She looked at him. “I thought that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome was the definition of insanity.”
“Ah, but sex is never exactly the same.” He pulled her into his arms. “Each time is different. I suggest that we keep rerunning the experiment until we get the right results.”
She leaned into him. “The dream was stronger tonight, Sam.”
He held her close against him. “Was there anything different about it?”
“No. But I have come to a conclusion.”
“What?”
“I don’t think there’s any deep, hidden meaning in my dream. I think the message my intuition is trying to send me is very simple and straightforward.”
“What is it?”
“We need to talk to Grady Hastings.”
24
ABBY AWOKE WITH A START, AWARE THAT SHE WAS ALONE INthe bed. Funny how fast you could become accustomed to sleeping with someone, she thought. She had slept alone all her life and had concluded that she liked it that way. Two nights with Sam had changed a lot of things.
A cold, wet nose pushed against her hand. She opened her eyes and found herself face–to–face with Newton. He was standing beside the bed, gazing at her with a fixed expression.
“Okay, okay, I’m awake. I thought I told you to forget that psychic-command thing.”
She pushed back the covers, sat up and rubbed Newton briskly. He chuffed a little, licked her hand and then, evidently satisfied that he had performed his duty, turned and trotted out the open door. She could tell that he was headed downstairs to the kitchen. The sounds and smells of breakfast wafted up from the floor below.
Sleeping with Sam definitely had a few perks, she thought. He wasfixing breakfast for the second morning in a row. She could not recall the last time anyone had prepared breakfast for her. Tomorrow morning she would have to return the favor.
The summer dawn had arrived with rain, all in all, looking more like a midwinter dawn. Through the window she could see the steel-colored waters of the sea, but the neighboring islets and islands were lost in the mist.
She took a teal-colored cowl-neck pullover and a pair of gray trousers out of her suitcase and headed for the adjoining bathroom. She had not packed for an extended stay. On the next trip into Seattle, shewould have to stop by her condo to check her mail and pick up some more clothes and necessities.
She grabbed her phone and checked her email. There was a new note from Nordstrom, announcing the advent of a summer sale, and a nice message from her very good friends at Zappos, telling her that new styles were available from one of her favorite brands of shoes. There were no new emails about the missing lab book or the upcoming auction.
Phone in hand, she went out into the hall. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and a hint of cinnamon warmed the atmosphere. When she arrived in the kitchen, she found Sam at the stove, spatula in hand. His hair was still damp from the shower. The very interesting dark shadow of a beard that she had noticed in the wee small hours of the night was gone. He was dressed in dark pants and a black pullover.
Newton was sitting on the floor, ears perked, watching Sam’s every move. He spared a moment to greet Abby again, and then returned to supervising the breakfast preparations.
Sam looked at Abby, eyes heating a little. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she said. “Did Newton get breakfast?”
She felt awkward, not exactly shy but not really comfortable with the intimacy of their relationship. This was unfamiliar territory, shereflected, more easily navigated at night than in the daylight. But if Sam had any problems with the rapidly evolving status of their relationship, he gave no indication of it. He was acting as if everything from the psi-infused sex to eating breakfast together was all quite normal.
“I fed Newton some of that fancy kibble you brought along,” Sam said. “I think that he would rather have a slice of the French toast that we’re going to eat.”
“I told you, he’s a very smart dog. And it’s okay if he has a slice of French toast. Is the coffee ready yet?”
“Help yourself. Mugs are in there.” Sam angled his head to indicate the cupboard.
“Thanks.”
She opened the door of the cupboard and took down a mug. “Can I pour you another cup?”
“Yes, thanks.” He scrutinized her closely. “Any more dreams?”
“None that involved Grady Hastings, thank goodness.” She picked up the pot. “You?”
