Willow blinked. “She hired Sam?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“Hmm.” Willow pushed back her chair and got to her feet. She went to stand at the window. “Well, I suppose that might work. Sam will persuade her that locating the book and getting it off the underground market is the best way to neutralize the blackmailer.”

Elias joined her at the window. “That must be the plan. He said he was on his way to Seattle right now.”

“He’ll get the lab book, Elias.” Willow reached out and took his hand. “It will be all right.”

“For the past couple of decades, I’ve been telling myself that the lab book must have been buried in the explosion along with Willis. But deep down I always knew that it was out there somewhere. And now it’s surfaced at last. If it falls into the wrong hands—”

“Stop blaming yourself for what happened at that old mine all those years ago. It was not your fault. You and Quinn Knox were nearly killed that day.”

“I’m the one who found that vein of crystals. I’m the one who insisted we run those first tests to see what we had.”

Willow tightened her grip on his hand. “What’s done is done. You had no way of knowing how dangerous those rocks were.”

Elias exhaled slowly. “I still don’t. That’s one of the things that makes that lab book so damn dangerous.”

“Sam knows that. He’ll find the book. He’s smart, and his talent will be an asset in this thing. You’ll see.”

Elias pulled her closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Together they watched the fading sunlight splash across the red rocks. He knew they were both thinking about the past and the deadly explosion at the mine.

The repercussions of the paranormal energy that had been released that day had echoed down into the future, creating the greatest of all the Coppersmith family secrets, the one secret that he and Willow had never told Sam, Judson or Emma.

After a while, Willow turned her head to look at him with a speculative expression.

“He called her Abby?” she said.

“Yeah. After meeting her for all of maybe one hour. And now he’s on his way to Seattle.” Elias paused, trying to find a way to explain what he had heard in Sam’s voice. “He sounded energized, Willow. As if he was looking forward to something.”

Willow smiled. “In that case, regardless of how this turns out, I’m already grateful to Abby Radwell.”

7

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND, ABBY?” GWEN FRAZIER LEANED forward across the restaurant table and lowered her voice. “According to what I found online, Sam Coppersmith was implicated in the murder of his fiancée six months ago. You have no business hiring a man like that. He might be very, very dangerous.”

“Relax, I’m employing him, I’m not sleeping with him. Big difference.”

“That’s supposed to reassure me?”

“Well, it certainly makes me feel better about the whole thing,” Abby said.

They were in a booth in the bar section of the restaurant. It was seven-thirty. The after-work crowd that had drifted in earlier had come and gone. The place was now filling up with the locals from the nearby condos and apartment buildings. Several stylists from the hair salon on the corner, which closed at seven, were celebrating a birthday. The low rumble of conversation and the music playing over the sound system provided a layer of privacy.

Gwen Frazier was the same age as Abby. Tall, dark-haired and hazel-eyed, she was an aura-reading talent who made her living as a psychic counselor. Her abilities allowed her to work with talents and non-talents alike. As she had explained to Abby, there was no real difference between the two groups of clients. Those with real psychical abilities of their own believed her when she explained that she worked by reading their auras. Those without talent wanted to believe that she could see their energy fields. It was a win-win situation for a woman in her line.

“This isn’t a joke,” Gwen said.

“I know. Sorry. It’s been a very long day. The drive back from Anacortes took longer than usual. Accident on the interstate.” Abby swallowed some of her wine and lowered the glass. “If it helps, I have been informed that there is no way Sam Coppersmith could have murdered his fiancée.”

“Who told you that?”

“The water-taxi guy.”

“He’s an authority?”

“He certainly seemed to think so. Evidently, no one on that island thinks Sam did it.”

“And what proof do they offer?” Gwen demanded.

“They seem to feel that if Sam had murdered someone, he would have done a better job of it.”

“I beg your pardon. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He would have made the victim disappear.” Abby waved one hand in a now-you-see–it–­now-you-don’t motion. “And he would have taken care to make sure that there was nothing left behind that pointed back to him.”

“And you believed this water-taxi guy’s theory?”

Abby looked at Gwen over the top of her glass. “Having met Sam Coppersmith, yes, I believe that theory.”

“You do realize that there’s a lot of money in the Coppersmith family,” Gwen said ominously. “With money comes the kind of power it takes to make sure someone in the family does not go down for murder.”

“Your cynical side is showing, Gwen.”

“It’s my best side. Is this Sam Coppersmith a real private investigator?”

“He described himself as a technical consultant.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” Gwen said.

“But I do think he’s the best man for the job.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake?”

“Because this situation involves a very hot book, and I need an investigator who at least takes the paranormal seriously. Not a lot of those floating around, in case you haven’t noticed. Besides, you know as well as I do that Thaddeus Webber would never have sent me to Coppersmith if he had believed there was a better option.”

“Point taken.” Gwen sat back. “Have you received any more email from the blackmailer?”

“No, thank goodness. But there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

“What?”

“I’ve had a really weird dream two nights in a row. They both featured Grady Hastings.”

Gwen frowned. “The crazy guy who staged that home invasion in your client’s house?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s not surprising that you would have some bad dreams for a while. That was a very frightening situation.”

“True, but what is freaking me out about the dreams is that I’ve started sleepwalking. I’ve never done that in my life.”

“There is nothing unstable about your talent,” Gwen said, “if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“You’re the one who told me that a disturbance in the dreamstate can be an early indication of serious problems with the para-senses.”

“It’s true, but that kind of disturbance is visible in the aura. You’re fine.”

Abby framed the base of her glass in a triangle formed by her thumbs and forefingers. “Take a look. Please.”

“Okay, okay.”

Gwen heightened her talent. Abby felt energy shiver gently in the atmosphere. A few feet away, a middle-aged businessman who was slouched on a bar stool suddenly turned his head and looked around, as though searching for someone or something. Abby knew that he had felt the tingle of psi in the vicinity but probably did not know what it was that had lifted the hairs on the nape of his neck. Over in the corner, a redheaded stylist drinking a cosmopolitan glanced uneasily around the room before turning back to her colleagues.

Abby waited while Gwen did her thing. After a couple of minutes, the energy level in the atmosphere receded.

“I’m not picking up any bad vibes,” Gwen said. “Just the indications of stress that I’ve mentioned before. There is some deepening in the intensity of ultralight coming from the hot end of the spectrum, but nothing alarming. I didn’t see anything that I associate with instability of the para-senses. Also, for the record, I didn’t see the kind of dreamlight that is associated with regular sleepwalking.”