Copper Beach

“Are you in pain, Mr. Knox?” Nathan came to stand beside the bed. “I can give you another injection.”

“Forget the damn drugs. Help me make a phone call.”

“All right. I can dial it for you, if you like.”

“Number’s in my wallet. It was with me when I got here.”

“You aren’t supposed to bring valuables with you to the hospital,” Nathan said.

“Nothing valuable in my wallet except that phone number. Get it.”

Nathan went to the closet, pawed through the meager assortment of personal belongings and produced the aged, well-worn wallet. He brought it back to the bed and opened it.

“Dial the number on that old card,” Quinn said. “Elias Coppersmith. Hurry, man, I don’t have a lot of time.”

Nathan punched in the number. A man picked up. The voice had a faint, Western edge to it, the kind of voice you associated with cowboys and pilots. The classic Chuck Yeager twang, Nathan thought. The voice also had the ring of authority.

“Coppersmith.”

“I’m calling from Oakmont Hospital,” Nathan said. “A patient named Quinn Knox wants to speak with you, Mr. Coppersmith. He says it’s urgent.”

“Quinn? Put him on.”

Nathan helped Quinn grip the phone and maneuver it to his ear. Quinn pulled on the last of his fading strength and his talent. He got one last rush of energy.

“Elias?” he croaked. “That you?”

“Damn, it’s good to hear from you, Quinn. It’s been at least twenty, twenty-five years. Didn’t know you had my number.”

“I kept track of you,” Quinn said.

“Glad to hear it, but you should have stayed in touch. You sound awful. What the hell are you doing in the hospital?”

“Dying,” Quinn rasped. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing? Shut up and listen, because I don’t have a lot of time. I’m down to hours here, maybe minutes. I think someone may have found Ray Willis’s notebook.”

“Are you serious?”

“I just told you, I’m dying. Turns out people get real serious when shit like that happens.”

“Quinn, where is that hospital?”

“Florida.”

“I’ll be on a company plane within the hour. Be there by morning.”

“Forget it,” Quinn rasped. “Not gonna last that long. Here’s what I know. There’s some rumors floating around in the hot-book market that the notebook has surfaced somewhere in your neck of the woods.”

“Sedona?”

“Last I heard you bought yourself a whole damn island up there in the San Juans.”

“Still got the island, but Willow and I just use it as a spring and summer getaway place. Moved the main headquarters of the company down here to Arizona years ago. There’s one division left in Seattle, the R–and–D lab. My oldest son, Sam, is the only one who lives year-round on the island.”

“You had another son and a little girl, too.”

“Judson and Emma. All grown up now. Judson and Sam run their own private consulting firm. And Emma is…Emma. Lives in Portland, Oregon. Willow says she’s still finding herself. I say it’s time she got serious about life, but that’s a whole other issue.”

“So you’re in Sedona.” Quinn tried to smile. The smile turned into a painful, breathless, hacking cough. “You always had a thing for the desert.”

“Tell me about the notebook, Quinn.”

“Not much more to tell. But here’s the thing you need to know. My son is going after it.”

“I heard your son died a few years ago. Some kind of boating accident.”

“Hate to say it, but it probably would have been better if that were true. But he’s alive, Elias. He came to see me tonight. Says I deprived him of his inheritance. He’s got my talent, Elias, but he’s got a hell of a lot more of it than I ever had. And he’s sick in the head. Evil sick. Be careful. That’s all I can tell you. Gotta go now.”

“Quinn, wait. For God’s sake, man, don’t hang up.”

“You were the best friend I ever had, Elias. Always thought of you as a brother. All these years I tried to keep our secret, but I made the mistake of holding on to one of the crystals. Now Lander has it. I failed you.”

“No, Quinn,” Elias said. “Listen to me, you didn’t fail me. You had my back forty years ago when Willis tried to kill both of us. And now you’ve given me the warning I need to handle this situation. I’ll take it from here.”

“Just like last time, huh?”

“Just like last time,” Elias said.

“­Good-bye, brother.”

“­Good-bye, my brother.”

The phone fell from Quinn’s hand. A strange calm settled on him. He had done what he could to protect the secret that he and Elias had vowed to keep forty years ago. It was up to Elias now.

In spite of the oncoming darkness, Quinn realized that he felt at peace for the first time in maybe his entire life. He could go now. He closed his eyes.

2

A CRAZY MAN AND A GUN WAS NEVER A GOOD COMBINATION. A crazy man with paranormal talent and a gun made for a very bad start to the day.

Abby Radwell watched the terrifying scene taking place in the library from the shadows of the doorway. The intruder holding the pistol on Hannah Vaughn and her housekeeper could not have been older than twenty-one or twenty-two. His eyes were fever-bright. His long hair was matted and disheveled. His jeans and ragged T–shirt looked as if they had not been washed in a very long time. He was becoming more agitated by the second.

The intruder’s voice rose. “I’m not playing games, lady.” He waved the pistol in an erratic pattern. “I know The Key is here in this room. You have to give it to me, and then she has to unlock it.”

“You are welcome to take The Key,” Hannah said, somehow managing to maintain a calm, soothing tone. “But I can’t unlock it for you. I don’t know how to do that.”

“She’s supposed to unlock it,” the intruder said.

“Who are you talking about?” Hannah asked. “Surely you don’t mean my housekeeper. Mrs. Jensen doesn’t know anything about unlocking encrypted books.”

“Not the housekeeper,” the intruder said. He used the back of his arm to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “The woman who is working for you here in this library. She knows how to unlock hot books.”

“I don’t understand,” Hannah said. “Mrs. Jensen and I are the only people in this house. Please, take my copy of The Key and leave before this situation gets out of control.”

Hannah was doing a magnificent job of lying, Abby thought. But the situation was already out of control.

Hannah Vaughn was eighty-two years old and confined to a wheelchair. She was helpless against the armed intruder. She was doing her best to defuse the mad tension in the room, but her tactics were not going to work. Mrs. Jensen was pale and shaken. She looked as if she was about to faint.

Abby’s senses were wide open. Her intuition was screaming at her to rush back downstairs and out onto the street. The intruder was not yet aware of her presence. She could call nine-one-one once she was safely outside. But by the time the police arrived, it might be too late for Hannah and Mrs. Jensen.

Abby spoke quietly from the doorway. “I’ll get The Key for you.”

“What?” The intruder whirled around to face her, eyes widening in shock. “Who are you?”

“My name is Abby. I’m the one you’re looking for, the woman who can unlock The