“Then what in the world is going on?”

“I’ve tried to explain to you that what happened to you in the Vaughn library was the equivalent of a category-five hurricane, as far as your para-senses are concerned. You channeled an enormous amount of volatile energy. For heaven’s sake, you managed to render a man unconscious. There was bound to be some blowback, to say nothing of the fact that you could have been killed that day. You need to give yourself time to recover from the shock.”

“I can’t continue sleepwalking,” Abby said. “What if I open the sliding glass doors and decide to take a walk off the balcony?”

“Calm down. You’re not going to do that. Your para-senses would kick in fast if you tried to do anything that might put your life in danger.”

“You have more faith in my senses than I do.”

Gwen grew thoughtful. “In this dream, do you have any sense of where you’re going or what you want to accomplish?”

“I see Grady Hastings. He’s reaching out to me, begging me to help him. He tells me I’m the only one who can.”

“Is that all?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay, I’m sticking to my theory that the fugue states you’re experiencing are being triggered by stress you experienced the other day. But there is another possibility that you should not overlook.”

“What?”

“Your intuition may be trying to tell you something important.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “But you’re too smart to ignore the implications. Try turning the dream into a lucid dream, and then take control of it.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Well, it’s certainly easier for a strong talent than it would be for someone who doesn’t have much psychic sensitivity,” Gwen said. “Before you go to sleep tonight, set your psychic alarm clock to alert you when you start dreaming. Then take control of the dream.”

“That will work?”

“Yes, if you do a good job of setting the alarm. The trick works on the same principle that makes it possible for you to tell yourself that you have to wake up at a certain time in order to catch an early plane. Lots of people, even people with very little talent, do that all the time.”

Abby took a slow breath and reminded herself that this was Gwen’s area of expertise. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

Gwen aimed a finger at her. “You know what you really need?”

“Please don’t say a new boyfriend.”

“You need a vacation. You should come with me to Hawaii tomorrow. It’s not too late. I’ll bet we can find you a seat on my flight. There are always last-minute cancellations.”

“Sure, at full fare. You know I can’t afford that. Besides, leaving town now is out of the question. How can I enjoy a vacation if I know there’s a blackmailer waiting for me when I get back?”

“I guess that would put a damper on things,” Gwen conceded. “But you’ve hired Coppersmith to take care of the extortionist for you. Let him do his job while you relax on a beach.”

“I don’t think you can just hire an investigator and then go merrily off on vacation while he cleans things up for you.”

“Why not? You’re finished with the Vaughn job, and speaking as your friend and psychic counselor, I’m telling you that you need some time off to let your senses recover. Put the ticket to Hawaii on your charge card and tell your investigator to file reports of his progress by email.”

“I don’t like the idea of turning Sam Coppersmith loose, unsupervised, on what is essentially my very personal and private business.”

Gwen smiled knowingly. “You like to be in control.”

“Who doesn’t? But trust me, if you ever meet Sam Coppersmith, you’ll know why staying in charge is a very sensible idea.”

“What’s he like?”

“Think mad scientist with a basement lab.”

“Doesn’t sound like the typical profile of a private investigator.”

Abby picked up her glass again. “There’s nothing typical about Sam Coppersmith.”

When they emerged from the restaurant, a light misty rain veiled the Belltown neighborhood. The wet pavement glowed with the reflected light of the streetlamps. Neon signs illuminated the windows of the innumerable restaurants, pubs and clubs that lined both sides of First Avenue.

Gwen shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her trench coat. “I’m thinking that maybe I should cancel Hawaii tomorrow. I don’t like leaving you here alone to deal with Coppersmith and a blackmailer.”

“You are not going to cancel. Your new client is paying you a huge fee and all expenses just to have you go there to do a reading. You can’t turn your back on that kind of money.”

“Screw the money. I’m worried about you, Abby.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Promise me that if you start to feel like you’re in more trouble than you can handle you’ll call Nick, first, because he’ll be the closest. And right after you call him, you’ll call me. I’ll be on the next plane back to Seattle.”

“I promise,” Abby said.

Neither of them mentioned the possibility of her going to her family for help. It was not an option, and they 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.”

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.”