In Too Deep lgt-1

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “I know,” Fallon said.

  She shook her head, rueful now. “Of course you do. You’re Fallon Jones, the brilliant chaos theory-talent. You can see the pattern before anyone else.”

  “Not always,” he said. “But you were right, Jenny. It would never have worked between us.”

  She gave him another misty smile. “We both made the same mistake when we got engaged. We thought we could rely on logic and reason when it came to choosing a mate.”

  “Obviously a false assumption,” Fallon said.

  Jenny turned back to Isabella. “Fallon may not have done a very good job when he tried to find a wife, but I think he did very well, indeed, when he hired an assistant.”

  She turned and walked back toward the lights of the ballroom. Isabella jacked up her other vision. The terrible fog was already diminishing. With luck, Jenny would allow herself to heal.

  Fallon came to stand beside Isabella. They waited until Jenny had disappeared into the crowd.

  “You knew she was going to give you back your ring that night?” Isabella asked.

  “Doesn’t take a lot of talent to know when you’re about to get dumped. Even I could see it coming.”

  “And if she hadn’t ended things first?”

  “I would have had to do it,” he said. “You heard her. Jenny felt as if she never really knew me. That problem went both ways.”

  “Everyone has secrets. Everyone has a private place. I don’t think it’s ever possible to know anyone completely. I don’t think we would want to know someone that well even if it were possible. Part of what makes other people interesting is that there is always some mystery beneath the surface.”

  “The kind of knowing I’m talking about goes deeper than secrets,” Fallon said.

  She thought about that. “I see what you mean.”

  “Do you?” He shook his head. “Then you’re way ahead of me because I sure as hell couldn’t define it.”

  “But you’ll recognize that kind of knowing if you ever find it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “So? What does it mean?”

  “To want to know someone in a way that goes deeper than just learning a person’s secrets? It means you’re a hopeless romantic, Fallon Jones.”

  There was a heartbeat of stunned silence. And then Fallon began to laugh. The sound started out as a hoarse, harsh, little-used chuckle. But it quickly gathered depth and volume. In a moment, Fallon was roaring with laughter. The sound reverberated across the terrace, spilling out into the night.

  Isabella sensed a presence behind her. When she turned around she saw Zack and Raine silhouetted in the entrance of the ballroom. As she watched, a number of other Joneses, including Fallon’s parents, gathered to watch the spectacle on the terrace. The expressions on their faces ran a short gamut from stunned to fascinated.

  She poked Fallon in the ribs. “We’ve got an audience,” she whispered.

  His laughter faded. He turned to look at the crowd in the doorway.

  “Good joke?” Zack asked.

  “Best one I’ve heard in a long time,” Fallon said.

  24

  The auction started at ten. Fallon stood with Isabella at the back of the room. A hush fell over the crowd. The auctioneer picked up his gavel.

  Fallon took Isabella’s arm.

  “We can leave now,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  She glanced at him, surprised. “Don’t you want to see who bids on those weird artifacts in the display cases?”

  “No. I’ve had about as much socializing as I can handle for one evening. I’ve done what Zack asked, helped him provide a show of force. He can handle the Society’s politics from here on in. That’s what he gets paid to do.”

  Her eyes narrowed a little in suspicion, but she allowed him to steer her out of the ballroom and into the hallway.

  “You’re up to something,” she whispered. “I can tell.”

  “You know us small-town folks. Early to bed and early to rise.”

  “Ha. What’s going on, Jones?”

  “We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “Define first thing,” she shot back.

  “After breakfast.”

  “Okay, that’s not so bad. You’re anxious to get back to Scargill Cove?”

  “We have a lot of work waiting for us.” The we surprised him, coming out of his mouth as it did. For so long he had thought of the agency as his sole responsibility. But lately he had begun to think of Isabella as something more than an assistant or even an investigator. He was starting to treat her like a partner. That was probably not wise.

  “Yes,” she said, looking satisfied at the prospect. “J&J never sleeps.”

  “There’s another reason for getting an early start.”

  She gave him an expectant look.

  He drew her through the lobby toward the elevators. “We’re going to make a stop on the way back to the Cove.”

  “Where?”

  “Cactus Springs.”

  She halted abruptly, forcing him to halt, too. Her eyes widened. “That’s where my grandmother lives. Lived.”

  “I’ve done all the investigation I can do online. Now I need to take a look at the scene of the crime. Isn’t that the kind of thing Sherlock Holmes would do?”

  “But you don’t believe that there was a crime.”

  “I told you, I’m reserving my opinion until I have all the facts.”

  She gave that some thought. “Grandma warned me not to go to her place if something happened to her because she was afraid they might be watching, waiting for me to show up. But I suppose there’s no reason you and I can’t go there together. As long as you’re with me, it should be safe. Grandma is the one who told me to find you if I couldn’t hide from them. She said they would not want to involve Arcane.”

  “They being Julian Garrett’s people?”

  “Right.” She wrinkled her nose. “I know you don’t believe my theory of the case.”

  “Your conspiracy theory of the case,” he corrected. “Thus far I haven’t found anything to indicate that Garrett or anyone else was involved in any way with your grandmother’s death, assuming she is dead.”

  “It’s okay.” She gave him a glowing smile. “You don’t have to explain. You’re still investigating. That’s all that matters. Sooner or later you’ll find the proof.”

  They started up the stairs to the second floor.

  “You do understand that we may be trying to prove a negative here,” he cautioned. “There is no way to do that. Which is, of course, how conspiracy theories work in the first place and why they manage to stay alive.”

  “You never know, we might find a solid clue in Cactus Springs.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said.

  “I’m pretty sure that Sherlock Holmes never said that to a client.”

  “You’re my assistant, not a client.”

  They reached the landing and went down the hall to Isabella’s room. He took out the card key and opened the door for her. She stepped into the room on the impossibly high heels and turned to face him.

  “We didn’t really need to go to the expense of booking two rooms,” she said. “Evidently everyone back there in the ballroom knows that we’re personally involved.”

  “How the hell did they find out?” Outrage crackled through him. “Zack or Raine must have said something, although how they knew is an interesting question. I’ll have a talk with Zack in the morning.”

  “No, no, no,” she said hastily. “Zack and Raine didn’t gossip about us. It’s just something about our energy. Even nonsensitives can often tell when two people are involved in a physical relationship. The energy of that sort of attraction is very strong.”

  Annoyed, he gripped the door frame and checked the hallway to see if anyone was watching. Then he turned back to her. “Damn it, I won’t let anyone embarrass you.”

  “Trust me, I’m not in the least embarrassed.”

  “You’re sure?”<
br />
  “Absolutely,” she said. “What about you? Do you mind people knowing that we’re sleeping together?”

  He gave the question a couple of beats, trying to sort out his reactions. Deep down he liked the fact that everyone knew that Isabella was his, at least for now. He wanted other men to know that she was not available. And since when had he developed a possessive streak?

  He finally got to the bottom line.

  “Only if it makes you feel awkward,” he said.

  She put her arms around his neck. “Poor Fallon. How did an old-fashioned gentleman endowed with such quaint Victorian virtues ever survive in the modern world?”

  He groaned. “You think I’m some kind of throwback?”

  “Only in the nicest sense of the word.”

  “Calling me old-fashioned and Victorian makes me feel ancient. I know I’m a little older than you, but not that much. I just look old.”

  “No.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth against his. “You don’t look old. You look perfect.”

  The touch of her mouth acted like an electrical switch. Everything inside him went to flashpoint in a heartbeat.

  “You’re the one who is perfect,” he rasped.

  He moved into the room and shut the door. The action plunged the small space into a shadowed realm, a world lit by the silver light of the canyon-country moon.

  He took off his tux jacket for the second time that evening and tossed it across the back of the nearest chair. When he started to loosen the black bow tie, Isabella stopped him.

  “Let me,” she said.

  He opened his senses and saw the heat in her eyes.

  When she reached up to unknot his tie, her fingers trembled a little. He caught her hand and kissed her palm. She let the ends of the tie dangle around his neck and went to work unfastening the onyx cuff links. There were two faint clinks when she put the cuff links carefully on the table. The small, intimate sound jacked his senses even higher. He was certain he had never been so hard in his life.

  She went to work on the black studs that secured the front of his shirt.

  He kissed her and began to strip her with quick, focused motions. The evening gown collapsed into a dark pool at her feet. He got the lacy bra off next. The panties followed, leaving her in the sexy high heels.

  Energy ignited the atmosphere of the shadowed room. Isabella’s effect on him could only be described in terms of alchemy, he thought. She was the fire that transmuted the cold iron inside him into gold. With her he could look into the heart of chaos and glimpse the ultimate goal of the ancient art, the Philosopher’s Stone. With her he was, for a time, complete.

  Desperate now, he picked her up and braced her against the nearest surface, the wall. She put one bare leg around his waist and then the other. Her scent was more intoxicating than any drug. He cradled her with one hand and stroked her with the other until she was wet and frantic.

  “For me,” he said. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit down a little, needing to reinforce the words. “I want you like this only for me. No one else.”

  “It has never been like this with anyone else. It couldn’t be. Only you.” She clutched at his shoulders and looked at him with her mysterious eyes. “This had better work both ways or it’s over now.”

  “Only you,” he said. He was shatteringly aware that his voice was hoarse with passion. He could barely speak at all. “Never like this with anyone else.”

  She smiled her devastating smile.

  “Good,” she said.

  Her fiercely wonderful energy filled the room, enveloping him.

  He managed to unzip his trousers and then he was pushing into her. She closed tightly around him.

  He thrust again and again, fast and hard. She clung to him, wrapping herself around him. He could hear her breathing: quick, shallow gasps that betrayed her rising excitement.

  “Fallon.”

  He forced himself to stop pounding into her long enough to lift her away from the wall and put her down onto the bed. He got rid of his trousers and briefs, kicked off his shoes and lowered himself onto the bed beside her.

  “My turn,” she said.

  She flattened one hand on his chest and pushed him onto his back. He went willingly. And then she was on top, sliding slowly downward, fitting her tight core to him.

  She rode him slowly, tormenting him until he thought he could not endure it. But he forced himself to let her set the pace. He gripped her soft thighs and opened his senses fully. He did not try to focus his talent. Rather, he gave himself up to the glittering exhilaration of the moment. It was only at times like this, when he was so intimately connected to Isabella, that he could safely slip the bonds of his self-control and fly free.

  Sensation and the heat of desire carried him on a relentless tide. The knowledge that Isabella was riding the same wave thrilled him beyond measure.

  When she came undone in a storm of energy, he followed her over the edge into the endless night.

  25

  She came back to her senses a long time later, aware of a faint rustling sound. Fallon was no longer in the bed.

  She opened her eyes and saw him dressing by the light of the moon. She pushed herself up on her elbows and watched him tuck the white shirt into the waistband of his trousers. She was not sure whether to be amused or annoyed or hurt.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked, trying not to show any emotions at all.

  “If I stay here until morning, there’s a good chance that someone will see me leaving your room.”

  She relaxed, smiling a little. “I told you, everyone at the conference already knows we’re sleeping together.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that.”

  He walked to the bed, bent down and braced a hand on either side of her. He kissed her, his mouth deliciously rough on hers. It was a branding kiss, she decided. He was letting her know that on this level she belonged to him. He straightened reluctantly.

  “But there’s something called discretion,” he said.

  “Gosh. Haven’t heard that word used in a long time. You are aware that’s another old-fashioned concept?”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah, but it’s very sweet.” She yawned and waved a hand toward the door. “Go on back to your room. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Breakfast at six-twenty. I want to talk to Zack before we leave and then I’ve got to say good-bye to my parents. Plane leaves at eight. I haven’t told the pilot that we’re making a detour. I’ll inform him just before we take off.”

  “Why not let him know earlier so he can revise the flight plan?”

  “Just a precaution.” He went to the table and collected his cuff links. “No sense advertising our schedule in advance.”

  A tiny chill shivered through her. “You don’t want anyone to know that you’re investigating my grandmother’s death, do you?”

  “Zack and Raine know.”

  “Sure, but they won’t say anything because they’ve got the same concern that you do. My point is that the three of you don’t want folks on the Council to suspect that you’re wasting valuable time and money checking out a conspiracy theory about the murder of a known crackpot.”

  His hand closed tightly around the cuff links. He watched her steadily. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But it’s what you’re thinking.”

  “What I’m thinking,” he said evenly, “is that the fewer people who know that I’m looking into your grandmother’s death, the better. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Ha. With you there’s always something more. But never mind. I understand. Heck, I even agree with you. The fewer people who know about this, the better. See you in the morning, Fallon.”

  For a moment he did not move. She held her breath, wondering if he was reconsidering his decision to leave. But after a couple of seconds he went to the door, opened it and checked the hall.

  “Lock the door after I leave,” he ordered.

  “Y
eah, sure.”

  She waited until he moved out into the hall and shut the door before she got out of bed. She padded barefoot across the room and put on the safety lock. There was no sound out in the corridor for at least three full seconds. Then the light shifted under the door. She knew that Fallon had finally walked back to his room at the end of the hall.

  She crawled into bed, pulled up the covers and pondered the ceiling for a very long time.

  After a while she drifted off and tumbled into a troubled dream in which her grandmother appeared in the heart of a storm of icy fog. Grandma was speaking, trying to send a warning, but as was so often the case in dreams, the words made no sense.

  SHE CAME AWAKE on a current of fear, pulse racing, heart pounding. The primal instincts of childhood took over. Do not move. Maybe the monster under the bed won’t see you.

  She forced the crushing wave of panic aside, but she remained very still. Her other sight, aroused by the surge of adrenaline, was already at full throttle and sending her a confusing flood of stimulation. The psychic senses operated both independently and in conjunction with the normal senses. Engaging one’s talent without also getting feedback from the regular senses could be wildly disorienting unless a person was accustomed to dealing with only the psychic sense.

  Cautiously she opened her eyes partway. She was curled on her side, facing the sliding glass doors that opened onto the little patio.

  The curtains were still parted, allowing moonlight to slant into the room. But something was different. The atmosphere was much chillier than it had been earlier. She realized that she was inhaling the fresh, clean scents of the desert night, not air-conditioning. As she watched, the edge of one of the curtains fluttered.

  The sliding glass door was partially open. Paranormal fog boiled through the entrance. Someone had entered the room. She remained frozen for another instant, trying to adjust to the shock.

  And then she tried frantically to leap from the bed. She discovered she could not move.