Dream Eyes

Twenty-nine

Judson awoke just before dawn to a sure and certain knowledge of the killer’s mind.

I know what you are and why you’re killing, you bastard. I’m one step closer. Not much longer now.

He shoved aside the quilt and sat up on the edge of the bed. He was wearing only his briefs. Memories of the night slammed through him. He’d gone back into the damn dream—maybe too far into it this time—but Gwen had pulled him out. Like it or not, for a time he had become her client.

He reached for the holster and gun. What mattered, he concluded, was that after she had yanked him out of the dream, they had gone back to being lovers.

The door between the two rooms was open.

He pulled on his trousers and went to the doorway. Gwen was still in her nightgown and robe, but she was not in bed. She was curled up in the chair, her head resting on a pillow. Her eyes were closed. Max was ensconced alongside her thigh. The cat glared at him through half-closed eyes.

“Tough luck, pal,” Judson mouthed. “Just because you got to her first, don’t think you’ve got claiming rights.”

Max did not look impressed. Judson was deliberating between scooping up Gwen and putting her on the bed or covering her with a blanket when she opened her eyes.

“You’re awake,” she said.

“So are you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good.” He paused and then did what had to be done. “Thanks to you. I’m not real sure we’d be having this conversation this morning if you hadn’t pulled me out of that dream last night. I owe you.”

She raised her brows. “No, you don’t owe me any more than I owe you. We’re partners in this thing. Yesterday you saved me as well as Nicole and Max. Last night I was able to help you. That’s what partners do. You have my back; I have yours. Neither of us would leave the other behind. That’s how it works.”

He moved closer to the fire. “You know about that kind of thing because of your time with Abby and Nick at Summerlight, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said.

He looked at her, understanding sleeting through him. Partners. Lovers. Not client. He could work with that.

“No,” he said. “Neither one of us would leave the other behind. Not ever.”

“Glad we got that settled.” She smiled and stretched. “I did some thinking while you were out.”

“I had a few thoughts of my own when I woke up.” The cold thrill of the hunt was riding him now. “I know him, Gwen. Not his name and identity—not yet—but I know him and I know why he’s killing.”

Excitement illuminated her eyes. He knew then that she comprehended what he was feeling. He also knew that she didn’t have a problem with knowing that he was a little addicted to the rush. Make that a lot addicted.

“You woke up with a flash of intuition?” she asked. “Tell me.”

“We’ve been working on the assumption that we’re dealing with a copycat killer who managed to get hold of Taylor’s camera. But that’s not what’s going on here. This guy is a pro.”

“A professional?” Gwen uncurled her legs, her expression sharpening. “Are you talking about a hit man?”

The suddenness of her movement disturbed Max. He grumbled, rose and vacated the chair. He landed on the floor with an audible thud and stalked across the room. He vaulted up onto the windowsill and glowered out at the dawn-lit world.

“The way he got rid of Evelyn Ballinger and Louise Fuller feels like the work of a pro who is cleaning up,” Judson said. He dropped into the chair across from Gwen. “It explains the controlled energy I picked up at the scenes. Pros get an adrenaline rush when they take out the target, but they know how to handle it. They’re crazy in their own way, but they leave a different calling card.”

“A psychic hit man armed with a crystal that can kill without a trace.” Gwen leaned forward and folded her arms on her knees. She looked into the fire. “I don’t know which scares me more, the thought that we’re dealing with a wack-job of a serial killer or a hit man who kills for money.”

“I’ll take the wack-job any day,” Judson said.

She glanced at him. “Why?”

“Because the wack-job is more likely to screw up. The pros tend to disappear fast when the heat comes down, and they know how to stay disappeared as long as necessary. Pros have several sets of IDs and rent houses on no-name islands in the Caribbean. Pros are very hard to catch.”

Gwen frowned. “But this pro is evidently living in a no-name town in the Pacific Northwest.”

“Principle is the same.”

“But pros don’t go around murdering people at random,” Gwen said. “Or do they?”

“No. By definition, they do it for the money or to protect their own secrets. Motives tell you a lot. If we’re right, he murdered Evelyn because she stumbled onto the truth about his day job. Now we need to find out why he killed Louise.”

Gwen unfolded her arms, leaned back and drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I’m no psi-techie, but you said that the weapon the killer is using is probably crystal-based technology of some kind, right?”

“That’s my working assumption based on where the killer was standing when the victims died. Can’t think of any other way the hits could have gone down.”

“You also mentioned that most high-tech paranormal crystal gadgets, with the possible exception of that ring you are wearing, require periodic tuning if they are to maintain optimum power.”

Adrenaline spilled into Judson’s bloodstream.

“The bastard needed someone who could tune crystals,” he said softly. “Louise was his para-tech IT department. She tuned the crystal in his weapon. Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Yes.”

“That’s brilliant, Gwen. I like it. I like it a lot.”

“Okay, slow down,” Gwen said. “There is one flaw in my logic. If the killer needed Louise to keep him in business, why would he murder her?”

“He concluded that he had no choice. Like I said, this guy is a pro and he thinks like a pro. He’s cutting his losses. Louise knew way too much about him. He had to get rid of her before we talked to her.”

“He’ll probably leave town now that he’s covered his tracks. Maybe he’s already gone.”

Judson watched the dancing flames, thinking about what he had learned at the death scenes. “I don’t think so. He’ll leave eventually once the heat has died down, but he would prefer not to disappear while we’re here, not unless he feels he has no other option.”

“Why not?”

“This is one very small town. If the killer is living here as a pillar of the community, so to speak, and he suddenly vanishes, everyone, including Oxley, will notice. Questions will be asked. A pro would prefer to avoid that, if possible.” Judson shook his head, rerunning the insights he’d gleaned at the kill sites. “No, he’s hoping that with Ballinger and Fuller both dead, we’ll hit a brick wall.”

“In that case, what do we do next?” Gwen asked.

“Try to think like he does. One thing we know for sure.”

“Yes?”

“Sooner or later, he will need another crystal tuner,” Judson said.