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. “We’ve got company.”
Newton regarded Sam with an expression of grave misgivings.
“I’m with her,” Sam said.
“Generally speaking, he doesn’t bite,” Abby said.
“You don’t have to make that sound like a character flaw,” Sam said.
Newton was on the small side, but that was about all he had in common with the typical condo dog, which, in Sam’s experience, tended to come in two versions: tiny, white and fluffy or chunky pug. Newton was a condo-sized version of a junkyard dog.
“Where did you get him?” Sam asked.
“The animal shelter.” Abby gave Newton an affectionate smile. “It was love at first sight, wasn’t it, Newton?”
Newton spared her a brief glance, acknowledging his name. Then he turned his attention back to Sam.
Sam set the leather duffel bag on the floor, crouched and extended his hand toward Newton. The dog tilted his head slightly to the side and pricked up his ears. He sniffed Sam’s hand and then condescended to allow himself to be patted a few times.
“Congratulations,” Abby said. She slipped out of her coat and turned to hang it on the red enamel coat tree. “Newton approves of you. He doesn’t take to everyone.”
Sam got to his feet. “I think it’s more a case of tolerating me.”
“Well, yes, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to go for your throat.”
“He’s a condo dog,” Sam said. “The most he could go for is my ankle.”
Abby glared. “Do not, under any circumstances, underestimate Newton. He picks up on vibes in the atmosphere. He knows when he’s being insulted.”
Sam looked at Newton. “Is that so?”
Newton gave a disdainful little snort and trotted off down the hall.
Sam looked at Abby. “Since your guard dog has decided to allow me over the threshold, is it okay if I take off my coat?”
Abby flushed. “Yes, of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”
“I got that impression.”
He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. When she took it from him, her fingers brushed against his, sending an intimate little thrill of awareness across his senses. He knew she felt the small flash because her brilliant eyes widened slightly in surprise. She gave him a startled look and then just as swiftly looked away.
She hung his jacket on the coat tree and led the way down the short hall to the living and dining area.
A few minutes ago, Gwen Frazier had discreetly vanished in a cab to her own apartment a couple of blocks away. Sam had felt the energy shiver in the atmosphere when Abby had introduced him to her friend. He was fairly certain that Gwen had used some talent to make a judgment call. She had evidently decided that Abby was safe with him, at least for now, because she had not tried to hang around.
Things were looking up, he decided. He had managed to get through two lines of defense tonight, the protective friend and the protective dog. He was on a roll.
“Your friend is also a talent, isn’t she?” he asked.
“Yes. Gwen is a psychic counselor. She does aura readings in a shop in the market.”
“Aura readings. Right.”
Abby gave him a severe look. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?”
“You think Gwen is using her talent to con people. For the record, she doesn’t do fortune-telling or palm- reading. And she certainly doesn’t pretend to talk to the dead. She really can read auras. Her clients come to her for advice and guidance. She analyzes their energy fields and tells them what she sees and makes recommendations. She’s a kind of therapist.”
“Got it.”
Abby sighed. “I’m probably overreacting here. It’s just that so many people think Gwen is a fraud. Storefront psychics aren’t exactly held in high esteem by psychologists and traditional counselors. Would you like some herbal tea? I’d offer coffee, but I don’t drink it at night, at least not lately.”
And that was all the information he was going to get on Gwen Frazier, he thought. “Tea will be fine. Thanks.”
“I’ll get the water started.” She hesitated, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. “Please, sit down.”
He studied his options. The condo was small, but it was a corner unit with an open, flowing floor plan. The walls were a sunny Mediterranean gold with dark brown accents. The floors were hardwood. There were two area rugs decorated with modernistic designs in deep red, teal, green and yellow. Newton was lounging on the one near the window. He watched Sam with deep suspicion, but he showed no signs of going for the jugular or the ankle.
There was a comfortable-looking L–shaped sofa, a reading chair, some bookshelves, a lot of healthy-looking plants and a glass-topped coffee table. There was a book on the table. He took a closer look.
“That’s my father’s new book,” Abby said.
He picked up
“This is your family?” Sam asked, holding up the book to show the photo.
“That’s the Radwells, the perfect modern blended family,” Abby said. She turned away and became very busy
