My competition will be looking very hard for Thaddeus’s house.”

Sam got up from the computer. “The police will have locked up the place.”

“I’m sure they did,” she said. “For all the good that will do. I think it’s safe to say the authorities have no idea of the value of some of those books. They’ll assume that Thaddeus was just another eccentric hoarder.”

“Did he have any family?”

“Not that I know of,” Abby said.

Sam crossed the room to where a bottle of white wine was chilling in a bucket of ice. A bottle of whiskey and two glasses sat nearby. “Did he make any contingency arrangements for his collection in the event that something happened to him? Is there a will?”

“I have no idea. He always dreamed of founding a library of paranormal literature for serious researchers, but he never had the money to start such an ambitious project, and no academic institution would accept his collection.”

“If he made a will, it will be on file somewhere. I’ll have someone in Coppersmith’s legal department check into it.” Sam took out his phone and keyed a number. “If we can locate a will and the lawyer who drew it up, we might be able to take action to protect Webber’s books, or at least those in the vault, before it’s too late.”

He spoke briefly to whoever answered the phone, giving instructions with a relaxed authority.

“Thanks, Bill,” he concluded. “Let me know when you’ve got something.”

Sam ended the call and reached for the wine bottle. When he realized that Abby was watching him, he raised his brows. “What?”

“Must be nice to be able to pick up a phone and have a lawyer snap to attention like that for you,” she said.

“There are benefits to having access to the resources of a privately held company.” Sam poured wine into one of the glasses. “But guys like Bill don’t come cheap, and they don’t exactly snap to attention, sadly.”

He splashed some whiskey into the second glass and carried both across the room to where Abby sat.

“Thank you for trying to protect Thaddeus’s collection,” she said. She swallowed some of the wine and lowered the glass. “It meant everything to him.”

“We might be able to protect his books, at least for now, but if there is an heir and if he or she doesn’t appreciate the value of the collection, the books will probably go straight into the used-book market,” Sam said.

“Or a yard sale.”

Sam drank some whiskey and sank down onto the couch next to Newton. Absently, he scratched Newton’s ears.

Abby smiled proudly. “Newton was a real hero today, wasn’t he?”

“You’re not supposed to anthropomorphize,” Sam said. “Dogs don’t think in terms of bravery and cowardice. He recognized a threat, and he followed his instincts.”

“He was trying to protect me.”

“You’re his pack buddy. Like I said, he was just going on instinct.”

Abby took another sip of wine. “You were protecting me, too. You’re human. Am I allowed to call you brave and daring and heroic?”

“Nope.” He drank some more whiskey. “I was just doing my job.”

“Heroes always say stuff like that, you know.”

“In this case, it’s the simple truth. You hired me to find a blackmailer. Now it looks like I’m dealing with a blackmailer who is getting desperate enough to commit murder and attempted kidnapping.”

“And you hired me to find that lab book. Which reminds me.” She reached into her tote, took out her phone and checked her email. “There are a few new messages. Let me see if any of them are from those dealers I contacted earlier.”

She ran through the new mail. There was a note from her father, reminding her of the signing event, and a message from her stepmother, demanding that she get in touch immediately. Ignoring the first two emails, she opened the third. In spite of her exhaustion, she experienced another flash of adrenaline.

“Here we go,” she said, trying to keep her professional cool. “The auction is scheduled for next week. No preemptive bids are allowed, but it has been noted that my client will try to top any bid. We are guaranteed the opportunity to do so.”

Sam sat forward, eyes heating. Energy whispered in the atmosphere. Newton stirred and raised his head, ears sharpened.

Sam looked at the phone. “Which dealer is running the auction?”

“He calls himself Milton,” Abby said. “But that’s just his online alias. I don’t know anything more about him, aside from the fact that he is one of the dealers who works with the most dangerous collectors and the most dangerous books. I’ve never done business with him, but he says he knows my reputation and trusts that my client is solid.”

“I’ll call one of the people in the IT department.” Sam reached for his own phone. “See if he can trace Milton.”

“I doubt that you’ll be able to find him. Dealers like Milton don’t survive this long unless they are very careful.”

“Thaddeus Webber was careful,” Sam pointed out. “Someone found him.”

22

Imprisoned in the shadows, he watched her walk down the hall to the door of the lab. He called out her name, but in dreams there is no sound. He tried to move, desperate to stop her before she opened the door and disappeared inside the room where death awaited.

He managed to take one step and then another, but the darkness bound him as securely as a prison cell. He knew he would not get to her in time.

At the end of the hall, she stopped and looked back at him, her hand on the doorknob.

He said her name one more time, but she did not respond.

Cassidy.

She opened the door and entered the lab. The killer was waiting for her.…

SAM CAME AWAKE AS HE ALWAYS DID AFTER THE DREAM, BREATHING hard and drenched in sweat. He wrenched the covers aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths.

After a while he got up, yanked off his damp T–shirt, pulled on a pair of pants and opened the bedroom door. For a moment, he stood in the shadowed hall and studied the door across the way. Abby was inside that room. She had not invited him to join her. He had not pushed. His intuition warned him that she not only needed sleep, she needed time to come to terms with whatever had happened between them last night.

One night of hot, psi-infused sex did not a relationship make,he thought. Well, it had for him, but he could tell that Abby was having trouble with the concept. It was probably hard to focus on your personal life when you were worried about people with guns trying to kidnap you. A woman had to set priorities. So did a man, and keeping Abby safe was his one and only priority now.

He started down the dimly lit hall toward the stairs but paused when he heard the click of dog nails on the other side of Abby’s bedroom door. Newton was awake and alert inside the room.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, keeping his voice to a whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

He went downstairs to the kitchen, turned on a light and took the whiskey out of the cupboard. He poured a medicinal shot and drank it, leaning against the granite counter. The heat of the liquor burned away the last fragments of the dream.

When the glass was empty, he thought about going back to bed, but that would be futile. He would not sleep again tonight. He never did after the dream. He would be awake until morning, so he might as well do something productive.

He turned off the light, left the kitchen and went down to the basement. He walked along the hall, the same hall that appeared in the damn dream. The ghostly images of Cassidy walking this path to her doom were not from his memories. He had not been in the house that night. But he had imagined how it must have happened so many times that his reconstructed version of events had become as detailed and as graphic as a photograph.

He opened the door and went into the chamber. The energy in the room stirred all of his senses. The lab was drenched in darkness, but the specimens in the glass cases were all hot. They burned most strongly at night.

He jacked up his talent and walked through the dazzling rainbow of paranormal light. The hues ranged across the spectrum, from icy ultrablack to hot ultrareds and on into the silvery ultrawhite energy that the old alchemists had called the Hermetic Stream, the water that did not wet the hands.

The raw-amber pieces were especially powerful to his heightened senses. He stopped in front of a glass case and studied the copper-and-gold radiation given off by the specimen inside. The same color as Abby’s hair, he realized. He smiled a little and reached out to open the case.

Soft footsteps and the click of dog nails sounded in the hall. He turned away from the case and saw Abby and Newton silhouetted in the doorway. Abby had a flashlight in her hand. The beam speared into the lab, illuminating one of the glass cases.

Newton trotted into the room and immediately began to investigate the space, his nose to the floor.

Sam looked at Abby. She had put on her robe and slippers. Her hair was a wild storm of curls around her face. His slightly jacked senses got hotter.

“Didn’t mean to wake you up,” he said.

She moved slowly into the room. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He went to the desk and flipped the switch on the lamp.

“Not much in the way of lighting,” she said. She switched off the flashlight. “I think of labs as being sterile, brightly lit places, like the Coppersmith Black Box.”

“They often turn off the lights in the Box. Paranormal energy is more vivid to the senses in darkness.”

“Yes.”

She walked slowly toward him, gazing into the cases that she passed. He felt energy shimmer in the atmosphere and knew that she had heightened her talent. He would know her aura anywhere and in any light, he thought.

“What do you see when you look at these stones?” she asked.

He looked at her, not the gems and crystals that surrounded them. She dazzled his senses more than any of the rare stones in the room.

“Fireworks, rainbows and a thousand shades of lightning,” he said.

“I can sense that they’re hot. Anyone with a scrap of talent could figure that out.” She stopped a short distance away. “But I don’t see fireworks, rainbows and lightning.”

“That’s because you’re not looking at what I’m looking at.”

“What are you looking at?”

“You.”

She took a step closer, and then another, until she was only a foot away. She raised her hand and brushed her fingertips across the phoenix tattoo that covered his shoulder.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” she asked.

“A dream woke me.”

“A bad one,” she said. It was not a question.

“A recurring one.”

“Was it about the woman you were dating? The one who was killed here in this room?”

“Cassidy Lawrence. Good guess.”

“Not a guess,” Abby said. “Intuition. What really happened that night?”

“Damned if I know.” He exhaled slowly. “I was on an assignment with that private contractor I told you about. I finished the job early and got the feeling that I needed to get back here to the Copper Beach house as soon as possible. I arrived sometime after midnight. Knew something was wrong immediately.”

“Bad energy?”

“There was definitely some of that, but the really big clue was that the alarm system had been turned off.”

“By Cassidy?”

“I don’t know. I never gave her the code. Maybe she had some good hacking skills. But my theory is that it was the killer who deactivated the system. I entered the house. Nothing appeared to be disturbed, but I could feel the psychic residue that murder always leaves. Same thing I sensed today at Webber’s house. Death leaves a calling card. I found Cassidy’s body in here. There was no obvious sign of violence. The authorities and everyone else concluded that she had taken an overdose of some exotic club drugs.”

“Suicide?”

“No. I’m sure of it. Trust me, Cassidy was not the type.”

“But you never found the killer.”

“No.”

“What do you think happened that night?” Abby asked.

“I’ve gone over and over all possible scenarios, and I keep coming back to the only one that works. It was a setup right from the beginning.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cassidy must have helped engineer the whole thing. I don’t want to believe it, because it makes me look so damned stupid, but there’s no other explanation that fits. Serves me right for breaking the rules.”

“What rules?”

“Never date the employees.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“At a gem-and-mineral show in Arizona. I hit most of the big events each year, because you never know what might show up. Once in a while, there’s a hot stone. At that show, one of the dealers had a very interesting chunk of psi-infused quartz. It was obvious that he didn’t realize what he had. In fact, the only other person in the vicinity who clearly recognized the nature of the quartz was the spectacular-looking woman standing next to me.”

“Cassidy.”

“Right. One thing led to another. She was smart, gorgeous and talented. And she was as obsessed with hot rocks as I am. She wanted a job with Coppersmith. I introduced her to the director of the Black Box. Frye hired her immediately. Talent like hers is hard to come by.”

“But the two of you continued to date,” Abby said.

“I started bringing her here on weekends. But she wasn’t supposed to be on the island the night she died.”

“Why was she here? Did you ever figure it out?”

“The only logical explanation is that she came here with her partner to steal the Phoenix stones.”

“I don’t understand,” Abby said. “Why would she think they were here in your lab? You said that those stones disappeared in the explosion at the mine.”

“That’s only half true. The stones that Ray Willis had removed for analysis and experimentation vanished. But my father escaped from that mine with a small number of geodes containing hot crystals. The stone in my ring is from one of them.”

Abby studied his ring, fascinated. “That’s one of the Phoenix crystals?”

“Yes. Dad split one of the geodes and removed three of the smallest crystals. He had them made into rings and gave one to my sister, Emma; one to my brother, Judson; and one to me. But so far they’ve served mostly as reminders of our obligation to protect the stones. We can run a little psi through them, but none of us has been able to figure out how to tap the full power of the latent energy in the crystals. And we’re not sure it would be smart to do so.”

“But you can sense that energy?”

He glanced at the ring. “Yes. The three crystals are all different. Even though they came out of the same geode, they are not the same in color, and they appear to have different properties. Emma, Judson and I each responded differently to them. Each of us chose the one that compelled us the most. This was the stone that somehow resonated with me.”

“Where are the rest of the Phoenix crystals?”

“They’re in a vault here in the basement. But that’s one of the problems with the scenario that I’ve been working on. I never told Cassidy about the stones. Never showed her the vault. As far as I knew, she had no knowledge of the Phoenix Mine or the rocks that Dad hauled out of it.”

“Yet somehow she came to know your family secrets.” Abby concentrated for a moment. “You said she was a talent with an affinity for stones that was similar to your own.”

“Right.”

Abby looked around the chamber. “She spent time in this lab with you. Maybe she could sense them.”

“I doubt it. They don’t actually give off a lot of energy unless you know how to tap into the heat. No one ever notices the one in my ring. It’s the same with the crystals Emma and Judson wear. Besides, the stones in the vault are shielded behind an inch of steel. But maybe her accomplice knew something she didn’t know.”

“You’re sure she had an accomplice?” Abby asked.

“It’s the only answer. He’s the one who killed her.”

“Why would he do that?”

“That’s one of the many things I don’t know,” he said. “The only thing I am sure of is that whoever was here that night, he or she did not get the vault open. The stones are still inside.”

“Could be her accomplice wasn’t all that good with locks,” Abby said.

“Even a first-rate locksmith with some serious talent wouldn’t be able to open the vault. It’s got a one–of–a–kind crystal mechanism. Designed it myself.” He held up his hand to show her the stone in his ring. “It can only be opened with one of the rings, and whoever did it would have to be able to push a little energy through the stone.”

“What about explosives?” Abby asked.

“Sure, you could blow the safe, but it would be an extremely dangerous operation, due to the unpredictable nature of the stones inside. Whoever was here that night knew better than to try that approach.”

“So Cassidy’s partner got this far that night, realized he couldn’t get into the safe and decided to cut his losses,” Abby said. “He started with his accomplice, Cassidy, the one person who could implicate him.”

“I think that’s how it went down. I also think it’s time you had a look at what this situation is all about.” He walked toward the far end of the room.

Abby trailed after him. “You’re going to show me the lock?”

“I’m going to open the vault and show you the stones. You’re in this as deep as I am. You have a right to see what my family has been protecting for the past forty years.”

He went to the far end of the room and pushed the concealed lever in the wall. A panel of fake stone slid open to reveal the steel door of the vault.

“That safe looks much newer than the rest of the house,” Abby said.

“It is. For years Dad used a top–of–the-line security system designed by the head of our Black Box lab, Paul Lofgren. He was an old friend of my father’s. Lofgren died a few years ago. After I moved into this house, I wanted something more secure. I designed a new one. It was made to order by a firm in Seattle. I played around with various crystal devices until I came up with the obsidian lock and the Phoenix keys.”

Abby gave that some more thought. “Did anyone outside the family know that you changed the lock?”

“No. It was another Coppersmith family secret. You’re thinking that whoever arranged the burglary that night expected to find the old lock in place, aren’t you?”

“It might explain why things ended the way they did.”

“That’s my conclusion as well.”

He held his ring to the chunk of obsidian that was set into the wall and pushed a little energy through the crystal. The black stone glowed with dark light. The thick steel door swung open slowly. Faint currents of ghostly energy wafted out into the lab. Newton growled.

“I see what you mean,” Abby said. She moved closer to get a better look. “Whatever is inside doesn’t feel particularly hot. The vibes are definitely strange, however.”

Sam hit the switch that turned on the interior light. He watched her face when she saw the small pile of dull, gray rocks inside the vault. She looked disappointed. He smiled.

“Not very exciting, are they?” he asked.

“Nope. If I couldn’t sense a little of the energy, I wouldn’t give them another glance.”

“Each one is a geode. The hot crystals are inside. Dad split one of them, removed the three crystals for the rings and then decided he didn’t want to risk cutting into any of the other geodes. Too many unknowns.”

“Which one did he open?”

“This one.” He picked up half of the split geode and removed it from the vault. “Good old-fashioned rock on the outside, but take a look at what’s inside.”

He turned the cut geode to reveal the senses-dazzling interior.

Abby gazed in astonished wonder at the breathtaking array of multicolored crystals that filled the heart of the stone.

“Oh, my,” she breathed. “This is nature’s version of a Fabergé egg, except that the decoration is on the inside.”

“We think it may be more like nature’s version of a powerful furnace,” he said. “The problem is that we don’t know how to safely access the full force of the energy in even one of these geodes. We haven’t got the technology needed to control this kind of paranormal power.”

“You’re able to control the crystal in your ring in order to open the lock on the vault?”

“Sure, I can run a little psi through it, do a few parlor tricks.” He put the geode, cut side down, back inside the vault. “But I have no idea what would happen if I could channel the full power locked in it.”

Abby watched him close the vault door.

“What do you see in your dream?” she asked.

He reset the vault lock. “I see Cassidy walking along the hall to this room. I know she is going to open the door and come face–to–face with her killer. I try to call out to her, to warn her, but I can’t move, and she can’t hear me.”

“Tough dream,” Abby said.

“I’ve had better.”

“I know it won’t help, but I can tell you that I’ve got something similar going on,” she said.

He looked at her. “Bad dreams?”

“Worse than that. I’ve started sleepwalking. Gwen says I shouldn’t worry about it. She says it’s probably just temporary stress caused by the incident in the Vaughn library. But she also said that it might be my intuition trying to tell me that I’m overlooking something important.”

“What do you see in your dream?”

“Nothing that looks like any kind of clue, that’s for sure. I see Grady Hastings, the crazy guy who broke in with the gun that day. He reaches out to me. Begs me to help him. I want to, but I don’t know how.”

Sam pulled her into his arms and wrapped her close and tight.

“Maybe there’s a lesson here,” he said.

“What would that lesson be?”

He dropped a kiss into her hair, and then he moved his mouth to her ear.

“Maybe neither of us should be sleeping alone,” he said.

She slipped her arms around his neck. “Do you think that sleeping together would stop the dreams?”

“Worked for me last night.” He kissed her throat. “What about you?”

“Well, I had the dream before we went to bed together. That’s what woke me up. But afterward, I went out like a light. I don’t remember any dreams.”

He nuzzled her throat. “What do you say we rerun the experiment again tonight and see if we get the same positive results?”

She smiled. “Is that the way you science guys talk when you want to get a lady into bed?”

“Depends. Is it working? If not, I’ll try another approach.”

“Don’t bother.” She brushed her mouth against his. “It’s working.”

The lovemaking was compelling and intense, just as it had been the first time, but there was something different about it tonight, Abby thought. Last night she had experienced what felt like a metaphysical as well as a physical intimacy at the height of her release. The short-lived sense of connection had been unlike anything she had ever experienced, but she had told herself it was a result of the paranormal energy involved. They had both been running a little hot last night.

The same alarming, enthralling sensation of psychical and physical intimacy swept through her again tonight. But this time when she shivered in Sam’s arms and wrapped herself around him while he powered through a shuddering climax, she knew that the connection was not temporary. Something much more permanent was going on with their resonating auras.

Her last coherent thought before she tumbled down into sleep was that even if she did not see Sam again for the rest of her life, the link between them would endure to the end.

She did not know whether to be thrilled or terrified.