Gift of Fire

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Earlier that evening she had made a promise to herself that she would not spend another night sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring. Jonas was not likely to call tonight. He certainly hadn’t bothered to call during the past four days, and they had been the longest four days of Verity’s life.

  Furthermore, she was sick of reading and rereading the poem she had found pinned to her pillow the morning Jonas had left.

  Wait for me, my lady, though the wind blows chill and cold, wait while all is locked in winter’s icy fist.

  I will dream of you, my lady, hot dreams of fire and gold, Dreams of gemlike passion too wondrous to resist.

  And if you’re on vacation when I return, my lady, I swear I will be most extremely pissed.

  Extremely pissed. Verity wrinkled her nose. If Jonas expected her to believe that little ditty was another of the Renaissance love poems he claimed to have loosely translated, he was wrong. And it certainly didn’t make up for his failure to phone her.

  “Verity! Just the person I’m looking for. I rang the cafe and the cabin but there was no answer. I figured you might be here.”

  Verity looked up from the enticing photo of a gleaming white resort on a private bay. “Hi, Laura. What’s up?”

  Laura Griswald grinned cheerfully. “I’m not positive, but I get the feeling that a job for Jonas may be available.”

  Verity set aside the brochure. “A job?”

  “I knew that would get your attention.” Laura shook her head, her shoulder-length brown hair shining. Everything about Laura sparkled with radiant good health. She and her husband, Rick, owned the Sequence Springs Spa Resort, and they were walking advertisements for the place. She crouched at the edge of the pool. “A young couple—brother and sister, I gather—checked in early this evening. They mentioned they’re looking for Jonas Quarrel. They came to Sequence Springs to find him.”

  Verity straightened quickly. The last time someone had come looking for Jonas he had nearly been killed. “They asked for Jonas by name?”

  “That’s right. Said they wanted to see him in a professional capacity. But they wouldn’t come all this way to hire a dishwasher, so I figured they must mean in his professional academic capacity. I knew you’d be interested, even if Jonas isn’t. You’ve been trying to get that man back into a respectable job since the day he started washing dishes for you.”

  “I’ll have you know that he did an article for a history journal that appeared two weeks ago,” Verity announced proudly. “You can have one, if you like. I ordered twenty copies.”

  “Is that right?” Laura appeared genuinely impressed. “I remember you mentioned something about it. An article in his field? Something on Renaissance history?”

  “That’s right. A comparison of modem-day fencing techniques with the style used during the late Renaissance.” No need to mention that Jonas had learned the differences in techniques the hard way. He had a nasty scar on one shoulder to prove it.

  Verity had nagged, cajoled, and otherwise made a nuisance of herself before Jonas had finally surrendered and written the article. She hated to see a well-educated mind going to waste while its owner washed dishes, although it didn’t seem to bother Jonas in the least.

  When notice of the article’s acceptance had arrived in the mail, she’d strongly suspected that she was much more elated than Jonas was. Then she’d remembered that as an instructor at Vincent College, he’d probably been published in far more prestigious journals. Still, she planned to have one of her twenty copies of the Journal of Renaissance Studies framed. She had made Jonas autograph the rest.

  “Who are these people and what do they want with Jonas?” Verity asked.

  “As I said, they’re brother and sister. The name is Warwick. Doug and Elyssa. Doug’s a stockbroker, twenty-nine or thirty, I’d say. Likable. Probably drives a BMW and wears designer underwear. Elyssa is a couple of years younger and she positively radiates sweetness and light. Always smiling. It’s enough to make you nauseated. I have a hunch she’s into this new metaphysical stuff.”

  “You mean she believes in channelers and crystals and that sort of thing?”

  “That’s the impression I got. Doug seems normal enough, though, and I got the impression he’ll be paying the fee.”

  “I wonder what they want with Jonas.”

  Laura shrugged. “You said that before he took off to see the world a few years ago, Jonas had a reputation for authenticating antiques and museum artifacts. Maybe the Warwicks want his professional opinion on something they’ve purchased. Think Jonas would be interested?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m certainly interested. It’s time that man put his education and, uh, experience to work.” She had never attempted to explain to Laura or anyone else that Jonas’s real talent was psychic in nature. “I have a nagging fear that he’s going to waste his life the way Dad has.” Verity shook her head in exasperation.

  “I know. Reforming Jonas has become your chief hobby. Lucky for you he doesn’t take offense.” Laura chuckled, well aware of her friend’s opinion about using one’s education and abilities. “When will Jonas and your father be back from their business trip?”

  “Any day now.” Verity drummed her fingers on the edge of the pool and ignored the unspoken questions in Laura’s eyes. She could hardly explain that Emerson and Jonas had gone off to Mexico to rescue an old, highly disreputable family friend who had gotten himself kidnapped. Such friends did not reflect well on the family. She had told Laura that Jonas was simply helping Emerson settle a private business matter.

  “I’m not sure how long the Warwicks will wait around for him,” Laura said dubiously.

  “If the Warwicks have a legitimate job for Jonas, I don’t want to put them off by telling them I don’t know when he’ll be back. If the deal looks good, I’ll have to find a way to keep them here. Why don’t you send them over at lunchtime tomorrow, Laura. Tell them I’m in charge of booking Jones’s business arrangements or something.”

  Laura tilted her head. “Are you in charge of booking Jones’s business arrangements?”

  Verity brightened. “As a matter of fact, I just appointed myself his business manager. Don’t look at me like that, Laura. Nobody else is stepping forward to handle the job, least of all Jonas. Looks like it’s up to me.” She frowned intently, thinking quickly. “You know, with a little publicity work, this sort of thing could turn into a very lucrative sideline for Jonas. I know I’ll never persuade him to go back to the academic world, but he could still use his abilities as a consultant for people like the Warwicks. Hey, that’s it!”

  “What’s it?”

  “We’ll call Jonas a consultant. An historical consultant. How does that sound?”

  “I can see the wheels turning in your head.” Laura stood up. “Okay, I’ll send ‘em over tomorrow for lunch. I just hope Jonas doesn’t have any objections when he gets home and finds out you’ve been booking ‘consulting’ assignments for him.”

  “I’ll handle Jonas,” Verity said with more assurance than she felt. “He’ll just have to understand that I’m doing this for his own good. He’s got far too fine a mind to be a dishwasher all his life. One day he’ll thank me for this.”

  “If I were you, I’d think twice about forcing upward mobility on a perfectly good dishwasher-waiter-handyperson. It’s hard to find reliable help these days. But far be it from me to spoil your fun.”

  “Fun?”

  Laura grinned. “Don’t play innocent with me. You and Jonas seem to understand each other perfectly. You give orders, lecture him on self-improvement, and generally bully him until he’s had enough. Then he puts his foot down and carries you off to bed just like he did last week. Clement, the bartender, and everyone else had a good laugh after you two left. Your father howled.”

  Verity’s cheeks turned bright pink. She remembered the incident clearly. “That was
so embarrassing. I could have killed Jonas.”

  It had all started when she had begun to nag Jonas about doing another journal article. Having just received the twenty copies she had ordered of the Journal of Renaissance Studies, Verity had decided she was on a roll. Convinced that important doors were opening for Jonas, she had pushed her luck—and Jonas—one step too far.

  Jonas had tolerated her enthusiastic lectures all afternoon and into the evening. It wasn’t until late that night, when they were having a nightcap with Laura and Rick in the resort’s cocktail lounge, that he had finally lost his patience.

  He’d listened to one more tirade on the importance of writing another article while he was still a hot literary property. Then he had taken Verity’s glass of juice out of her hand, picked her up, and carried her all the way back to the cabin in that humiliating position. Then he’d made love to her until Verity had temporarily forgotten all about journal articles and self-improvement.

  “It might have been embarrassing for you,” Laura said, smiling, “but it certainly provided memorable entertainment for everyone in the lounge. Quite a show.”

  “Whose side are you on, anyway?” Verity glowered at her.

  The amusement faded from Laura’s eyes. “I’m on your side,” she said with unexpected seriousness. “You know that, don’t you? We’re friends.”

  Verity smiled ruefully. “I know that.”

  “And speaking as your friend…”

  Verity tilted her head. “Yeah, friend?”

  “I’m not sure how to ask this, so I’ll come right out with it. Is anything wrong, Verity?”

  Verity stiffened. “Wrong?”

  “You know. As in ‘not quite right’? There’s something a little different about you lately. As if you’ve got something on your mind. I just wondered if you’ve got problems. If so, you know you can tell sister Laura all about them.”

  Verity swept her hands back and forth just under the surface of the crystal-clear water. Small waves rippled out to the sides of the pool. “I know, Laura. And thanks. But nothing’s wrong. Really. I’ve just been doing some thinking lately, that’s all.”

  “Thinking about Jonas and the future?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, it’s about time. When are you going to marry the man, Verity?”

  Verity’s head came up with a snap. “I haven’t been asked,” she replied tartly.

  “Since when does Verity Ames wait around for someone else, least of all a man, to make a major decision in her life?” Laura’s mouth curved upward. “You don’t fool me one bit. If you wanted to marry Jonas, you’d find a way to nag him into it.”

  “As you yourself have pointed out, Jonas can only be nagged so far,” Verity retorted dryly.

  “Maybe. But somehow I don’t think he’d fight too hard if you tied him up and dragged him to the altar.”

  “Not exactly a romantic image.”

  “No smart woman lets romantic illusions get in the way once she’s decided what she wants. And you’re one smart woman, Verity. Ergo, I have to assume you haven’t made up your mind about Jonas Quarrel. So we’re back to my original question. What’s wrong, pal?”

  Verity thought about the pregnancy-test kit she had surreptitiously examined and then put back on the shelf at the local pharmacy that afternoon. Then she remembered how casually Jonas had left for Mexico, carrying only a few changes of underwear and a wicked-looking knife that he knew how to use quite well.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Laura. I’ve just been feeling a little depressed lately. I think I need a vacation.” She took one hand out of the water and picked up a glossy brochure. Water dripped on the photograph of the beachfront hotel. “Hawaii sounds nice.”

  “A vacation, hm? You know something? I think that might be a good idea.”

  Doug and Elyssa Warwick walked into the No Bull Cafe at two o’clock the following day. Verity saw at once that Laura’s brief descriptions had been right on target. Doug

  Warwick was a good-looking young professional, with expensively trimmed sandy brown hair and a salon tan. His shirt was Ralph Lauren’s version of outdoor wear, and his khaki slacks had pleats in them.

  Verity was impressed with the pleats. She had tried to persuade Jonas to buy a pair of pleated trousers the last time they had gone to San Francisco. It had turned into one of those all-too-frequent occasions when Jonas had, as Laura bluntly put it, put his foot down. They had come home with a new pair of Levi’s that hadn’t even been prewashed for the fashionable broken-in look. Clothes were not one of Jonas’s passions.

  Elyssa Warwick was a surprise. Thanks to Laura’s description, Verity had been prepared for the wide, luminous eyes and serene smile. What she hadn’t expected were the undeniably attractive face, the lushly rounded figure, and the silvery blond hair worn in a sleek, shoulder-length bob.

  Elyssa was dressed all in white—a white silk shirt that was open one button lower than necessary for fashion, a white wool trumpet skirt, and white ballet shoes.

  The unrelieved white made a perfect backdrop for the glittering jewelry that adorned every limb, finger, and ear. Huge, sculpted pieces of metal hung from her ears; several rows of colorful necklaces swung over her full breasts; her bracelets were wide cuffs that extended almost to her elbows; bands of gold adorned with small bells circled her ankles. She tinkled and chimed whenever she moved.

  “You must be Verity,” Elyssa said warmly as she extended an elegantly shaped hand. Each graceful finger wore a ring, and her long nails were painted in a variety of glittering colors. “Laura Griswald told us all about you. She said we mustn’t miss your cooking while we’re here in Sequence Springs.”

  Verity escorted her guests to a table. “Please sit down. I’ll be able to talk to you in a few minutes. I just have to finish up some things in the kitchen. Did you want something to eat?”

  Doug Warwick spied the gleaming copper espresso machine in the corner and smiled. “Maybe a cup of espresso, or a café au lait. We ate lunch in the spa dining room.”

  Verity nodded. She’d had an espresso machine installed two months earlier. Actually, Jonas had installed it. He’d had the huge, complex machine up and running within two hours of its arrival. He really was quite handy to have around.

  Verity made two small cups of potent espresso and carried them to the Warwicks’ table. Doug and Elyssa smiled gratefully. A few minutes later the last lunch customer left, and Verity made herself a cup of tea.

  “I understand you’re looking for Jonas,” she said as she sat down at the Warwicks’ table. “I’m afraid he’s out of town at the moment. Business, you know. He’s doing some consulting work for a client in Mexico.”

  Elyssa stirred her espresso and looked seriously impressed. “I imagine his work takes him all over the world.”

  Verity coughed slightly. “His sort of work is international in scope, naturally. He certainly has done a great deal of traveling. I’m expecting him back any day now, however. In his absence I handle certain business matters for him. May I inquire how you heard about him? For the past few years he’s been working out of the country a great deal. He’s only recently made Sequence Springs his business headquarters.” She wondered if she was laying it on too heavily. If Jonas could hear her he would be looking around for something to clean his boots.

  But if Doug and Elyssa were concerned by the fact that the “consultant” they wanted to hire had based his worldwide headquarters in a small-town vegetarian restaurant, they were too polite to show it.

  “Jonas was recommended to us by a friend,” Elyssa said. “A close acquaintance of mine who has the most extraordinary intuition. I explained to him the sort of expert we needed, and he asked around for us. Preston has a wide variety of contacts.”

  “Preston Yarwood,” Doug Warwick put in dryly, “makes a hell of a good living running psychic self-developmen
t seminars in the Bay Area. Elyssa’s been a faithful student for the past six months. He’s into crap like channeling and metaphysical massage. He also drives a Porsche and wears hand-tailored suits. I suppose the guy must be doing something right.”

  “Now, Doug, this is no time to make fun of Preston,” Elyssa scolded in a gentle, sisterly tone. “He’s a very talented, highly intuitive man. A wonderful teacher. He’s actually got precognitive abilities, although he’s too modest to admit it.”

  “Bull,” Doug said cheerfully. “He never loses an opportunity to remind people of his so-called visions.”

  “You can’t deny that he found Mr. Quarrel for us.” Verity eyed the Warwicks closely. “Just how did this Preston locate Jonas?”

  Elyssa’s smile was radiant. “He contacted the editor of a small journal that specializes in Renaissance studies. You see, we need an expert in that particular era of history. The journal editor said he’d just published an article by a Mr. Quarrel, who was quite knowledgeable about the Renaissance and might be just the man we needed. He told Preston that Jonas Quarrel once had quite a reputation for being able to authenticate almost anything. Apparently Mr. Quarrel did an article on fencing techniques for the journal?”

  Verity smiled complacently. “You’ve read it?”

  “I’m afraid not, although I’d certainly like to,” Elyssa said with great charm.

  “I just happen to have an extra copy,” Verity told her smoothly “I’ll let you have it. I’m sure you’ll find it very interesting. It’s a brilliant piece.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “What exactly did you want Jonas to authenticate?” Verity looked at Doug Warwick.