Dream Eyes (Dark Legacy #2)(9)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Judson looked pained, but he did not correct her.

“That’s true,” he said. “But the great thing about working for our former client was that the guy in charge wasn’t overly particular about the sort of legal technicalities that regular law enforcement has to deal with. Sam and I were hired to gather intelligence and make security recommendations. We were not in the business of making arrests.”

“I see.”

“Is there a problem here?” Judson asked.

“I’m not sure yet. Did your brother warn you that if we do manage to prove that Evelyn Ballinger was murdered, the local chief of police will probably consider me to be the lead suspect?”

Judson drank some coffee and lowered the cup. “I believe Sam did mention that possibility, yes.”

“Let’s get something straight here, Judson. I’m employing you to find the person who murdered Evelyn Ballinger, assuming she was murdered. I expect you to do so in a way that keeps me out of jail.”

“I usually charge extra for that kind of work.”

She stared at him, speechless for a few seconds. Judson used the time to down more of the coffee.

“Are you serious?” she finally managed.

“No.” His smile was cold steel and his eyes burned. “Don’t worry, you’re getting the friends-and-family rate. That means you won’t pay extra for little add-on services like making sure you don’t get arrested for murder. I’ll throw those in for free.”

“Gosh, thanks.” Her temper threatened to flare, but she wrestled it to the ground. It wasn’t like she had a lot of options when it came to investigators, she reminded herself. “What, exactly, do you propose to do first?”

“According to Psychic Detecting for Dummies, the first step is to visit the scene of the crime.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll do that later tonight when I can get inside without being seen.”

“There’s no reason to sneak around. As it happens, I have the keys.”

“Well, hey, that sure makes life simpler. Can I ask why you happen to have the keys to the victim’s house?”

Gwen braced herself. “Evelyn didn’t have a lot. She spent her life studying the paranormal.”

“Not a profitable career path unless you’re a scam artist.”

“No,” Gwen agreed. “But what Evelyn did possess, she left to me.”

Judson’s brows rose slightly. “This case is getting more interesting by the minute. You do realize that in some circles the fact that you are Ballinger’s sole heir might be viewed as a motive for murder?”

“Trust me, the thought has crossed my mind more than once today.”

Five

Judson let himself into his room on the third floor and tossed the black duffel onto the bench at the foot of the big four-poster bed. One thing was now blazingly clear. Nothing had changed when it came to his reaction to Gwen. When he had seen her there in the tearoom, he had experienced the same rush of sensual hunger—the same bone-deep thrill—that had slammed through him a month earlier when he’d met her for the first time in Seattle.

She’d hit his senses like an intoxicating drug that night. He’d gotten the same exhilarating shock today.

If anything, his reaction was even stronger this time, probably because he’d been thinking about her nonstop for the past month.

She was tall for a woman, just the right height for him, Judson thought. Attractive, but not in the generic cover-girl style. What she had was a hell of an edge.

She wore her dark hair snugged back in a sleek knot that emphasized her regal nose, high forehead and deep, watchful, witchy eyes. Her curves were subtle but one hundred percent feminine. There was a sleek, feline quality about her that appealed to all of his senses.

Which immediately brought up the obvious question. Where was the man in her life? According to Sam and Abby, there was no significant other in Gwen’s world. But that seemed unlikely. Who do I have to kill to get to you, Gwendolyn Frazier?

The old floorboards creaked beneath his boots when he crossed the room. The inn dated from the late eighteen hundreds. According to the black-and-white photographs on the walls, it had started out as a private mansion. The lumber baron who had built it had used it as a summerhouse to entertain guests and business colleagues.

He stopped at the window to study the view. The river was visible through a thick stand of trees. From where he stood, he could not see the falls. He thought about what he had managed to discover concerning the events of two years ago. The first two deaths had occurred less than three weeks apart. Gwen had found both bodies. A few days later, Zander Taylor had gone over the falls, an apparent suicide. Gwen had been the one who had called 911 on that occasion, too.

It was all very murky, but the one fact that stood out was that the series of mysterious deaths had ceased following Taylor’s death. The surviving members of Ballinger’s research project were all still alive according to Sam. At least they had been until this morning.

But now the director of the project was dead. And once again it was Gwen Frazier who had found the body.

He contemplated the heavily forested landscape for a while. There was a lot of wilderness left in the mountains of Oregon. Every year, people went out hiking in this part of the Pacific Northwest and disappeared forever. The rough terrain provided ample hiding places for all kinds of predators, including the human kind. A killer could commit murder and vanish into the woods for as long as it suited him.

He turned away from the window and yanked off the crewneck pullover. Opening his leather bag, he took out a fresh edition of the shirt in a slightly different shade of gray, grabbed his overnight kit and went into the grand, Victorian-style bathroom to freshen up. He wasn’t used to working for private pay clients, but he suspected that neatness counted; at least he was pretty sure it counted with a client like Gwen. Downstairs in the tearoom she had made it clear that she had some doubts about both his talent and his commitment to the job. He’d better get his act together before she fired his ass.

He had to consider the reputation of Coppersmith Consulting, he told himself. It wasn’t like he could afford to lose another client.

It took him half a second to recognize the guy in the mirror. His eyes didn’t appear quite as bleak and soulless as they had for the past few weeks. He’d been right about one thing: Gwen Frazier was the distraction he’d been needing.

He tucked the clean shirt into the waistband of his khakis and left the giant bathroom.