“Trust me, the way I’m going to go down tonight, I won’t notice where I sleep.”
“Forget it. Sorry I raised the issue. I’m a little tense. You’ve had a very deep burn. I thought that you would sleep better alone.”
“I’m not going into a coma.” He took his overnight kit, a fresh T–shirt and a clean pair of briefs out of the duffel bag. “I just need some sleep.” He headed toward the bathroom.
“By the way, what is PEC technology?” Abby asked.
“What?” It was hard to focus on her question. The urge to pull her into his arms and lose himself in her warm, soft body while the aftermath flames burned through him was growing stronger. What the hell was the matter with him? He had never been this close to the edge of control. Maybe Barrett’s psychic flash-bang gadget had a few side effects.
“PEC technology,” she repeated. “You and Gideon Barrett both used the term.”
He stood in the doorway, staring into the white tile bathroom. “Stands for psi-emitting crystals. The paranormal equivalent of light-emitting diodes and liquid crystal displays.”
“They’re similar to LEDs and LCDs?”
“Yes, but the energy generated comes from beyond the normal range on the spectrum and has different properties. It’s the kind of technology Coppersmith is working on in the Black Box lab.” He moved into the bathroom and plopped the overnight kit down on the counter. “Do you mind if we save the science lesson for tomorrow? I’m beat. Not really in a good place to explain the physics of para-rocks right now. I need a shower.”
“I was just curious.”
That did it. Now he felt like a total brute. He closed the bathroom door.
He emerged a short time later wearing the clean underwear and the trousers he’d had on earlier. Abby was waiting, still fully dressed. She had the hotel vanity kit in hand.
It dawned on him that she did not have a nightgown.
“I’ve got a spare T–shirt,” he said.
“Thank you.” She looked relieved. “I’ll take it.”
He took a clean black T–shirt out of the duffel without a word and handed it to her. She slipped past him and disappeared into the small room. The door closed firmly. He heard water running in the sink. It ran for a very long time. He realized she was probably doing a little hand laundry. In the morning, he would probably find a pair of panties hanging on the towel rack. The vision heated his blood a little more.
He considered his options and went for the padded reading chair in the corner near the window. The sight of the ottoman cheered him in some macabre way.
“Damn perfect,” he muttered. “Just doesn’t get any better than this, does it, Coppersmith? You’re in the middle of a burn. Abby is a few feet away, getting ready for bed, and you get to crash in a chair with an actual ottoman. You’ll be able to prop up your feet. Wow.”
The bathroom door opened a crack. “Sam, did you say something?”
“Just talking to myself.”
“I understand. I do that sometimes, too. Well, actually, I talk to Newton. Maybe you should get a dog.”
He realized that he was gritting his teeth. “I’ll definitely have to think about doing just that.”
The door closed.
He opened the minibar, chose two small bottles, the whiskey and the brandy. He yanked a pillow off the bed, turned off all the lights except the one by the bed and dropped into the chair. He propped his feet on the ottoman, twisted the top off one of the liquor bottles and swallowed some of the whiskey. He contemplated the closed door of the bathroom while he downed the medicinal alcohol. With luck, he would be unconscious by the time Abby came out.
The door opened quietly a few minutes later. Abby emerged wearing his T–shirt. It was much too big for her. The hem fell to her thighs. She looked sexy as hell in the shadows. An elemental thrill of possessiveness swept through him. He drank some more of the whiskey.
“Are you asleep?” she asked softly.
“Getting there.”
“I told you to take the bed.”
“I don’t follow orders well.”
“You don’t have to be grouchy about it,” she said. “I was just trying to make sure you’ll get the rest you need.”
“I’ll sleep fine right here.” Eventually.
“Are you drinking something?”
“Yeah.” He opened the second bottle. “Helps take the edge off the afterburn buzz.”
“You got into the minibar?”
“Uh–huh.” He swallowed some of the brandy.
“I could use a glass of wine myself.”
“Help yourself. There are a couple of small bottles of wine in the bar.”
She crossed the room, opened the minibar and studied the assortment. Then she glanced at the printed card that detailed the prices of the items in the bar.
“Geez, look at the prices,” she said.
“Go for it.” He saluted her with the miniature whiskey bottle. “Live large. I’m paying for the room, remember?”
“Okay, thanks.”
She chose the little bottle of white wine, untwisted the cap and sat down on the edge of the bed.
They drank in silence for a while. He saw no reason to try to engage in conversation. It would only make things more complicated.
“How are you feeling?” Abby asked.
“Coming down. Finally.” It was the truth, he realized. The alcohol and time were working. He would sleep soon.
“Before you crash, I just want to say thank you again. This is the second time you’ve saved me from someone who wanted to kidnap me.”
He closed his eyes. “I’ve told you before, I’m just doing my job. But in fairness, I don’t think Gideon Barrett would have grabbed you against your will. He just wanted to get me out of the way for a while so that he could talk you into accepting his offer. And he would have made you one hell of an offer, trust me.”
“Looked a lot like an attempted kidnapping to me. It’s sort of scary knowing that people want to kidnap you.”
“I know,” he said, gentler this time. She had good reason to be afraid, he thought. “You’re handling it well. Lot of folks in your position would be basket cases by now.”
“If I’m dealing with it well, it’s because I’ve got you watching my back. So thanks, anyway.”
He opened his eyes. “Even if I do have my own agenda?”
She smiled. “Everyone has an agenda. I can deal with that, so long as a person is honest about it. You’ve been up front about yours from the beginning. Well, almost from the beginning.”
The last thing he wanted was her gratitude.
“Finish your wine, turn out the light and go to sleep, Abby,” he said.
“Okay.”
She set the empty bottle on the nightstand, switched off the lamp and got into bed.
Sam contemplated the little brandy bottle and decided not to finish it. Too much alcohol might prolong the recovery phase of the crash. He set the bottle on the table beside the chair, leaned back and watched the shadows on the ceiling for a while. He thought about the array of people who were trying to grab Abby and the lab book.
“I’m missing something,” he said after a while.
“What?” Abby asked from the shadows.
“Don’t know. Can’t think clearly tonight. But in the morning, I need to go back to the beginning of this case and look at everything from a different angle.”
“You mean back to that first blackmail note?”
“No, back to what happened in Vaughn’s library.”
“You think that’s where it all started?”
“The answer is there, somewhere.”
“Maybe our chat with Grady Hastings tomorrow will give us a lead.”
“I’ve never interviewed a crazy psychic,” Sam said. “Should be interesting.”
The deep sleep crept over him.
37
The woman walked down the endless basement hallway. He knew she was going to open the lab door, knew the killer was waiting for her on the other side.
He tried to go after her, but he was trapped in the shadows. He tried to call to her, desperate to warn her, but he could not get her name out.