“There’s a guy named Lander Knox running around in this thing,” Sam said. “We’ve been trying to find him before he gets to the lab book.”

“Webber and Sparrow were both very good at what they did. I will miss their professional services. But my chief concern at the moment is for Miss Radwell. I do not want to lose her, as well. Her talents are quite unique. But, then, you already know that, don’t you? Take good care of her, Coppersmith.”

“I’ll do that,” Sam said.

“Nice to know so many people are so concerned about my well-being,” Abby grumbled.

“There are very few who can do what you do, Miss Radwell,” the stranger said. “If for any reason you find yourself in need of a new bodyguard or a new client, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

“Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to get in touch,” Abby said.

“You never know. Things have a way of changing. But since it appears that change is not going to happen tonight, I will say good-bye for now. I’ll look forward to a future meeting.”

“I suppose you want the herbal back?” Abby asked tentatively.

“Keep it as a souvenir. I’m not really into perfumes. But I would be interested to know if the Cleopatra recipe works.”

Footsteps echoed in the shadows. Abby sensed Sam revving up his nearly exhausted talent. She knew that he was trying to catch another glimpse of the stranger’s aura.

The alley door closed with a heavy metal clang that reverberated through the shadows. The garage went silent.

Sam got to his feet. “You asked him if he wanted the herbal back? What the hell was that about? Abby, that damn book was a bribe. You don’t have to return bribes.”

She rose quickly. “I told you, I have to think about my reputation.”

“And you got upset with me because I talked a little shop with him.”

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You took the brunt of that flash-bang blast.”

“I’ll survive.”

“It must have been a very heavy burn. I can’t even imagine how much energy you had to use to do whatever it was you did with that quartz. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Stop fussing,” Sam said. “We don’t have time. I’m going to crash soon.”

“Right. Yes. Sorry. I suppose that was Nick’s Mr. Anonymous.”

“Probably, but he’s not Mr. Anonymous as far as Coppersmith Inc. is concerned. We have another name for him.”

“What?”

“The competition.”

“That was someone from Helicon Stone?”

“Got a feeling we just took a meeting with Gideon Barrett, Hank Barrett’s son. I told you that Dad and Hank have been feuding for years.”

“Whew. Well, at least our side won tonight.”

“Our side?” Sam sounded amused.

“Figure of speech,” she said brusquely. “What now?”

“Now we find a place where I can crash for a few hours. Forget driving back to Anacortes. When I go down, I’m going to go down hard.”

“I can drive.”

“I know, but you’ll be too vulnerable if I’m passed out on the backseat. I don’t want to risk another carjacking.”

Abby swallowed hard and braced herself. Show no weakness. Sam had used a lot of energy tonight. He would need to sleep, and soon. She had to be adult about this.

“We can go back to my condo,” she said. “That’s the nearest bed.”

“No,” he said, surprisingly gentle. “Not the condo.”

36

HE CHOSE ONE OF THE BIG, ANONYMOUS HOTELS A FEW blocks away in the downtown core, and requested and got a room with no connecting doors. In the close confines of the elevator, he was intensely aware that he was not the only one experiencing the effects of a strong afterburn. There was a lot of edgy energy in Abby’s aura. She had not taken the full force of the flash-bang blast because it had been focused on him, but she had caught some of the blowback. She was experiencing some of the downside, too.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Abby said. “Just a little jittery. You know how it is. Probably just as well you didn’t take me up on my offer to drive back to Anacortes tonight.” She glanced at his duffel. “But if this keeps up, I may have to start traveling with an overnight bag the way you do. At least the hotel provided a few basics.”

He looked at the small packet she clutched. The front desk clerk had given it to her. It contained a tiny toothbrush, toothpaste and a few other overnight essentials. She had refused to even take some of her underwear and a change of clothes from the devastated condo. All she had with her tonight was whatever she normally carried in her large tote.

The elevator doors opened. He followed Abby out into the hallway. He had to stay focused on getting her securely buttoned up for the night so that he could crash without having to worry about her safety.

“What was that flash-bang thing he used on you?” Abby asked.

“Damned if I know. The Barretts have their secrets, just like the Coppersmiths. I’d give a lot to know what kind of crystal he used to power that gadget, though.”

Abby smiled.

“What?” he asked.

“In hindsight, there was a certain humorous aspect to that showdown in the garage.”

“Yeah? I didn’t notice anyone laughing, especially not me.”

“Something about the way the two of you started to wander off into a discussion of crystal physics while you’re both holding weapons on each other,” Abby said.

“You think that was funny?”

“I guess you had to be there.”

“I was there.”

He concentrated on securing the room, but there was no getting around the fact that a part of him was consumed by the prowling tension that was the usual first phase of the post-burn syndrome. You’ve been here before, he thought. You can handle it.

The biochemistry of a heavy burn was complicated and not well understood. For males, there was a lot of adrenaline and testosterone involved, so the sexual arousal was predictable. But the hungry, urgent restlessness had never been this bad in the past. It didn’t take a psychic to know why the sensation was so overwhelming tonight. It had a focus, and that focus was Abby.

He forced himself to go through the drill. He noted the location of the emergency exits and came up with two possible escape routes. His hand shook a little when he inserted the key card into the lock. If Abby noticed, she was too polite to say anything.

Inside the room, he secured the door and did a quick survey. No connecting doors, as promised. The sealed windows looked out over Sixth Avenue twelve floors below.

Satisfied, he unzipped the leather duffel and took out two small crystals.

“What are those?” Abby asked.

“Think of them as psychic trip wires. If anyone tries to come in through the door or the window, I’ll know about it.”

“More PEC technology?”

“Yes.”

“Do you always carry those gadgets and your gun in your overnight bag?”

“Yes.”

When he was satisfied that he had taken all possible precautions, he turned around and looked at Abby. She stood, contemplating the bed, arms folded. Something about her obvious uncertainty irritated him.

“What?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “Nothing. I, uh, thought there would be two beds, that’s all.”

For some reason, the knowledge that she did not want to share the bed with him hit him harder than the damn flash-bang had. And then he got mad; not at Abby, at himself. That was another problem with the burn-and-crash routine. It pushed everything, including normal, logical thought processes, to the edge. It made for a real roller-coaster ride.

“Sorry.” He knew he sounded brusque, but that was a hell of a lot better than begging her to sleep with him. “This was all that was available in a room that had no connecting door. No problem. I’ll take the chair or the floor.”

“No, you certainly will not.” Her brows scrunched together in a severe look. “You need to sleep soundly. You can’t do that in a chair or on the floor.”