Copper Beach

regarded Nick with seething irritation. “And yes, I know him. You could say we’re colleagues of a sort. We both work the book market, but Nick isn’t quite as selective as I am when it comes to clients. I was, however, under the impression, until tonight, that he was my friend.”

    Nick muttered something unintelligible. Newton bounced around him, waiting for the new game to begin.

    “Give him a minute,” Sam said.

    Nick managed to get to his feet. He was still shaky. He was about the same age as Abby, a lean, athletically built man with the sort of clean, chiseled features that could have ensured him a successful career in modeling. His silver-white hair and artificially tanned face served to enhance the vivid blue of his eyes.

    He shot a hooded look at Sam, did a quick assessment of the situation and evidently concluded that his best option lay in an appeal to Abby.

    “Sorry about this, sweetie,” he said. “I thought you were out of town.”

    “That’s supposed to excuse what you just did?” Abby waved a hand toward the open slider. “You just broke into my home. You’d better start talking, and fast, or I’m going to call the police, I swear it.”

    Nick exhaled heavily and leaned over to scratch Newton behind the ears. “Take it easy, sweetie. I can explain everything. You know you’re not going to call the cops.”

    “Before you say another word,” Abby warned, “if you call me sweetie one more time, I will use that lamp on your head.”

    “It’s a little complicated, sweet—uh, Abby.”

    “I think we can uncomplicate this thing real fast,” Sam said. “Tell us why you broke in here tonight.”

    Nick scowled. “Who is this guy, Abby? I can’t believe he’s a new boyfriend. Definitely not your type.”

    “Talk,” Sam said. “Fast.”

    Nick shot him an irritated look. “I didn’t break in, I let myself in.”

    “That wasn’t a key you used to open the slider,” Sam said.

    “Abby and I are old friends.” Nick turned back to Abby and flashed a smile that was as brilliant as his hair. “Isn’t that right?”

    “We both know that I never gave you a key to my home,” Abby said. “Gwen has a spare, but you don’t. Why are you here?”

    “Believe it or not, just looking out for you. There’s a real hot book floating around. Some kind of lab notebook dealing with crystal experiments. It’s supposed to be about forty years old, and rumor has it that it’s encrypted. If that’s the case, there’s a good chance that some of the people who are after it will be trying to hire you.”

    “Don’t give me that blather about looking out for me,” Abby snapped. “You’re trying to locate that book yourself, aren’t you? You came here hoping that you would find a lead.”

    “So you are working that job.” Nick jerked a thumb at Sam. “He’s a new client, isn’t he? What’s going on here? You never let clients into your home.”

    “You know, I really don’t have to answer your questions,” Abby said. “You are supposed to be explaining why you are here in my living room.”

    Nick shrugged. “Like I said, just looking out for your best interests.”

    “I got that much,” Abby said, bristling with impatience. “Tell me the rest of it.”

    “Okay, okay, calm down. I don’t know a whole lot more than what I just told you. I don’t have a client yet, but the word on the street is that the book is worth a fortune to more than one person. Figured if I got to it first I could hold an auction. This could be the big one for me.”

    “Where did you hear the rumors of the book?” Sam asked.

    “Like I’m going to tell you that,” Nick muttered.

    Sam took the aura-suppression device out of his pocket.

    Nick looked bored. “The rumors cropped up in the usual places online. Tell him, Abby.”

    Abby folded her arms. “There are chat rooms where collectors and dealers exchange gossip and leads. I haven’t had a chance to check out the usual suspects lately, because I’ve been preoccupied with my own problems. Guess I’d better visit some of the online sites.”

    “What have you heard about the collectors who are after the encrypted book?” Sam asked.

    “Damn it, who is this guy, Abby?” Nick demanded.

    “The name is Sam Coppersmith,” Sam said.

    He was still trying to get past the comment about not looking like Abby’s type. It occurred to him that no one would think it odd if a cat burglar fell from a tenth-floor balcony while