Dream Eyes

here,” he said. “This Zander Taylor wanted a challenge. He volunteered for the research study in order to find himself some real psychics to murder.”
    “You do know how the bad guys think,” Sam said. “You nailed it. He succeeded in killing two members of the research study before he tried to murder Gwen. Obviously, he failed but it was a near thing, and Abby says Gwen was badly traumatized by the attack. Now Ballinger’s death has brought back all the bad memories and vibes.”
    Another tendril of curiosity flickered through Judson. He looked down at the amber-colored crystal in his ring. The stone was glowing with a little energy in response to his slightly jacked talent.
    “How come we’ve never heard of Taylor?” he asked. “That kind of story should have been all over the news. I can see the headlines now.
Serial Killer Stalks Psychics
.”
    “Taylor never made the news because no one ever realized that he was killing people,” Sam said. “In the case of the Wilby murders, the first two deaths were attributed to natural causes. Taylor’s death was ruled a suicide.”
    Judson contemplated the restless, gray ocean. “What did the local cops say about the deaths?”
    “I’m told that the Wilby chief of police—guy named Oxley—had his suspicions but he couldn’t prove anything. That was fortunate for Gwen.”
    “Why is that?”
    “Because Gwen was the one who reported all three deaths,” Sam said. “You know how that would have looked to any halfway competent cop. The person who finds and reports the body usually goes to the top of the suspect list.”
    “And this morning she finds another body.” Judson whistled softly. “What are the odds, huh?”
    “You can see it from Oxley’s point of view.”
    Judson wrapped one hand around a wooden post and watched the summer storm sweep in over the ocean. “Okay, got to admit there’s an interesting pattern here.”
    “Evidently, when Oxley arrived at the scene this morning, he did not hide the fact that he doesn’t like coincidences.”
    “He really believes that Gwen may be responsible for all of the murders?”
    “He never could prove that there were any murders, but, yes, he has his suspicions. Gwen is in no immediate danger of arrest, but for her own peace of mind, she needs to find out what is going on. She knows Abby so she knows that you and I are in the psychic investigation business.”
    “We were in the business before I pretty much put us out of business,” Judson said.
    “We’ll find another client. Got to be more where that one came from.”
    “Very funny.”
    “I’m serious,” Sam said. “Losing our number one client is no big deal, given what we now know about said client.”
    “Except that, aside from the security work we do for Coppersmith, Inc., it was pretty much our only client. And we didn’t lose the client. I destroyed the whole damn agency.”
    “Not a problem,” Sam said. “We’ll find a replacement. At last official count, there were close to a thousand different government agencies, departments and offices involved in the U.S. intelligence community—and a couple thousand more private contractors. I’m sure we can find one that is interested in the services of a consulting firm that specializes in paranormal investigations. But for now, we need to do something about Gwen Frazier’s case.”
    The wind sharpened. So did Judson’s senses. This time it would be different, he thought. This time Gwen needed him. She would not be able to treat him like one of her psychic counseling clients.
    “All right, I’ll drive to Wilby and take a look,” he said.
    There was a short pause on the other end of the call.
    “One more thing you should know about Gwen Frazier,” Sam said finally.
    “Yeah?”
    “She sees ghosts,” Sam said.
    “What the hell?”
    But it was too late. Sam had already ended the connection.
    Judson stood quietly, letting the energy of the oncoming storm and the prospect of seeing Gwen again stir his senses.
    After a while, he turned and went back inside the cottage to pack for the long drive to Wilby.
    Ghosts were no big deal. He saw a few every night in his dreams.

Four
    G wen sat at a small table in the tearoom of the Riverview Inn and watched the dark-haired man with the eyes of a raptor enter the lobby. An eerie storm of amber lightning flashed and sparked in the atmosphere around Judson Coppersmith. The disturbing heat in his aura had not diminished since the disastrous