Midnight Jewels

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “You must tell me how you came across Valley,” Gladstone said as he helped himself to dry toast. “No offense, my dear, but I would have expected it to turn up in one of the East coast or English auction houses rather than a second-hand bookshop out in Washington. It is a rather valuable item.”

  “That’s the great thing about the book business, isn’t it?” Mercy smiled happily. “You never know when you’re going to unearth buried treasure. I got Valley in a trunkful of books I picked up at a flea market. I had no idea it was inside. I thought the whole trunk was full of used paperbacks and some assorted junk.”

  “You must have been very excited when you realized what you had.”

  Mercy nodded. “I wasn’t sure at first, but I spent a few years as a librarian and I had enough training to know Valley might be valuable. I also had enough training to go about finding out if the book was really worth anything. As soon as I’d verified that it was an original and not just a clever reproduction, I put the ad in that catalog you happened to see.”

  “Did anyone else call about the ad?” Gladstone asked casually.

  Croft saw Mercy blink, but she never missed a beat as she replied immediately. “No. No one else telephoned. I was delighted when I got your offer, believe me.

  “You must have wondered about my, er, interests when you got my call. Did you think I was the prurient sort?”

  “Of course not,” Mercy said instantly. “It’s obvious Valley is hardly an example of run-of-the-mill pornography. The copperplate illustrations are beautifully done and the writing is very literate. The original owner must have spent a fortune to have it bound in that beautifully tooled Moroccan leather. Many collectors who have a general collection would want such a fine example of, uh, curiosa on their shelves. That sort of thing is so rare.”

  “It is, indeed. I didn’t take the time to show you the other night, but I have some even more valuable examples of what might be termed curiosa down in the vault. There are one or two particularly fine seventeenth-century Japanese painted scrolls. Not true books, perhaps, but I was unable to resist them when they came on the market. The Japanese have done some exquisite erotic art, as have the Indians and the Chinese. That section of my collection is not my chief area of interest, but I want it to be as excellent as possible. I believe in acquiring only the best.”

  Croft saw Mercy’s gaze go briefly to Isobel, who didn’t appear to notice. “You are fortunate to be able to indulge your interests. Not all of us can afford to do so.”

  Gladstone chuckled. “Inheriting money from several generations of shrewd ancestors is extremely helpful.” Without any warning he turned to Croft. “Tell me, Croft, do you share any of Mercy’s interest in the rare and the valuable?”

  Croft looked at Mercy. “Occasionally I’m fascinated by rare and valuable things.” Perhaps that explained his growing fascination with Mercy Pennington, Croft thought. She was so rare and so very valuable and she had absolutely no idea of her own uniqueness. She bloomed for him like one of the beautiful flowers in the mountain meadows, unselfconsciously delightful.

  “I have always sought to surround myself with the beautiful and the rare and the valuable,” Gladstone went on conversationally. “Some people say we are what we eat, but I believe we are just as influenced by our environment. Do you agree?”

  Croft was watching Mercy eat a strawberry. She was thoroughly enjoying the fruit and it showed. He realized it gave him great pleasure to see her pleasured. Reluctantly he took his gaze from the sight of the plump red strawberry disappearing between her lips and looked at Gladstone.

  “The ability to appreciate the rare or the exotic or the beautiful is largely a matter of education and the development of a certain kind of sensitivity. It has nothing to do with whether the viewer has any of the equivalent human virtues. Surrounding an evil man with works of fine art and great beauty would not alter his basic nature.”

  “In other words,” Mercy said as she reached for another strawberry, “you can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.”

  “Exactly,” Croft murmured. But one might be able to disguise the ear for a long time so that few would recognize it for what it was, he added silently.

  Mercy pursed her lips. “Speaking of valuable things, aren’t you worried about having a house full of people tonight? What about security? Won’t it worry you to have so many people in the house at the same time?”

  “Dallas and Lance handle that end of things for us,” Isobel explained. “But there is really very little need to concern ourselves with the possibility of theft. The artists in the colony are all quite grateful to Erasmus for his patronage. It’s unlikely any of them would abuse his generosity.”

  “I see.” Mercy started in on her goat cheese omelette. “What would you two like to do today?” Gladstone asked genially. “We want you to enjoy yourselves.”

  “I’d like to take a walk this morning,” Mercy said, glancing determinedly at Croft. “I haven’t really had a chance to enjoy the scenery firsthand.”

  “An excellent idea,” Gladstone approved. “We have several examples of Alpine meadows within walking distance and the views are superb. I would suggest you take a topographical map and a compass, however, or else stay within sight of the house. It’s far too easy to get lost out there. One must never forget this is true wilderness, some of the last left in the States.”

  “We’ll leave right after breakfast,” Mercy said enthusiastically. Then she smiled benignly at Croft. “I’ll bet Croft knows how to follow a topographical map and read a compass, don’t you, Croft?”

  He saw the mischief in her wide-eyed, innocent green gaze and realized just how much he was learning to enjoy that element in her nature. She didn’t fool him for a minute, though. The sweet, sexy little witch was determined to get him out of the house where she could lecture him to her heart’s content. Croft surrendered to the inevitable. It occurred to him that he usually did around Mercy.

  “We won’t get lost,” he said equably and went back to his omelette.

  An hour later they walked away from the house, following Dallas’s directions toward a meadow that he assured them was in full bloom. Mercy was wearing her jeans and a pair of white Nikes along with a flower-patterned camp shirt. She had her hair in a short ponytail and Croft thought she looked very fresh and enticing. It was a fine morning to be setting out on a hike with this woman.

  “Of course we’re not going to get lost,” Mercy murmured provokingly as she strode along beside him. “I knew right away you’d be an expert at hiking in the wilderness, just like you are at everything else.”

  “I’m not an expert at everything and we’re not going very far.” He didn’t like the taunting note in her voice. She was looking for a way to bait him again. He just knew it. “Don’t,” he advised.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t spend the whole morning trying to provoke me. I know you think it’s your only form of retaliation at the moment, but I’m not in the mood for it.”

  “Retaliation?” She looked more innocent than ever. “Why would I want to retaliate against you? Just because my whole future is hanging in the balance and I’m scared to death you’re going to do something that will cut the thread that’s holding it, why should Ι feel like retaliating?”

  “Don’t exaggerate. Your whole future is not hanging in the balance.”

  “Oh yes it is. You’d better exercise a great deal of caution while you’re investigating Gladstone, or I’m the one who will pay the price. Ι don’t want any more embarrassing scenes like last night.”

  “It wouldn’t have even occurred if you’d stayed upstairs where you belong.” He slanted her a quelling glance but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “I won’t take the blame for what happened. It was all your fault. I suppose you’re going to make another foray tonight while the party’s going on?”

 
He cocked an eyebrow, mildly surprised by her shrewd guess. “I don’t have much choice. We leave tomorrow. If I’m ever going to get the proof I need, it will have to be tonight.”

  “I take it you never got inside the vault last night?”

  “I didn’t have a chance. I heard you clumping through the garden just as I was starting to crack the lock.”

  “You’re a cat burglar, too? You pick locks? My, what a talented man.”

  He decided to ignore the sarcasm. “I am not a cat burglar, but I’ve had to learn a few things about locks in the past.”

  “Ah, yes. Your past,” Mercy said with grim determination. “That’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. I think now is the time to do it.”

  He felt suddenly uneasy. “Forget it, Mercy. My past isn’t something I spend much time discussing with anyone.”

  “You’ll discuss it with me. Now.”

  “Is that right? Why should I?”

  “Because,” she announced with gleeful satisfaction, “I’m going to blackmail you into it.”

  Croft halted on the rocky trail. “You want to run that by me again?”

  “You heard me. I’m going to blackmail you for some answers to my questions. Either you talk or I’ll blow the lid off your investigation. Gladstone will kick you out of the house so fast you’ll never know what hit you.”

  He stared at her. He could pick her up in one hand and dangle her over the edge of a ravine until she screamed in panic and she wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. She was as delicate as a flower, but she seemed to have absolutely no fear of him. Mercy didn’t seem to realize the extent of her own vulnerability.

  Then Croft smiled faintly. She probably didn’t realize the extent of her own integrity, either. She wouldn’t betray him because deep down she was incapable of betrayal. Besides, she trusted him.

  “You’re bluffing,” Croft said finally. And with that he started down the narrow path toward the meadow.

  Chapter 11

  Mercy was infuriated. So much for clever tactics.

  “How do you know I’m bluffing?” she demanded as she dashed down the small incline behind him.

  He looked back at her over his shoulder. “Watch your step. The flowers in these meadows are very delicate and they’ve got a very short growing season. Summer doesn’t last long around here.”

  “I know all about the fragility of mountain flora and fauna,” she informed him stiffly. “I am not a complete idiot.”

  He smiled and sat down on a nearby boulder, one of many that had been carelessly tumbled into a small heap at that end of the meadow. “I know you’re not an idiot, Mercy, but sometimes you are a little rash or naive. Come over here and sit down and enjoy the flowers. This is something you don’t see very often, a high mountain meadow in full bloom.”

  “Have I told you that I really don’t like it when you turn patronizing and start playing the intellectually superior male?”

  “You’ve probably mentioned it, but not within the last five minutes.”

  Mercy eyed him warily as she walked over and sat down on a sun-warmed rock. Croft’s dark hair was lightly ruffled by a breeze. He was wearing his black chinos and, as usual, a dark shirt. He had one knee drawn up and was resting his arm on it as he gazed out over the bright wonderland spread before them. His darkness was a vibrant counterpoint to the sunlight and color surrounding them.

  Something stirred in Mercy’s mind, a sudden image of Croft gliding between two dimensions, his own and the one she inhabited. Like the ghost town they had passed on the way to Gladstone’s estate, Croft didn’t always seem completely in touch with this world. It was as if he was in it, but not always a part of it.

  He needed an anchor, Mercy thought with sudden insight, something to tie him firmly to the here and now. He could too easily detach himself and retreat into his own world, a world where everything could be comprehended in terms of complete and incomplete Circles. He had difficulty accepting the eccentricities, irrationalities and unpredictableness of those who inhabited the real world. But with a flash of insight Mercy suspected he had even more trouble accepting the possible existence of some of those qualities within himself.

  Mercy tore her gaze away from Croft and made herself study the landscape. She had to admit it was magnificent. Clumps of fragile wildflowers bloomed in bewildering profusion, giving their all in the short span of time allotted them. The grassy carpet in which they grew was a verdant green. Beyond the meadow snow glittered on distant peaks. The sun was warm on her shoulders.

  “Falconer priorities,” Mercy said on a sigh.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugged. “Only that it’s typical of you to be more concerned about the possibility that I might smash a wildflower than about the possibility I might blackmail you.”

  “Mercy, we both know you’re not capable of blackmailing me. Don’t make threats you can’t carry through.”

  “You won’t tell me about your past?”

  “Not now. Maybe not ever. Believe me, honey, you don’t really want to hear about it.”

  She wondered about that. “Maybe you’re right. Okay, I accept your right to remain silent about that side of things. But I want some questions answered about this Gladstone business. It concerns me and I want to know your plans.”

  “I’ve told you my plans. I want to find something, anything, that might tie Gladstone to Egan Graves.”

  “You think you’ll find evidence in the vault?”

  Croft nodded. “It’s the most likely spot. If not there, then maybe in his office. I should be able to check both places tonight during the party. Isobel says there should be almost fifty guests.”

  “That many more chances you’ll be discovered.” He shook his head. “That much easier to disappear.”

  Mercy shuddered. “I wish you’d let it go, Croft.”

  “I can’t.”

  She heard the simple truth in his words and sighed. “No, you can’t just let it go, can you? You’re Croft Falconer and that means you have to close all the doors, seal all the gaps, stop all the leaks. Nothing must be left to chance. No questions can remain unanswered.”

  “A closed Circle.”

  “What was she like, Croft? The young woman you went down to the Caribbean to rescue?”

  He hesitated and then, to Mercy’s astonishment, he answered her question.

  “Eighteen years old. Pretty. Blonde. Athletic. Full of life. When I pulled her off that island she was no longer eighteen, pretty, blonde, athletic or full of life. She was strung out on drugs, believed Egan Graves was the local representative of heavenly salvation and thought she was doing her duty to the church when she slept with Egan’s business acquaintances.”

  “Grim.”

  “Yes.”

  Mercy chewed on her lower lip for a while. “How is she now?”

  “Her father said it took a year to get her off the drugs and convince her Graves was nothing more than a pimp and a dealer. But two years ago she started college and she’s still there.”

  Mercy breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. “So she’s going to be all right.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “You saved her,” Mercy said quietly. “She would probably be dead by now if you hadn’t rescued her. Does she ever talk to you? Do you see her sometimes?”

  “No. She doesn’t remember me. She was hysterical that night. So were the others I managed to keep from throwing themselves into the flames. I turned them all over to Ray before dawn that morning. He was waiting in a boat a couple of miles offshore. I never saw any of the kids again and they never really got a good look at me. I told Ray that Graves was dead.”

  “Ray?”

  “Ray Chandler. It was his daughter I was supposed to pull off the island. He was the one who desperately wanted to get his han
ds on Egan Graves.”

  “He’s the one who asked you to go?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t take a fee for your services.”

  Croft gave her a strange glance. “Not from Ray Chandler,” he said quietly. “I owed him.”

  “Why?”

  “Ray works for the government. He did me a favor once. Looked the other way when I needed some answers from a top secret file.”

  “So when Ray came to you for help, you returned the favor?”

  “Some people call it maintaining good karma. Others call it keeping your honor clean. I call it keeping the Circle closed. I told you, I owed him.”

  She looked at him. “That’s how you live your life, isn’t it? You keep this…this Circle closed around you. Everything must be kept under control. Including me.”

  “I don’t think you know just how much of a wild card you are in all this, Mercy. Just when I think I’ve got you pinned down, you do something that scares the hell out of me. Like following me downstairs last night. Don’t ever do that again?”

  A wild card? Mercy experienced a rush of recklessness. “You know what I think, Croft? I think you need to be shaken up from time to time. You’re too rigid, too set in your ways. You get upset if you miss your morning meditation or if a waitress brings you tepid tea water. You think your way of doing things is the only way to do them and you turn tyrannical when someone tries to argue. This business of keeping the Circle closed sounds like a very limiting kind of philosophy. It makes you inflexible. Maybe it keeps you from being able to fall in love.” Mercy shook her head wisely. “Doesn’t sound like a healthy lifestyle to me.”

  “You think yours is any better? You’re naive and reckless and unpredictable. You deliberately try to goad me into losing my temper or my self-control. Yes, you do,” he said forcefully when she opened her mouth to deny the accusation. “Last night was a classic example. I didn’t come into your bedroom intending to play bondage games.”