Dream Eyes

She had a talent for analyzing dreams, but she needed context to comprehend what her intuition was trying to tell her. Judson was still very much an enigma, and given his reaction to her offer of dream therapy that night in Seattle, she had a feeling that he intended to remain a mystery.

He must have sensed that he was being watched because he stopped before he reached the front desk and raked the small lobby with a single glance, sizing up the handful of guests the way a predator considers potential prey.

She knew that he had jacked up his talent a little because at that point some of the guests belatedly became of aware of something dangerous in their midst. A few of them raised their eyes from their magazines or broke off conversations long enough to glance around, instinctively searching for whatever it was that had raised the hair on the back of their necks.

But as was so often the case, they chose to ignore the primal message that their senses were sending. After all, this was a warm, safe place, and the newcomer looked well dressed, calm and controlled. He made no overtly threatening moves.

The guests went back to their magazines and conversation. Perhaps their intuition had told them what had been clear to Gwen when he walked through the door. They were safe. None of them was Judson’s intended prey today. He was here for her.

With an effort of will, she forced her vision back down into the normal zone. The surreal ultra-light fire winked out, but the sense of recognition was as strong as ever. This was the man she had been waiting for—not just since she had made the phone call to Abby—all of her life. Her pulse beat faster. Her fingers tightened on the teacup.

Pull yourself together, woman. She had always been a dreamer, but she had learned long ago not to get carried away by her own dreams.

At that instant, Judson looked at her through the open French doors of the tearoom. Another unsettling jolt of awareness thrilled her senses. She was pretty sure that she saw a flash of heat in his topaz eyes.

She inclined her head in what she hoped was a cool, polite acknowledgment of his presence. He returned the small gesture—equally cool and polite—and continued on to the front desk to check in.

Gwen turned her attention back to Trisha.

“Is Nicole still running the florist shop?” Gwen asked.

“Oh, yes,” Trisha said. “She’s really good at the business, even if she is a bit nutty. Handles all the weddings, funerals and high school proms in the area. She does the weekly arrangements here at the inn.” Trisha angled her delicate chin toward the floral display that sat on the round table in the lobby. “But last month I stopped by her shop to discuss some changes I wanted to make in the flowers that go into the rooms. The door of her office was open. I’m telling you, the inside looked like some kind of weird shrine to that man she was seeing two years ago, the one who went over the falls.”

Unease twisted through Gwen.

“She’s still carrying the torch for Zander Taylor?” she asked, just to be certain.

“I’m afraid so.” Trisha made a face. “And she still blames you for his death. As far as I can tell, Zander Taylor was the only serious relationship she has ever had. She’s great with flowers and animals, but not with people. I thought you should know. You might want to be careful around her.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Gwen said.

“I see you booked a week with us for yourself and this Judson Coppersmith,” Trisha said, probing gently.

“I need time to arrange Evelyn’s funeral and take care of her legal and business affairs,” Gwen said. “Judson is going to help me.”

Trisha frowned. “No offense, but why you? Didn’t Evelyn have any family?”

“No. She left everything to me.”

“I see. I hadn’t realized that.” Trisha gave her a commiserating smile. “You probably won’t have any trouble selling the house she lived in here in town, but what on earth will you do with the old lodge out at the falls, the place she called her research lab?”

“I have no idea,” Gwen said truthfully. “I suppose I’ll hire someone to clean out the equipment and the instruments she installed and then try to sell the place. I’m hoping I can get things wrapped up in a week, but there’s a lot to handle.”

“This Judson Coppersmith you’re expecting is a friend?”

“Not exactly, more of a financial adviser,” Gwen said. She was proud of the smooth way that came out. She had been working on Judson’s cover story all morning. “He’s had some experience with this sort of thing, settling estates and such.”

Trisha’s expression cleared. “Good, because I think you’re going to need some help. I doubt that Evelyn paid much attention to her business affairs. All she cared about was her research.”

“I know.”

“She was a real eccentric in a town full of that particular breed, but I’m going to miss her.”

“So will I,” Gwen said.

Trisha cleared her throat. “Sara, one of my housekeepers, says there’s a large cat in your room.”

“Evelyn’s cat, actually. Max. I couldn’t leave him there at the house. There’s no one around to feed him. I didn’t know what to do with him, so I brought him here with me. I hope that’s not a problem. I brought his litter box with me. I’ll pick up some cat food later.”

“It’s okay.” Trish smiled. “I allow pets.”

Judson had finished at the front desk. He walked through the doors of the tearoom, a leather bag in one hand. His profile suited his hawklike eyes, Gwen thought, all sharp planes and angles. There was a prowling, muscular grace in his stride. He wore khakis, a gray crewneck pullover and low boots. The unusual amber-colored crystal in the black metal ring on his right hand caught the summer light streaming through the window. For a heartbeat, she could have sworn that it glowed, as if infused with some energy. Just like his eyes, she thought.

Judson stopped at the table and pinned her with his bird-of-prey eyes.

“Hello, Gwen,” he said.

“Judson. Nice to see you again.” She managed a bright, welcoming smile. “You made good time. This is Trisha Montgomery. She owns the inn.”

“Welcome to the Riverside Inn,” Trisha said, smiling warmly.

“Thanks,” Judson said.

“I understand you’ll be staying with us for a few days while you help Gwen settle Evelyn Ballinger’s affairs,” Trish continued.

Gwen knew a rush of panic. She had not had time to brief Judson on the cover story she had concocted.

Judson looked at Gwen, utterly unfazed, his brows elevated ever so slightly. “That’s right.”

Gwen breathed a sigh of relief and flashed him an approving smile. He had handled the situation very smoothly. As well he should, she thought. He was a security consultant, after all.

Trisha got to her feet and took her computer bag off the back of the chair. She hitched the strap of the bag over one shoulder. “If you two will excuse me, I need to have a chat with my cook. Please let me know if I or anyone else on the staff can help in any way.”

“We’ll do that,” Judson said.

Trisha went briskly toward the kitchen. Judson lowered himself into the chair across from Gwen. He set the leather bag on the floor near his feet.

“So, we’re here to settle Ballinger’s affairs?” he said, speaking in very neutral tones. “That’s our story?”

“Well, it’s not like I can announce that we’re conducting a possible murder investigation, now, is it?” Gwen said. She spoke crisply, authoritatively. It did not require psychic intuition to know that with a man like this a woman had to take charge right at the outset and stay in charge. Guys like Judson Coppersmith were far too accustomed to giving the orders.

“Probably best not to bring up the word murder yet,” Judson agreed. “You’d be amazed how that subject tends to upset people.”

“I realize we can’t discuss it in public. The room I booked for you is next to mine on the third floor. There’s a connecting door so we can talk privately without being seen coming and going from each other’s rooms.”

“Wow,” he said, his voice still perfectly neutral. “Connecting doors.”