Dream Eyes

Twenty-one

Elias Coppersmith arrived in a massive, shiny black SUV with heavily tinted windows. Gwen stood with Judson inside the lobby and watched the big vehicle glide into a vacant slot in front of the inn.

“Your brother, Sam, drives a black SUV, doesn’t he?” she asked.

“Yes. Why?” Judson wasn’t paying much attention to the question. He was watching the SUV.

“Just curious,” she said. “Because you drive a black SUV, too. Same brand, I believe.”

“Company discount,” Judson said.

More likely something in the DNA of the Coppersmith men that inclined them toward large vehicles endowed with the souls of trucks, Gwen thought. Other rich guys drove flashy red Ferraris and Porsches.

From inside the inn, it was impossible to see the occupants of the vehicle, but she was mildly surprised when the passenger door opened. A big, lean, silver-haired man who could have been cast in the role of the town marshal in a classic western movie climbed out.

“That’s Dad,” Judson said. “He’s early. Must have left Seattle at zero-dawn-thirty. Wonder who’s behind the wheel? He probably picked up someone from Coppersmith Security before he left.”

“Your father is so paranoid about that geode that he brought an armed escort?”

“Trust me, knowing Dad and his opinion of Hank Barrett, it’s not just the escort who will be armed,” Judson said.

She thought about the pistol strapped to Judson’s ankle and wondered if going about armed was another Coppersmith family trait.

“I’d better go out and let him know he’s got the right place,” Judson said. “I’ll be right back.”

He crossed the lobby with a few long, easy strides, pushed open the glass door and went outside.

Gwen studied the family greeting scene through the lobby windows, firmly suppressing the faint, wistful sensation that fluttered through her. There was no big male hug exchanged between Judson and Elias, she noticed. But the bond between father and son was so strong that she could sense it even from where she stood. The power of a close-knit family, she thought. There was nothing else like it.

At that moment, the driver’s-side door of the SUV opened. A lithe, elegantly slender, good-looking man with platinum-blond hair cut in a crisp, military style alighted from the cab with a dancer’s grace. He was dressed head-to-toe in fashionable and very expensive black—black turtleneck, black trousers, black loafers. Gwen knew that all of the attire came with designer labels.

Delight spilled through her. She had family, too. The only difference was that her brother wasn’t related by blood.

She rushed through the lobby, burst out of the doorway and flew across the parking lot.

“Nick,” she called. “What are you doing here?”

Nick Sawyer grinned, showing a lot of very white teeth, and opened his arms. She threw herself into his embrace. He caught her with deft ease and swung her around in a circle. When he set her on her feet, she hugged him fiercely.

“I came to check up on you,” he said. “The last time one of my sisters got mixed up with a Coppersmith, she nearly got killed. Are you okay?”

She laughed. “I’m fine.”

Judson materialized at her side. He gave Nick an assessing look.

“You must be the cat burglar.”

“That’s antiquarian book dealer to you,” Nick said, his eyes going cold.

“Right.” Judson looked amused. “That would be the antiquarian book dealer who keeps the climbing gear stashed in the trunk of his car.”

“Everyone should have a hobby,” Nick said. “By the way, there’s a suitcase in the back of the car. Abby packed some clothes for you, Gwen. She knew you hadn’t planned to stay long here in Wilby. She figured that by now you’d be needing a few things.”

Gwen smiled, aware of the warmth welling up inside. “That’s my sister, always looking out for me, even while she’s preparing for her own wedding.”