“What are you talking about?”

“You’re thinking that it’s as if I had caught a glimpse of one of your dreams, aren’t you? It felt like an invasion of privacy.”

He started to deny it but decided there wasn’t much point. “Thought crossed my mind, yeah.”

“If it’s any comfort, I can’t actually see your dreams.”

He was starting to get pissed—with himself, not with her. He was the one who had challenged her to do a fast reading on his aura. The fact that he didn’t like the results was his own fault.

“Good to know,” he said.

“There’s no need to growl at me.”

“I am not growling.”

“I know growling when I hear it,” she said. “The thing is, heavy dreams affect the aura, especially if they recur frequently and especially if the dreamer has a lot of psychic talent. What I pick up is the dreamlight energy in a person’s aura. My intuition then interprets that energy. I don’t always get it right, and it’s impossible to do an accurate analysis when I don’t have any context. But I can usually see enough to start asking the right questions. That’s where I’m at with your case.”

“I’m not your case, and I’m not here to get psychic dream counseling,” he said. “I’m here to solve a murder. You’re the client, not me.”

Anger flashed, quicksilver bright, in her eyes. In the next instant the shadows were back, veiling her secrets.

“No,” she said much too politely. “You are not my client.”

He felt as if she had just slammed a door in his face. And it was his own damn fault.

She had nobody but herself to blame for the glacial chill in the atmosphere between them, Gwen thought. She should have known better than to tell Judson the truth. She had been aware that she was rolling the dice when she described what she saw in his dreamlight energy. She had hoped that his own psychic abilities, combined with his understanding of the paranormal, would allow him to accept her talent. But she had placed a losing bet. Then she’d made the stupid mistake of doubling down on a very bad wager by trying to convince him to let her help him.

It wasn’t the first time she had miscalculated with a man, but this time it seemed to matter a lot more than it usually did. She told herself it was better to get the truth out in the open before the relationship progressed any farther.

Then again, the only relationship she had with Judson Coppersmith was that of client and hired investigator. She needed to keep that in mind at all times.

Show no weakness, she thought. It was the motto that Nick Sawyer had taught to Abby and her early on in their time at the Summerlight Academy. Definitely words to live by, then and now.

She and Judson finished dinner in a brittle, tension-laced silence and walked outside. The night air was crisp. Stars and a half moon glittered in an obsidian dark sky, but they did little to illuminate Wilby.

“I really do not like this town,” she said, breaking the edgy silence.

“I’m not surprised, given your history here,” Judson said.

“What’s our next move?”

“There are a lot of next moves,” Judson said. “Tomorrow I want to see the old lodge where you found the bodies and where Zander Taylor attacked you and then went over the falls.”

“All right.”

They started across the mostly empty parking lot. The lights of the Riverview Inn glowed in the distance.

“As a matter of curiosity, what did you see in Zander Taylor’s aura?” Judson asked.

She thought about the visions that still came back to haunt her in the darkest hours of the night. “Nothing that told me that he was a killer, at least not until he attacked me. Afterward I could make sense of at least some of what I had seen, but by then it was too late. That’s the problem with my visions. I keep telling you, without context—”

“Without context you can’t interpret what you see. You’ve made that clear. Tell me what you saw in Taylor’s aura.”

“I saw the kind of energy that I’ve come to associate with drug addiction. But I didn’t see any indications of an actual drug in his aura. I mentioned the bad energy to Evelyn, but she said as long as he wasn’t using at the time, she wasn’t going to kick him out of the study. She reminded me that a lot of people with psychic talents end up experimenting with drugs at some point in an attempt to self-medicate. Sensitives often think they’re going crazy. Sometimes they go to a doctor who thinks they’re disturbed and puts them on medication. Either way, drugs are often a factor when it comes to dream therapy.”

“The bottom line being that the indications of addiction were not a serious red flag.”

“No, especially since he showed no obvious signs that he was on drugs at the time. It was only later that I realized it wasn’t drugs that he was addicted to—it was the killing.”

“The ultimate game for a full-blown psychopath,” Judson said.

“Game is exactly the right way to describe how Taylor viewed his kills. Evelyn and I were convinced that there had been many victims before he got to Wilby.”

A van that had been driving down the street abruptly veered into the parking lot. The headlights pierced the night. The vehicle was moving much too fast and it was coming straight at them.

Judson was already reacting. He seized Gwen’s arm and swept her into a protected zone created by two parked cars.

The van slammed to a halt less than three feet away. There was just time enough to read the words Hudson Floral Design before the driver’s-side door shot open. A woman dressed in jeans, boots and a faded cotton shirt leaped out. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She ignored Judson and fixed her full attention on Gwen.

“I heard you were back,” she said. Rage and long-smoldering pain seethed in the atmosphere around her. “I also heard that Evelyn Ballinger is dead and that Oxley found you in the house with the body. Sounds like you’ve gone back to your old habits.”

“Hello, Nicole,” Gwen said.

She kept her voice low and soothing, intuitively trying to counteract some of the other woman’s anger. But she knew there was little hope of success. She was aware that Judson had gone ominously still. He stood very close and a little in front of her, partially shielding her with his body. She wanted to tell him that there was no immediate physical threat, but she wasn’t altogether certain that was true. It had been two years since she had last faced Nicole. On that occasion Nicole, sobbing hysterically, had vowed vengeance.

Nicole rounded on Judson. “Rumor has it you’re the new boyfriend. Better be careful. People around her have a bad habit of dying.”

“Take it easy,” Judson said.

“She murdered the man I loved two years ago and a couple of other people as well. I’ll bet she killed Evelyn Ballinger, too.” Nicole’s voice rose. “Stick around long enough and you’ll be her next victim. And watch what you eat. She uses poison, you see, so it always looks like a heart attack or an accident.”

“That’s enough,” Judson said. This time he put an edge on his words.

His ring heated a little, and Gwen was aware of an unnerving, deeply ominous sensation.

Nicole gasped and stepped back, startled. She turned quickly, searching the parking lot with an anxious expression, as if looking for something that might be coming up behind her. When she saw nothing, she burst into tears and turned back to face Gwen.

“How dare you come back here as if nothing ever happened?” she got out between sobs. “How dare you, bitch?”

She swung her hand in a vicious slap aimed at Gwen’s face. Judson moved slightly, just enough to get in the way of the blow. He absorbed the impact on one broad shoulder. The scary heat in the atmosphere escalated a couple of degrees.

Nicole whirled and fled back to the van. She got behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. The vehicle careened out of the parking lot and shot off down the street.