Dream Eyes dl-2

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Hmm.”

  She did not appear convinced, but at least she was no longer arguing with him. A fresh tide of intuition was riding him hard.

  “There’s something else to consider,” he said. “This geode is worth a fortune to certain people. Hell, it’s priceless. I can guarantee you that there are folks who would kill for it.”

  Gwen stared at him. “Are you saying that it might have been the motive for Evelyn’s murder?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Maybe that’s why she left the note on the back of the photograph that sent me here. She wanted to make sure I realized that someone was after the geode. But this map has to be important, too.” Gwen looked down at the folded map in her hand. “Otherwise she would never have hidden it here in the mirror engine. She was always very careful to keep this space free of any materials that could potentially interfere with her experiments.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Judson said. He made it an order.

  Gwen shot him a questioning look, but she did not argue. Without a word, she led the way back through the mirrored canyon.

  They retraced their path through the shadowed lab, moving from one patch of illuminated concrete flooring to the next, leaving darkness in their wake.

  At the front of the building, Gwen opened the heavy metal door and started to step outside.

  Maybe he caught the small flash of light in the trees on the opposite bank of the river because his senses were spiking on high alert. Or maybe it was just dumb luck. Whatever the reason, he reacted before the logical side of his brain could present a laundry list of reasonable explanations.

  He wrapped one hand around Gwen’s upper arm and dragged her out of the doorway.

  There was a solid thunk when the rifle round punched into the metal door frame. The sound of the shot echoed endlessly through the woods, audible even above the relentless roar of the falls.

  Thirteen

  “I’m guessing we aren’t going to assume that shot was fired by a hunter who just happened to mistake me for a deer,” Gwen said.

  It wasn’t easy to talk because she was flat on her back, pinned to the floor by Judson, who was on top of her. He weighed a ton, and she was pretty sure it was all muscle.

  “No,” he said. He rolled off of her. “We’re going for worst-case scenario here. Someone just tried to kill one or both of us. Get away from the door. He may try a couple of wild shots, hoping to get lucky.”

  Under most circumstances, she didn’t take orders well, but Judson seemed to know what he was doing. And it wasn’t like she was an expert in this sort of thing, she thought.

  She sat up and crawled quickly away from the partially open door, moving deeper into the lab. In the weak illumination cast by a strip of floor lighting, she watched Judson shift position in the shadows. A small shock snapped through her when she realized he had taken a gun from an ankle holster. Until that moment, it had not occurred to her that he might be armed.

  Judson flattened himself on the floor and fired three fast shots. She could see from the angle of his weapon that he was firing into the thundering falls, not straight across the river into the trees. Warning shots.

  The shooter in the woods did not return fire. A moment later the sound of a rapidly accelerating engine reverberated in the distance; the roar faded quickly as the vehicle sped away.

  “He didn’t expect me to be armed,” Judson said.

  Gwen exhaled the breath she did not realize she had been holding. “That makes two of us.”

  “You hired a security consultant,” Judson said. “What made you think I didn’t come with a gun?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose I was under the impression that you and your brother relied on paranormal technology for your work.”

  “Sam is the tech guy in the family. He likes his gadgets. But it’s usually a hell of a lot easier to defend yourself with a traditional gun than it is with psi-technology, especially if the guy who is shooting at you is a long ways away. I told you, para-weapons only operate at close range.”

  “I see. Well, this incident certainly raises a few new questions. I can’t believe that someone just tried to kill me.”

  “That might not have been the shooter’s objective.”

  “Do you have another suggestion?”

  “The shot was high.” Judson said. “The shooter may have been trying to scare you off, not kill you.”

  “Okay, I’ll take some comfort in that possibility. What now?”

  “You’re going out the back door. I’ll get the car and bring it around the lab building to pick you up.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe to go out the front door?” she asked.

  “He’s gone,” Judson said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  “But you still want me to go out the back way?”

  “Humor me, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “But promise me you’ll be very careful when you go out the front.”

  He looked mildly surprised by her concern. Then the edge of a smile appeared. He picked up the strongbox and went to the door.

  “I’ll be careful,” he said.

  * * *

  SHE WAITED TENSELY at the rear door of the lab, listening hard until she heard the SUV’s big engine fire up. She relaxed only somewhat when she did not hear any more shots.

  A moment later, Judson drove around the corner of the building, braked to a halt and leaned across the passenger compartment to throw open the door. She locked the lab door and hopped up into the front seat, the map clutched in one hand.

  “Are we going to report this to Oxley?” she asked, buckling her seat belt.

  “Sure.” Judson drove toward the road that bordered the river. “It will be interesting to see if he bothers to investigate. Even if he does go through the motions, I doubt that he’ll turn up any hard evidence. But the important thing is that word will get out around town that someone took a shot at you.”

  “That’s a good thing?”

  “It will put pressure on the shooter. He’ll think twice before he tries again because he knows that no cop, even a small-town one, will ignore a second hunting accident. That will buy me some time to find him.”

  “How do you intend to do that?” She stopped when she realized he was turning the wrong way onto the road. “Where are you going? Wilby is the other direction.”

  “The nearest bridge is this way. I want to get to the other side to see if I can locate the place where the shooter stood when he took the shot.”

  Gwen glanced at him. “You think you’ll find some psi-residue at the scene that will point us toward a suspect?”

  “Maybe. Sometimes I get lucky.”

  A hundred yards up the road, Judson drove across a narrow bridge. The lane on the far side was little more than a dirt track through the woods.

  He stopped the SUV in a position directly opposite the lodge and got out.

  Gwen watched him walk a few feet into the words before she extricated herself from the front seat and followed him. The wind was sharpening. The next summer storm would be upon them by nightfall.

  When she reached Judson’s side, she sensed the energy in the atmosphere around him.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “This is where the shooter stood when he pulled the trigger.” Judson studied the front of the lab. “He knew what he was doing. He aimed for the door frame, and that’s what he hit.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He was . . . satisfied with the shot. But he was surprised when I returned fire. I was right. He didn’t know that I was armed.”

  “Are you sure we’re talking about a male?”

  “No. I’m using the masculine pronoun in a generic sense, the same way I did at Ballinger’s house.”

  “So there could be a woman involved in this thing?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Judson said very softly.

  “Do you have any sense
of the emotion that the shooter was feeling when he took the shot?”

  “Angry. Scared. Desperate.” Judson turned back toward the SUV. “You’re wondering if it was Nicole Hudson who fired that shot, aren’t you?”

  “You heard her last night. She blames me for Taylor’s death.”

  “If she was the shooter, all I can tell you now is that she wasn’t trying to kill you. I need more information.”

  Gwen smiled. “I know what you mean. It’s called context.”

  Fourteen

  “Hunter.” Oxley studied the scarred metal where the rifle shot had punched through the doorjamb. “Every year we get a lot of city folks up here. Most of ’em can’t hit the broad side of a barn. They get excited and shoot at anything that moves.”

  “I can see you’re not impressed,” Judson said.

  Gwen was initially surprised that Oxley had not kept them waiting long. His arrival at the lodge so soon after Judson made the 911 call indicated that he had been poised to spring into action if he got word that she was present at yet another crime scene. It was almost as if he had been expecting to hear more bad news, she thought. It was depressing to be the Wilby version of Typhoid Mary.

  Light glinted on Oxley’s dark glasses when he turned his head to look at Judson. “This kind of thing happens every season. Just glad no one was hurt.”

  “Gosh, so are we,” Gwen said.

  Oxley’s heavy jaw hardened. “You think someone deliberately took a shot at you?”

  “That possibility crossed my mind, yes.”

  “Now, why would anyone want to do that?” Oxley asked very softly.

  “I don’t know,” Gwen said. “It occurred to me that getting the answer to that question was your job.”

  Oxley contemplated her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable behind the shades. “It’s no secret that you made an enemy here a couple of years ago.”

  “You’re talking about Nicole Hudson, aren’t you?” Gwen said.

  “Between you and me, Nicole is not real stable.”

  “I’ve heard that,” Gwen said.

  Oxley grunted. “I happen to know for a fact that she’s still got her dad’s old hunting rifle.”

  “Wonderful,” Gwen said. “An unstable woman in possession of a weapon. What are the odds she might decide to use it?”

  Oxley rubbed the back of his thick neck. “I’ll have a talk with her.”

  “We don’t think this was a hunting accident,” Judson said quietly. “We wanted to report the incident in case the situation escalates.”

  “Escalates?” Oxley repeated in ominous tones. “Like it escalated two years ago?”

  “Yes,” Judson said.

  “Who are you, Coppersmith, and what’s your connection to Miss Frazier, here?”

  “I’m a friend,” Judson said. “I’m helping Gwen deal with Evelyn Ballinger’s affairs.”

  “Friend, huh? Way I hear it, you and Miss Frazier are more than just friends, but that’s your business,” Oxley said. “I’d advise you to be real careful, though. Friends of Gwen Frazier have a bad habit of dying here in Wilby.” He squared his cap on his head and stalked back toward the patrol car. “Call me if there are any more incidents.”

  “You bet,” Gwen said. “Good to know you’re there to serve and protect, chief.”

  Oxley paused before stuffing himself behind the wheel. “You want to see this situation de-escalate? Leave town. Got a hunch things will go right back to normal around here once you’re gone. Just like they did last time.”

  Fifteen

  “You found one of the Phoenix geodes?” Elias roared into the phone. “Just sitting around in some abandoned resort lodge?”

  Wincing, Judson held the phone away from his ear.

  His father had built a business empire founded on rare earths and valuable ores. Elias had interests in every region of the globe. As president and CEO of Coppersmith, Inc., he did high-level deals in cosmopolitan European capitals and in hardscrabble mining camps on every continent. He had connections that stretched from Wall Street and Washington, D.C., to the farthest corners of the planet.

  The strategic importance of rare earths ensured that Elias could pick up a phone and get the full and immediate attention of government officials, directors of hedge funds and the owners of a wide range of technology firms. He was the go-to man for those who wanted to know what the foreign competition was doing. In practice, Elias almost never picked up the phone. Other people wasted a lot of their valuable time and their assistants’ valuable time trying to get through to him.

  Elias could hold his own with anyone from an East Coast banker to a Silicon Valley engineer, but he had started out as a hard rock prospector in the deserts of the American West, and he would be a man of the Old West for the rest of his life. It was there in his voice. The drawl got thicker when he got excited. He was excited now.

  “The geode was actually sitting around in a private lab here in Wilby,” Judson said. He looked at the steel strongbox on the bench at the end of his bed. “The former owner cut it open. She was using it to power some of her lab equipment, a psi-reflecting engine made out of hot mirrors.”

  The door between his room and Gwen’s stood open. Max wandered across the threshold and vaulted up onto the big bed, landing with a heavy thud. He looked at the steel box with an attentive expression for a few seconds and then he seemed to lose interest.

  “You’re sure it’s one of the stones from the Phoenix Mine?” Elias asked.

  “There’s no way to be absolutely certain of the source,” Judson said. “Rocks are rocks. They don’t come with tidy little stamps stating the place of origin. But this rock is definitely hot just like the others in the vault. And there’s one other thing that makes me pretty sure it came from the Phoenix.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “I recognize the energy in it. Some of the crystals are identical to the one in my ring.”

  “Son of a—” Elias broke off, thinking. “Well, wherever the hell it came from, we need to get it up here to Copper Beach and into the vault as soon as possible.”

  “I agree, but someone is going to have to come to Wilby to pick it up. I can’t leave town yet. The client insists on staying here until we find out who killed Ballinger.”

  “This would be the client who happens to be one of Abby’s two best friends?” Elias asked.

  “Gwen Frazier, right.”

  “Does she have any idea how the dead woman got hold of that rock?”

  “Gwen says Ballinger bought it online about two years ago.”

  “Damn Internet,” Elias growled. “Talk about the perfect black market. Anyone can sell anything and not leave a trace. Can’t believe Ballinger was using that rock to fuel a bunch of hot mirrors. It’s a miracle that she didn’t blow up her lab and maybe the whole town.”

  “Gwen says that Ballinger knew the rock was powerful. That’s why she kept it in a steel box. But it’s obvious she didn’t know what kind of fire she was playing with when she decided to use it as fuel for her engine.”

  “No one knows what kind of fire those rocks are capable of igniting. That’s what makes ’em so damn dangerous,” Elias muttered. He paused. “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “I’m no ace detective like you, son, but it strikes me that stone would be a mighty fine motive for murder.”

  “That thought did occur to me.”

  “Wouldn’t put it past Barrett to do whatever it took to get hold of one of the Phoenix rocks.”

  Judson suppressed a groan. He had been expecting this. His father’s long-standing feud with Hank Barrett, the owner of Helicon Stone, had achieved the status of legend, not only in the family but in the global mining business. The origins of the feud were locked in secrecy. Judson was fairly certain that his mother, Willow, knew how it had all started, but she kept Elias’s secrets.

  “I don’t think Barrett would resort to murder,” Judson said patiently.

  “Sure he would
,” Elias shot back. “But it’s more likely he’d send his son to do his dirty work. Gideon Barrett is a chip off the old block, and we know that he’s a powerful talent, like you and Sam and Emma.”

  “One thing’s for sure,” Judson said. “If Ballinger was killed for the stone, the murderer failed to achieve his objective. The rock is sitting here in my room at the inn. I’m looking at the box that contains it as we speak.”

  “Don’t let it out of your sight. I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

  Sixteen

  The storm hit just as they were finishing dinner. Gwen was very glad that Judson had insisted on driving the short distance to the restaurant. She knew that he was more concerned about security than the weather. It was easier to transport the strongbox—presently at his feet under the table—in the SUV. But when the weather turned bad in the Oregon mountains, it did so in a hurry. It would have been a very wet walk back to the inn.

  “Gonna be a bad one,” the young waiter said when he returned with the bill. “They’re sayin’ there’s another one coming in tomorrow.”

  Judson signed the credit card receipt, got to his feet and helped Gwen into her jacket. Then he picked up the strongbox.

  She glanced at him as they walked toward the door.

  “I still can’t believe your father thinks that geode is so important that he’s going to come here personally to collect it,” she said.

  “Dad has spent a good part of his adult life tracking down any and all rumors linked to the stones from the Phoenix,” Judson said. “Under normal circumstances, he would have sent Sam or me to pick up the geode, but my brother and I are both otherwise occupied at the moment. So he’s going to take charge of the mission himself.”

  “No offense, but your father sounds like a bit of a control freak.”