by Jayne Castle
HE KNEW AT ONCE THAT HE’D MADE A MISCALCULATION of monumental proportions. But the damned orchids had annoyed him more than he wanted to admit. Should have kept my mouth shut, Cruz thought. Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d had a lot of options. It would have been a little awkward to take credit for the flowers when the guy who’d actually sent them eventually showed up. The SOB would be able to produce receipts.
Vincent, evidently sensing the change in the atmosphere, popped up onto a stool and then onto the counter. He fluttered across the surface toward Lyra. When he reached her, he hopped up onto her shoulder and made small, soothing noises in her ear. She patted him gently, clearly taking comfort from his presence.
She looked even better tonight than she had in the very private, very hot fantasies that had been keeping him awake for the past three months, Cruz thought. The little black number she was wearing was no couture gown, but the flirty neckline, tiny sleeves, and narrow skirt discreetly emphasized her gentle curves. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a sleek knot that emphasized her incredible hazel eyes.
Simple amber hoops decorated her ears. She had worn them on several occasions three months ago. There was a charm bracelet on her wrist. He remembered it, too. He’d heard its light, musical clash in his dreams. It was composed of interlocking gold-toned links. Myriad small charms dangled from the links. Each was set with a tiny chip of amethyst amber. She had told him that her grandfather had given the bracelet to her.
Like the dress, the earrings and the bracelet were attractive but not expensive. Lyra made her living as an amber tuner and did a little independent prospecting on the side. Amber tuning was a notoriously low-paying business, due to the competition. The ability to tune standard resonating amber was a common talent. There was a tuning shop on every street corner and in every mall in the city.
As for independent prospecting, that was a fool’s en deavor. Very few indies ever struck good amber or discovered truly valuable ruins. When they did, the big companies were always poised to move in and take over the claim, just as Amber Inc. had moved in on Lyra three months ago. The best an indie could do in a situation like that was make a deal. Lyra had refused to bargain.
Typical Dore, Cruz thought. His grandfather was right; they were too proud and too stubborn for their own good.
He briefly contemplated the sizzling midnight fantasies that had haunted him since his house-of-cards relationship with Lyra had come tumbling down. The dreams had all begun the same way, with Lyra rushing into his arms the moment she saw him across a crowded room. Said fantasies had progressed from there to a variety of interesting and very hot scenarios.
But when he had walked into the Swan Gallery tonight, he was the one who had wanted to run to her, sweep her up in his arms, and carry her off into the night.
He could see that there was no point trying to explain any of that to her now. She wouldn’t believe him if he tried. He forced himself to stay focused. His responsibilities came first.
“We’ve got a problem with the ruin,” he said, keeping his tone as businesslike and nonconfrontational as possible.
“Would that be the royal we?” she asked politely.
“That would be the research team from the lab.”
“Oh,” she said. “You mean the cretins from Amber Inc. Research and Development.”
“I’m told that the members of the research team prefer to describe themselves as scientists, archaeologists, and technicians.”
She nodded. “Job titles like that probably pay more than cretin. Okay, so what went wrong at the ruin?”
“The doorway to the chamber closed.”
She blinked, obviously startled. An instant later a slow, wicked smile curved her mouth. Laughter gleamed in her eyes. For a heartbeat he allowed himself a few more memories from three months back. He saw Lyra smiling as she demonstrated the full potential of the incredible artifact of amethyst amber that she had tuned especially for him. He had kept the relic close all these months. He’d lost track of how many times he had taken it out of its leather case and held it, savoring the strange beauty of the alien artwork.
“Define closed,” Lyra said.
“There’s a small energy storm filling the opening. No one can get in or out.”
“Interesting,” she said.
“Any idea how it was closed?” he asked.
She raised one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “There are a couple of possibilities. There may have been some stray currents from a ghost river or even a storm in the vicinity.”
“None were detected.”
“Then it was probably triggered accidentally by someone who can work one of the exotic ambers like silver or diamond.”
“Or amethyst?” he asked quietly.
She stilled.
“Or someone who can work amethyst,” she agreed without inflection.
“The ruin was open when the AI lab team began work at the site,” he said.
She raised a finger. “Point of semantics here. The ruin was open when it was stolen from me in the course of a hostile takeover, the legality of which is highly questionable.”
“I think we’ll leave semantics out of this for now.”
She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. “Why would we want to do that?”
“Because there’s too much at stake,” he said.
“Not for me.” She smiled. “To quote Nancy, I don’t have a dust bunny in this fight.”
He ignored that. “The ruin was closed when you discovered the amethyst chamber, wasn’t it?”
She grinned. “Yep.”
“You opened it.”
“Sure did. I take it none of your cretins can get the job done now that it’s closed again?”
“No,” he said. “The lab guys have tried everything. So have I, for that matter, and I’m pretty good when it comes to tuned amber. The energy in that amethyst is unlike anything anyone in the lab has ever dealt with before. We haven’t even been able to rez or activate any of the artifacts that have been recovered so far. All the pieces are just sitting in the lab vault like so much purple rock.”
“I did get that impression,” she said lightly. “I’ve had a number of phone calls from your head cretin demanding my help. Someone named Webber.”
“Dr. Felix Webber. He’s in charge of the lab.”
“I haven’t returned any of his calls, naturally.”
“He mentioned that you had been less than cooperative,” Cruz said dryly.
“Call me petty, but it gives me so much pleasure to decline to assist Amber Inc. in every possible way, shape, and form.” She tilted her head slightly. “So that’s why you’re here. You want me to open up the ruin for you.”
This was not going well, he thought.
“Yes,” he said.
“I assume you intend to offer me lots and lots of money?”
“Name your price.”
“Forget it,” she said softly. She put down the glass and folded her arms on the counter. “You can’t afford me, Sweetwater.”
“Something else you should know.”
“Mmm?”
“When the ruin closed, there were five people inside the chamber: two lab techs and the head of the lab’s security team. There were also two Guild men in there. We can’t make contact. We don’t even know if they’re alive.”
She sighed, closed her eyes, and dropped her forehead onto her folded arms. “I’m going to have to have a chat with my Harmonic Meditation instructor. There must be something really screwed up with my karma. I don’t even get to enjoy a little innocent revenge. Instead, I have to go rescue three cretins who work for Amber Inc. and a couple of Guild thugs.”
He had known that she would agree to help. Their time together had been brief, but it had been long enough to be sure of a few things about her. His Sweetwater intuition had not failed him. For all her hostility toward him, personally, and the company in general, she would never leave five trapped and helpless people to their fate.
“Lyra,” he said gently. He started to reach across the counter to touch her bare arm.
She straightened abruptly, stepped back out of reach, and came briskly around the end of the counter. “No one got caught in the doorway itself, when it closed?”
“No.”
“Good. Give me a few minutes to change my clothes. I don’t intend to ruin this dress in the jungle for the sake of Amber Inc.”
He watched her walk toward the sliding screens that concealed the bedroom area.
“About the orchids,” he said.
She disappeared behind the screens. “What about them?”
The screens were opaque but translucent. He could make out tantalizing glimpses of her shadow as she unzipped the little black dress and stepped out of it. Everything inside him got tighter.
“Just wondered who sent them,” he said. “Given the fact that it wasn’t me.”
“Haven’t a clue. There’s never a signature.”
He looked at the stack of cards. “Must be someone you know well, if he figured he didn’t need to sign the cards.”
“Mmm.”
He contemplated the graceful shadow of her leg and the curve of her hip as she stepped into a pair of pants. She had a very fine rear, he thought. Truly excellent. The presence of the flowers indicated that some other man admired the same assets.
“What do the cards say?” he asked, unable to stop himself.
She appeared at the opening in the screens dressed in jeans, a faded denim shirt, and a pair of low leather boots. She had a jungle pack slung over one shoulder.
“See for yourself,” she said.
He could tell from her smile that he was not going to like whatever was written on the cards. But he had to know. He rose from the stool, crossed to the coffee table, and picked up the top card. A strange, icy feeling twisted through him.
“ ‘We belong together,’ ” he read aloud.
“Romantic, don’t you think?”
It took some major willpower, but he managed to suppress the urge to rip the card into little pieces. “That’s a damn personal message from someone you can’t identify.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “Guess I’ve got myself a secret admirer. Never had one of those. You know, my life has suddenly become a heck of a lot more interesting.” She looked at Vincent. “Ready to go on a trip to the jungle, buddy?”
Vincent chortled enthusiastically and scampered across the room. Lyra scooped him up and headed for the door.
“Let’s go,” she said to Cruz. “The sooner I get your cretins out of the chamber, the sooner I can go to bed. It’s been a very long day.”
Chapter 4
THEY ENTERED THE CATACOMBS THROUGH ONE OF THE official gates located inside the Dead City. That alone told Lyra just how seriously everyone was taking the situation.
“Oh, wow,” she said when Cruz brought her to a halt at the doorway of one of the ethereal green quartz towers. “I get to go in through an actual authorized gate? I thought the only people allowed to use the Guild gates were corporate- and academic-sponsored R&D teams that paid top dollar for the privilege. I’m just a small-time independent, remember? Are you sure the Guild honchos know about this?”
“I’m aware that you don’t like the Guild any better than you do Amber Inc.,” Cruz said.
“Mostly because they have always worked hand in hand with AI to monopolize exploration underground and in the jungle, not to mention crush small indies like Dore Tuning & Consulting. Aside from that, I have absolutely nothing against either AI or the Guild.”
“Do you think you could hold back on the sarcasm until we get those five people out of that chamber?”
“Sorry. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”
“I noticed.”
She gave him another glowing smile, aware that she was feeling downright reckless. Okay, so he hadn’t come crawling back on his hands and knees to beg her forgiveness. He was back, and like it or not, he needed her, at least for a short time. As vengeance went, it was pitiful, but it was something.
They made an odd-looking pair, she thought. She was dressed for the jungle in the jeans and work shirt that she usually wore when she went underground. Cruz had removed his black jacket and tie, but he still had on the black trousers and black shirt he’d worn to the gallery reception. He had not wanted to waste time returning to his town house in a gentrified section of the Quarter to change clothes. But he had replaced his dress shoes with a pair of black leather boots, and he had a pack on his back. Both items had come out of the trunk of the Slider, where they were evidently kept for emergencies. Assassin informal, Lyra thought.
There were no windows inside the tower room, but the interior green quartz floor, walls, and ceiling glowed gently, just as the outside walls did at night. As far as anyone knew, the aliens had never used any openings other than strictly necessary gates and doors in their aboveground structures. It was as if they had done everything possible to avoid letting sunlight and fresh air into their strangely graceful buildings. As far as the experts could determine, the lush, thriving surface of Harmony, with its fertile valleys, thickly forested mountains, broad rivers, and vibrant oceans, had been toxic to the long-vanished civilization. For the most part, the aliens had lived their lives underground.
Two ghost hunters guarded the tunnel entrance. They were dressed in the traditional khakis and leather that rank-and-file Guild men favored. The macho attire went with the swagger. They had been lounging against a green wall when Lyra and Cruz walked into the chamber, but they straightened quickly.
“Mr. Sweetwater,” one of the two said, nodding respectfully. “We were told to expect you. The sled is standing by down below. There’s an extra locator on board. Anything else you need, sir?”
“Not at the moment,” Cruz said. “This is Miss Dore. She’ll be accompanying me to the site.”
“Yes, sir,” the second man said. He gave Lyra an appraising survey. “They said you’d be bringing someone who could open that damned ruin.”
“That would be me,” Lyra said coolly.
“Yes, ma’am.” The first man eyed Vincent. “That a dust bunny?”
“Yes,” Lyra said. “His name is Vincent.”
The second ghost hunter frowned. “Not sure we’re authorized to allow a varmint into the tunnels.”
Lyra narrowed her eyes. “The bunny is with me. He goes where I go.”
Cruz took a locator out of his pocket and checked his amber as he walked past the men. “They’re both with me.”
“Yes, sir,” both hunters said simultaneously.
They stepped quickly out of Lyra’s path. She made to follow Cruz, Vincent tucked firmly under one arm.
One of the men spoke behind her.
“Miss Dore?”
She paused. “Yes?”
“Do you really think you can open that amethyst ruin?” he asked. “We’ve got two good men trapped in there with the research team.”
“Morgan and Estrada,” the second man said. “Morgan is a friend. Estrada is my brother-in-law. My sister is in a real panic.”
Their anxiety was genuine, Lyra thought. She gave them an equally genuine smile. “Don’t worry; I’ll get it open.”
“You think they’ll be okay?” the first man said. “There’s talk about some weird energy inside that ruin.”
“I’ve been informed that no one was caught in the entrance when it closed, so unless they’ve done something really dumb like try to get through the energy field, they should be fine,” she said. “I spent a lot of time in that chamber before Amber Inc. and the Guild forced me out. There’s nothing inside the ruin that would harm your friends.”
Both men looked relieved.
“Thanks,” the first one said. “Don’t mind telling you we’ve all been damn worried.”
The second one exhaled heavily. “We appreciate what you’re doing for us, ma’am.”
“Right,” Lyra said. She turned away before either of the two men could remind he
r of the old Guild saying, “The Guild always repays a favor.”
“The Guild always repays a favor, Miss Dore,” the first hunter called after her.
She winced. “Thanks, but I’ll pass on any Guild favors.”
She hurried toward the staircase. Cruz was waiting for her at the top of the glowing green steps. He looked amused.
“Amber Inc. has the same policy,” he said.
“Excellent. If you want to repay me, you can return the ruin to me.” She started down the staircase.
He ignored the comment and started down the stairs behind her. “You were nice to those two guards,” he said. “Thought you said all Guild men were thugs. Sort of like all Amber Inc. people.”
“Amber Inc. is a closely held family business. They don’t actively recruit. But the Guilds do. What’s more, they focus their efforts on vulnerable young males, seducing them with notions of an adventurous life in the underworld. But the reality is that most ghost hunters are nothing more than bodyguards for the research and excavation teams that go down into the tunnels and the jungle.”
“And Amber Inc.?”
“The power behind the throne,” she said. “For the past fifty years, ever since your grandfather cheated mine out of the Radiance Springs claim, your family has controlled half the SRA production in the four city-states.”
“My grandfather tells the story a little differently.”
“I’m sure he does. But the truth is, AI tolerates wild catters and independents only so long as we don’t get in your way or come up with any really spectacular finds. If we do get lucky, you step in and take over. What’s more, you have all the connections with the Guilds, the archaeologists, and the government to make it happen legally. On top of that, you keep things in the family. You’ve never gone public with your stock, so you don’t have to explain things to shareholders or follow the usual corporate rules.”
“We don’t like the idea of outsiders trying to tell us what to do,” Cruz said mildly.
“Trust me, I know the feeling,” she said. “Let’s move. It’s late, and I’ve got to be up early in the morning.”
“Appointment with a client?”
