Tightrope

by Amanda Quick

  “She thinks that the tendency may be in the bloodline and that it’s directly linked to the lie-detecting talent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My great-grandfather had the gift, they say. Family legend has it that it drove him mad. He took his own life. But he was a chemist. I looked into the old records and I think it’s more likely that he died when he accidentally poisoned himself in the course of a lab experiment. It’s Uncle Jake who really worries Mom. He also has a talent like mine. He always lived alone and he always drank too much, but things got worse when he came home from the Great War. He told me that he can only ignore the lies when he’s drunk. Mom won’t say it out loud but I know she’s afraid that one of these days he’ll take his own life.”

  “She blames the lie-detecting talent for your great-grandfather’s and your uncle’s problems?”

  “Yes.”

  Amalie thought about that for a while.

  “For what it’s worth I don’t think you’re in danger of going down your uncle’s or your great-grandfather’s path,” she said.

  Matthias tightened his grip on her hand. “Why not?”

  “For one thing, if you were headed in that direction I think you would have shown signs of severe depression and paranoia by now. It looks to me like you control your talent. It doesn’t control you.”

  Matthias came to an abrupt halt, forcing her to stop, too. He turned her so that she faced him in the moonlight. His eyes were bottomless pools of dark energy.

  “That’s how it feels to me,” he said. “But Uncle Jake and the stories about my great-grandfather have scared the hell out of my mother.”

  “Understandable.”

  “What makes you so sure you’re right about me?”

  She smiled. “Flyer’s intuition.”

  He caught her chin on the edge of his hand. “I told you, in my family, we take intuition seriously.”

  “So, what would you do if you decided to settle down?” she asked.

  “Promise you won’t think it’s crazy?”

  “Dreams are never crazy. Impractical, sometimes. But not crazy.”

  “I’ve been thinking of starting my own research and development company. I’d like to focus on communications devices. I think there’s a future in that line.”

  She smiled at the enthusiasm and excitement in his voice.

  “Matthias, that’s a wonderful plan,” she said. “Are you going to follow through and open your own engineering firm?”

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

  “I love the idea. Are you hesitating because you’re afraid of disappointing your parents?”

  “No, they’ll understand. The real problem is that my plan might not work. Starting up a new company is always risky. But in these uncertain times, it’s even more of a gamble.”

  “You could spend your entire life waiting on certainty. The world is always an uncertain place. You should follow your dream, Matthias. Open that research and development company and see where it takes you.”

  “And if it takes me off a financial cliff?”

  “You’re an engineer.” Amalie smiled. “You’ll figure out how to build a ladder and climb back up to the top of the cliff.”

  Matthias cradled her face between his palms. “That’s what you did, isn’t it? You rebuilt your life after that bastard Harding tried to kill you and the circus went out of business.”

  “It’s what people like us do.”

  He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close.

  “You’re right,” he said against her mouth. “It’s what people like us do.”

  The kiss set her senses on fire. She was intensely aware of everything around her. Fiercely alive. Thrilled. She was flying.

  He released her for a moment to unfold the blanket and spread it out on the sand. When the makeshift bed was ready, he bent down long enough to unlace his shoes.

  Barefoot, he looked at her from the opposite side of the blanket.

  She stepped out of her own shoes and walked to the center of the blanket. He met her there. They fell to their knees and reached for each other.

  By the time the scorching embrace ended she was on her back and naked except for the frilly panties. Her clothes were in a careless heap at one corner of the blanket. Matthias’s trousers and shirt were in the same pile.

  And then his lips were on her throat and his hands were moving slowly—too slowly—over her breasts and down to her thighs. When his fingers slipped under the edge of the wide-legged panties, she almost lost her breath.

  “Matthias.”

  It was all she could say.

  He cupped her and whispered something dark and sensual when he discovered how wet she was. Everything deep inside her was now so tightly wound that she wanted to scream with frustration but she could barely catch her breath.

  She seized the hard, rigid length of him.

  “Yes,” he pleaded, his voice a harsh rasp. “Yes.”

  She tightened her fingers around him and began to move her hand in a pumping action that left him damp with sweat. She thrilled to the knowledge that he was controlling himself because he wanted to please her. She stroked him with still more force.

  He sucked in his breath, settled onto his back, and hauled her astride his thighs. She lowered herself carefully onto his thick length.

  He thrust upward, filling her completely. The size and urgency of his erection was too much. She came undone in a shivering, shuddering release that seemed endless.

  He followed her into the deep. His climax stormed through her, igniting aftershocks.

  They fell into each other.

  And they caught each other.

  Chapter 45

  The following morning Amalie found herself in what had become a surprisingly pleasant routine. She was in the kitchen helping Willa with breakfast preparations. Matthias and Jasper were at the large wooden table in the center of the room, drinking coffee and talking about the intricacies of car engines.

  They all stopped when Hazel burst into the room waving the new edition of the Burning Cove Herald.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Hazel said. “The robot escaped.”

  Willa stared at her. “What in the world?”

  Jasper frowned. “Are you talking about Pickwell’s robot?”

  “Do you know any other robots?” Hazel asked.

  She held up the front page so that they could all read the headline.

  ROBOT DISAPPEARS.

  AUTHORITIES MYSTIFIED.

  PUBLIC WARNED TO BE ON THE LOOKOUT.

  “There must be some mistake,” Amalie said.

  “It’s just more sensational nonsense,” Jasper said. “The press can’t let go of the robot-murders-its-creator story.”

  “I don’t think so,” Hazel said. “The piece is under Irene Ward’s byline. She’s the crime beat reporter for the Herald.”

  “Read the report,” Willa urged.

  Hazel obliged and read the piece aloud.

  The Burning Cove police are investigating the strange disappearance of Futuro, the robot that recently murdered Dr. Norman Pickwell onstage at the Palace Theater. The mechanical man vanished sometime in the early hours of this morning. The loss was reported by Mr. Chester Ward.

  Detective Brandon of the police department told this reporter that he believes the robot was stolen. Others, however, question the circumstances of the so-called theft and suggest that the creature may have escaped.

  “That metal monster could be anywhere,” Willa said. “It has already committed murder once. What’s to stop it from killing again? Now that it’s had a taste of human blood, it may crave more.”

  “Futuro is not a vampire,” Matthias said. “And I doubt the thing simply walked away from Chester Ward’s workshop.
It’s a lot more likely that it was stolen.”

  “Who would steal a robot?” Amalie asked.

  “Good question,” Jasper said. “Maybe someone thinks he can hold it for ransom. The authorities might offer an award for information leading to the recovery of a dangerous killer robot.”

  Matthias gave him an approving look. “That’s not a bad theory.”

  “Just seems logical,” Jasper said, sounding a little embarrassed by the praise.

  “If you ask me, Futuro chose a very unfortunate time to vanish,” Amalie said. “I was hoping to see reports of the Psychic Curse Mansion tours back on the front page today. Now that missing robot is going to grab all the attention.”

  Vincent Hyde loomed in the doorway. “Don’t be too sure of that, Miss Vaughn. Something tells me that the story will go national by this afternoon. I’m sure your charming little inn will once again be featured in a starring role. The line for the tours will be out the door and halfway down the drive. Everyone will want to see the room that was booked by the doomed inventor.”

  Amalie cheered up a little at that. “I hope you’re right.”

  Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Hyde is right, we can use this story. Willa, after breakfast, you and I will figure out how to work Futuro’s escape into our tour script.”

  Chapter 46

  “It’s been almost twenty-four hours now,” Raina said. “Do you think the plan will work?”

  They were in Luther’s office at the Paradise. The room was paneled in dark wood. Several of Luther’s dark paintings hung on the wall.

  He did not respond immediately. Instead, he got up from behind his desk. She watched him cross the room to stand in front of the French doors that opened onto the shaded balcony. They had been acquainted for only a short time but she could read the edgy tension in the set of his broad shoulders as easily as if they had been intimate for years.

  “What I think,” Luther said, “is that it’s our only chance to grab Smith. If the plan fails, odds are very, very good that he’ll disappear again, maybe permanently this time.”

  She rose from the chair and walked across the plush carpet to join him. She could not think of anything helpful to say so she took his hand. His fingers closed very tightly around hers.

  * * *

  Two hours later the phone in Luther’s office rang. Jolted, Raina looked up quickly from the magazine she had been trying to read. Luther closed the ledger he had been perusing and picked up the phone.

  “This is Pell,” he said.

  He did not say anything else for a time but his eyes narrowed a little and his fingers tightened on the phone. Raina realized she was holding her breath. Part of her hoped that the deal was off, because that would mean that Luther would not have to take the risk of implementing the rest of the dangerous plan.

  “Consider the favor repaid,” Luther said. He hung up the phone and looked at Raina. “Smith took the bait.”

  The fierceness in his eyes and the grim satisfaction in his words said it all, Raina thought. Whatever the outcome, Luther needed to take this risk.

  “How do a couple of mob guys handle a business transaction with a ruthless gunrunner?” she asked.

  “Very carefully,” Luther said.

  He picked up the phone again and dialed a number.

  “Hello, Miss Vaughn,” he said. “This is Luther Pell. I’m calling for Matthias. I’m hoping he is free to join me for a game of poker tonight.”

  Raina reflected on Luther’s earlier comment about Matthias Jones. Nobody who knows him well will risk playing poker with him.

  Anyone who knew Luther well would know that he was not calling Matthias to discuss a possible poker game.

  Chapter 47

  At five minutes after midnight, Matthias stopped the black sedan on one side of the narrow bridge. The car had been borrowed from one of Luther’s security men. It blended well into the night. It was the sort of car one expected a couple of mob guys to use on a job like this one. Unmemorable.

  He flashed the headlights twice. On the opposite side of the bridge the piercing beams of another set of headlights responded with the same signal. Both drivers left the lights blazing, illuminating the bridge in a fierce glare.

  Luther, sitting in the passenger seat, a pistol in one hand, studied the night-darkened scene through the windshield. “He’s here. He wants the rotors very badly.”

  “The Ares machine is just a busted typewriter without them,” Matthias said. “Besides, as far as Smith is concerned, he’s doing a deal with a couple of mob guys who have as much to lose as he does if they get caught with the critical components of a top secret cipher machine. He’s probably telling himself he’s in control of the situation.”

  “He may be right,” Luther said. “He’s not the only one taking a risk tonight.”

  The location of the meeting point had been arranged by the Broker after consultation with both parties. The single-lane bridge was in the hills above the town of Burning Cove. For several miles on either side it was the only crossing point that spanned the small Burning Cove River. There was no cover in the vicinity—no trees or large rocks that could be used for concealment. The thin vegetation along the banks consisted of low, scrubby bushes and grasses.

  The details had also been established by the Broker. It was a given that neither side could fully trust the other, so both parties were expected to arrive at the scene with an armed bodyguard. The blinding headlights from the two cars limited visibility and made a shoot-out less likely.

  The headlights of the vehicle on the other side of the bridge flashed again. Matthias responded. At the signal, both cars drove partway onto the bridge and stopped. Both drivers left the engines running.

  “Here we go,” Matthias said.

  He reached for his hat, angling it low over his eyes. Luther plucked his own hat off his knee and adjusted it in a similar manner. The blinding headlights would render everyone into dark silhouettes. It would be impossible to see faces. But there was a protocol for underworld business meetings, just as there was for the legitimate kind. Fashionable drape cut suits, wide ties, and fedoras constituted the appropriate uniform for a successful mob man. The primary distinction between the two classes of businessmen was that the criminals accessorized their suits with guns.

  Pistol in hand, Matthias opened the door and climbed out from behind the wheel. Luther got out on his side. They both left the doors open to be used as shields in the event that the other side decided to start shooting.

  The doors of the car on the opposite side of the bridge cracked open, the sound unnaturally loud in the deep silence of the night.

  “Pell and Jones,” a male voice said from the driver’s side of the other vehicle. “I wondered if you would show. Couldn’t resist the cash, I see.”

  Matthias recognized the voice. It belonged to the motorist who had stopped to offer assistance with changing the tire on the night of the blowout.

  “Are you going to stand around and chat?” Matthias asked. “This is a business deal. We’re not here for a drink.”

  “Fucking right. Where are the rotors?”

  “There’s no deal until we see the money,” Luther said.

  “My pal here has a briefcase full of cash for you. He has a gun, too, and so do I. But I’m sure you already figured that out. I do have one question. Did you find those rotors inside Pickwell’s robot? Is that why the thing went missing from Ward’s workshop?”

  “We’re not interested in an extended conversation,” Luther said.

  “Humor me. You took a risk stealing that metal monster. What made you think there was something valuable inside?”

  “Why do you care how we figured it out?” Matthias asked.

  “Personally, I don’t give a damn, but the client will want the answer.”

  “Tell your client it’s a trade secret,” Luther
said.

  “Think you’re a couple of real smart guys, don’t you? You’re a pair of fucking amateurs, that’s what you are. Just a couple of nickel-and-dime mobsters who got into something that’s too big for them. You’re in way over your heads.”

  “Word on the street is that the cipher machine is worth a fortune to certain parties,” Luther said.

  “That’s true. But you two wouldn’t know the first thing about deals like this.”

  “Don’t know about that,” Luther said. “You showed up real quick with an offer.”

  “Forget answering my question. Let’s finish this.”

  “Fine by us,” Luther said.

  “We’re going to do this just like the Broker said. My associate takes the money to the middle of the bridge while I cover him. One of you brings the rotors to the middle. As soon as the exchange is made we all leave the scene, driving in opposite directions.”

  “Believe it or not, we know what we’re doing here,” Luther said. “Jones and I may not be experts when it comes to international business deals, but we’ve each got considerable experience in this sort of transaction.”

  “Let’s get on with it. Fucking amateurs.”

  Matthias picked up the box of rotors and moved out from behind the cover of the Ford’s front door. He walked toward the center of the bridge.

  The silent figure on the other side of the car moved forward, briefcase in hand.

  The figure with the briefcase was a slightly built silhouette dressed in a jacket that looked too big for the slender frame, but that was all Matthias could make out. Bad Jacket set the briefcase down. Matthias put the box of rotors beside it and picked up the briefcase. It was surprisingly heavy. Cash in large quantities weighed a lot.

  Bad Jacket scooped up the box and stepped back very quickly, but not before Matthias caught a hint of a fragrance. A lot of men wore cologne, but this brand had a strong floral note that seemed unusually feminine.

  Bad Jacket opened the metal box and examined the contents in the glare of the headlights. Evidently satisfied, the figure started to retreat.