For the first time, surprise narrowed Sam’s brilliant green eyes. “You’ve had trouble with one or both of those types?”
“When I was in my teens, and again in college, I attracted the attention of some people who wanted to study me. It was not a pleasant experience. And even though I try to vet every client carefully, once in a while one becomes obsessed with me because of my talent. Fortunately, no one has tried to get me to channel some ancient spirit, thank heavens, but my friend Gwen had some trouble in that department a while back. It was scary.”
“Sounds like your talent-obsessed clients and the would–be cult founders have the potential to turn into stalkers.”
“Yes.” Abby paused. “I don’t suppose you Coppersmiths have ever been bothered with problems like that.”
“No, can’t say that we have.”
She gave a small sigh. “Must be nice to be part of a family that can insulate you from that sort of thing.”
“Moving right along, whoever sent you the threatening notes mentioned something about keeping your old secrets as well as the new ones. What did he mean?”
“To tell you the truth, that was what made me contact Thaddeus.” She cleared her throat. “When I was in my early teens and just coming into my talent, my family concluded that I had some major mental-health issues.”
“I can see where that might happen if you grow up in a family that doesn’t acknowledge the existence of the paranormal.”
“In my case, there were some unfortunate incidents that confirmed their worst fears.”
“Incidents?”
“Yes. As a result of those incidents, I was sent to a school for troubled teens. It was either that or a juvenile-detention facility. My father made sure my legal file was sealed, but obviously the bastard who sent those blackmail notes is aware of at least some of my history.”
“What kind of incidents?”
“Nothing serious, really.” She unfolded her arms and waved one hand in a vague way. “I accidentally set a couple of fires, one of which partially destroyed a bookstore.”
“No kidding?”
“But the owner was only mildly injured, I swear it,” she said quickly. “And there was the time I did some damage to my family’s house. Very minor damage, really. It was the water damage that occurred when the fire department put out what was a very tiny fire that was the biggest problem afterward. Well, that and the smoke damage.”
Sam watched her with a fascinated expression. “You can do that? Set fires with your talent?”
She raised her chin. “I told you, the fires were accidents.”
“Right. Any other incidents I should know about?”
“Nothing of significance. Look, this conversation is not going in a good direction. Let’s get back on track. The problem here is that I’ve got a complicated past, and whoever is trying to blackmail me knows about it. He’s threatening to spread gossip about me. That would be bad enough if the gossip was confined to the collectors’ market, but I’m afraid that he’ll go to the media.”
“Why would the media care about your troubled childhood?”
She spread her hands apart. “My father is Dr. Brandon C. Radwell.”
“A psychologist who specializes in family counseling. Wrote a book on marriage. Does some talk shows. I know. That much came up when I checked you out online.”
“Clearly you haven’t been paying attention to those talk shows.”
“Guilty as charged,” Sam said.
“My father has become one of those TV guest experts on families, child-rearing and marriage. His new book, Families by Choice, is being released this week. He is in serious talks with a television producer about a reality TV series. It would be similar to those shows that feature the dog experts who go into people’s homes and deal with bad dogs, I think, except that he would go into people’s homes and tell them how to fix their family problems.”
“Okay, I see the picture here,” Sam said. “If it gets out that the hot celebrity expert in family psychology has a daughter with a troubled past who thinks she has paranormal powers, it could kill book sales and the TV deal.”
“And it would be all my fault. On top of that, the whole family would be horribly embarrassed. I’m the crazy daughter they would have preferred to keep stashed in the attic. That sort of thing isn’t done much these days, though, so everyone, including me, goes out of their way to pretend that I’m normal. As far as the media is concerned, the Radwells are just one big happy family. Specifically, we are the perfect example of the modern blended family.”
“You sound like you’re quoting someone.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. Dad.”
“Your father and the rest of the family don’t realize that you actually do have some true talent?”
“No, of course not. How do you prove a paranormal talent like mine to someone who isn’t sensitive to that kind of energy?”
Amusement gleamed in Sam’s eyes. “Setting fires wasn’t proof ?”
“That is not funny. My family concluded that I was not only delusional but seriously deranged. Hence my time in the Summerlight Academy, where I learned how to pass for normal. They like to think the intensive counseling and therapy were effective. I prefer to let them believe that. It works better for all of us.”
“What do they think you do for a living?”
“As far as they’re concerned, I’m a small-time online bookseller. I’m the official underachiever in the family, but that’s better than having everyone think I’m still delusional.” Abby glanced at her watch again. “I don’t have any more time to waste, Mr. Coppersmith. Will you take the job?”
“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Sam said. “You had a difficult childhood, you set a few fires, spent some time in a special school for troubled teens, and you currently live a double life that has a secret side involving the underground hot-books market. You have zapped at least one individual with your talent, and I’m betting there have been others.”
Alarm flashed through her. “What makes you say that?”
Sam gave her a wicked smile. “Because you admitted you knew you could take down the intruder before you confronted him. That implies some prior experience, or at least a little practice.”
She swallowed hard. “Okay, there may have been a couple of other similar incidents, but I can explain all of them, really. One involved the owner of the bookstore that I accidentally burned down, and there was this creepy assistant professor in college who wanted to run experiments on me and tried to rape me when I refused. And a couple of years ago, a client became obsessed with me, but…”
Sam held up one hand, palm out. “No need to explain, Abby Radwell. You are my kind of client. I’ll take the job.”
5
NOT JUST MY KIND OF CLIENT SAM THOUGHT. MY KIND OF woman
He watched from the dock until Dixon piloted the water taxi with Abby on board out of the harbor and out of sight beyond a cluster of small islets.
He was still feeling the rush when he climbed back into the SUV and started along the narrow winding road to the Copper Beach house. He flexed his hands and took a tighter grip on the steering wheel. Stirred by the energy that was still splashing through him, the Phoenix stone in his ring burned with a low, deep fire. He could not remember the last time he had responded to a woman this way. Never, he concluded.
Abby Radwell had hit his senses like sizzling, sparking, flashing heat lightning produced by some exotic, unknown crystal, one with incredible properties that he could not wait to investigate, that he was compelled to investigate. It was not curiosity or even just physical desire that energized him now, although desire was definitely a big factor in the mix. There was something else going on. Whatever it was, he had a hunch the prowling, hungry awareness was going to keep him awake tonight. Fine by him. It beat the hell out of the recurring dream that had plagued him for the past six months.