Copper Beach

“You know what you really need?”

    “Please don’t say a new boyfriend.”

    “You need a vacation. You should come with me to Hawaii tomorrow. It’s not too late. I’ll bet we can find you a seat on my flight. There are always last-minute cancellations.”

    “Sure, at full fare. You know I can’t afford that. Besides, leaving town now is out of the question. How can I enjoy a vacation if I know there’s a blackmailer waiting for me when I get back?”

    “I guess that would put a damper on things,” Gwen conceded. “But you’ve hired Coppersmith to take care of the extortionist for you. Let him do his job while you relax on a beach.”

    “I don’t think you can just hire an investigator and then go merrily off on vacation while he cleans things up for you.”

    “Why not? You’re finished with the Vaughn job, and speaking as your friend and psychic counselor, I’m telling you that you need some time off to let your senses recover. Put the ticket to Hawaii on your charge card and tell your investigator to file reports of his progress by email.”

    “I don’t like the idea of turning Sam Coppersmith loose, unsupervised, on what is essentially my very personal and private business.”

    Gwen smiled knowingly. “You like to be in control.”

    “Who doesn’t? But trust me, if you ever meet Sam Coppersmith, you’ll know why staying in charge is a very sensible idea.”

    “What’s he like?”

    “Think mad scientist with a basement lab.”

    “Doesn’t sound like the typical profile of a private investigator.”

    Abby picked up her glass again. “There’s nothing typical about Sam Coppersmith.”

    When they emerged from the restaurant, a light misty rain veiled the Belltown neighborhood. The wet pavement glowed with the reflected light of the streetlamps. Neon signs illuminated the windows of the innumerable restaurants, pubs and clubs that lined both sides of First Avenue.

    Gwen shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her trench coat. “I’m thinking that maybe I should cancel Hawaii tomorrow. I don’t like leaving you here alone to deal with Coppersmith and a blackmailer.”

    “You are not going to cancel. Your new client is paying you a huge fee and all expenses just to have you go there to do a reading. You can’t turn your back on that kind of money.”

    “Screw the money. I’m worried about you, Abby.”

    “I’ll be fine.”

    “Promise me that if you start to feel like you’re in more trouble than you can handle you’ll call Nick, first, because he’ll be the closest. And right after you call him, you’ll call me. I’ll be on the next plane back to Seattle.”

    “I promise,” Abby said.

    Neither of them mentioned the possibility of her going to her family for help. It was not an option, and they both knew it. Gwen and Nick Sawyer constituted her real family, Abby thought. The bond among the three of them had been forged in the fires of their years together in the Summerlight Academy. Nothing could sever it.

    She was about to add more reassurance, but a flash of intense awareness stopped her cold in the middle of the sidewalk.

    “Abby?” Gwen stopped, too, concerned. “Are you okay?”

    “He’s here,” Abby said quietly.

    “Who?” Gwen asked.

    Abby watched a shadowy figure detach itself from a darkened doorway and walk forward into the light. The man wore a black leather jacket open over a dark crewneck pullover and dark trousers. The collar of the jacket was pulled up against the chill and the rain, shadowing his features.

    He carried a black leather gym bag in one hand. With her senses on alert, she had no difficulty at all perceiving the faint heat in his eyes. A thrill of excitement fizzed through her veins.

    Sam looked at her, eyes heating a little. “I’ve been waiting for you. You know the old saying.”

    “What old saying?” Abby asked.

    “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

    Abby looked at Gwen. “Meet Sam Coppersmith.”

8

    SAM HEARD THE CLICKS OF DOG CLAWS ON A WOODEN FLOOR before Abby got her door unlocked.
    “That’s Newton,” Abby explained. “He isn’t keen on strangers, especially strange men.”

    “I’ll try to make a good impression,” Sam said.

    She turned the key and pushed the door open. A scruffy gray dog of uncertain ancestry lunged forward to greet Abby as if she had been gone for a year.

    “Sorry I’m late, Newton.” Abby leaned down to scratch the dog affectionately behind the ears.