by Jayne Castle
“Is that right?” He raised the glass to his mouth again, a little amused now. “And just what kind of profile do I have?”
She pondered that, vaguely aware that she was definitely buzzed on the Amber Dew. At times like this it was usually wise to cease verbal communication, she reminded herself. Especially when one was engaged in communication with a man. But for some reason she felt compelled to tell Adam what she sensed about him.
She held up one finger. “For starters, you are the kind of man who will always do what you feel is the right thing, even if doing the right thing requires you to be utterly ruthless. Which means that you are not, strictly speaking, always a nice guy.”
He winced. “Think that explains my own relationship problems?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me a hotshot Guild boss like you has any trouble getting a date.”
“Getting a date isn’t the problem. It’s the long-term stuff.”
“Gee, you have trouble maintaining a relationship?” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, don’t look to me for advice. I suck in that department, remember?”
“You did say something about that.” He drank a little more of his Amber Dew.
“But I’m guessing that part of your problem is that women take a long look at you and decide that you aren’t good Covenant Marriage material,” she added.
His mouth twisted. “Thanks.”
“Not your fault,” she said. “It’s the genetic thing. I read those old notes of Nicholas’s. Something about a restless spirit being one of the symptoms of the onset of his talent.”
“ ‘ Each talent comes at a great price,’ ” Adam quoted softly. “‘It is ever thus with power. The first talent fills the mind with a rising tide of restlessness that cannot be assuaged by endless hours in the laboratory or soothed with strong drink or the milk of the poppy.’ ”
“Well?” she said. “Does that describe you?”
He exhaled slowly. “Probably. Never had a lot of time for relationships, I guess. Always felt like I had to keep searching for something.”
“You channeled that energy into your work.” She held up a second finger. “As I was saying, you are the kind of man other people will follow into the underworld, even if they don’t have amber. Translated, that also means you are not always a nice guy.”
“I sense a theme here.”
She held up a third finger. “You’re an off-the-charts talent, and you have the kind of off-the-charts willpower and self-control required to handle that kind of power. You finish what you start. You are incorruptible. No one could bribe you. Which means that you are—”
“Not always a nice guy.” He finished the last of his Amber Dew and contemplated the fire. “Definitely a theme.”
“What you are,” she said very steadily, “is a natural-born hero.”
He frowned. “No. I just do my job.”
“And you would do it even if you had to forge a river of ghost energy to get it done.”
“That’s your definition of a hero?”
“Certainly part of the definition.”
He turned back to the fire. “And my relationship problems?”
“Probably similar to my own.” She waved one hand. “With the exception of my sleep issues.”
“How’s that?”
She kicked off her shoes and stacked her ankles on the coffee table. “Look at it from our dates’ points of view. We’re fun or at least interesting for a while. But soon we become irritating.”
“Yeah?”
“We tend to take charge and take over. Before anyone realizes what has happened, we’re making all the decisions.”
“You make it sound like we’re a couple of control freaks.”
“Yep.” She polished off the Amber Dew and set the empty glass on the table with a small, decisive clink. “That’s us. Mega control freaks. Guess that’s why they gave us the corner offices with the big windows.”
“You’ve got a corner office?”
“Not exactly. There’s actually only one office at J&J, but I’ve got it.”
They both fell silent again, gazing into the fire. Marlowe felt the pull of what she knew would be a deep but troubled sleep. She fought it with a little pulse of psi. That proved to be a dangerous move. When the small burst of energy flashed through her, it became impossible to ignore the electricity in the atmosphere. Adam was close; very close.
“Moving right along,” he said softly.
“Right. Now that Vickie is okay, we need to get serious about saving the underworld. I spent today putting out a lot of feelers to my contacts in the antiquities community. Tomorrow I should get some response.”
“I’ve already tried the dealers,” he said. “Waste of time. Got zip.”
“I doubt very much that you have the kind of connections that J&J does, especially in the underground market. We’ve been collecting paranormal artifacts for generations. There’s an art to it. When Jones & Jones lets it be known that it is looking for a particular relic, seldom-seen dealers who work the very bottom depths of the black market come to the surface.”
“Why is that?”
“For one thing, we pay well, no questions asked.”
“Always an asset in business,” he said.
“But in addition, we’re what you might call specialists. We go after the more bizarre items, artifacts that have been infused with a lot of weird psi. Not a lot of collectors in that market.”
“Probably because those kinds of relics aren’t pleasant to have around.”
“People get nervous in the vicinity of powerful relics,” she agreed, “even people who don’t think they have any real talent. They pick up the disturbing vibes. Dealers who work the market that handles those kinds of artifacts are as odd as the relics, trust me. Very low-profile. They tend to be not only secretive but extremely paranoid. It takes years, sometimes generations, to build up business relationships in that world. Arcane has those kinds of connections.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
There was more silence. The energy level was not going down. If anything, the atmosphere was getting hotter, and the heat had nothing to do with the fireplace. Marlowe tapped her finger against the cushion beside her left thigh and wondered in a dreamy sort of way how Adam would react if she threw herself on top of him and started tearing off his clothes.
Bad idea. They were working a case. Firing up a sexual relationship at this stage would not be wise. In an effort to break the spell, she stirred and made a show of looking at her watch.
“It’s getting late,” she said.
“I should go,” he said.
She turned her head to look at him, intending to say something polite in the way of agreement. But he was right there, so close, watching her. His eyes burned.
The smoldering fire between them flashed into high-rez flames. Adam wrapped one hand around the nape of her neck. His mouth closed over hers. And then she was burning, too.
Chapter 15
HE HAD BEEN WAITING FOR THIS TO HAPPEN SINCE THE moment he had met her, Adam thought. He had known it was only a matter of time. And now the time had come. He was thrilled. There was no other word for it. Thrilled in a way that was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
Marlowe wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, fiercely. The atmosphere in the firelit room got hotter.
She managed to tear her mouth free from his for a few seconds, sucking in a breath.
“Do you think we’re going to regret this?” she asked.
“I’m not.” He had never said anything with more conviction, he thought.
“Guess we’re on the same page here, then,” she whispered.
“A joint executive decision.”
He eased her down onto her back and sprawled heavily on top of her. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. His whole body felt tight and hard. He succeeded in dragging the black silk turtleneck off over her head and went to work removing her bra.
He lo
oked down at her breasts, chills of wonder and excitement sweeping through him. The gentle curves fit perfectly into his hand, as if she had been made for him. When he lowered his mouth to one tight nipple, she twisted beneath him. He felt her nails dig into the muscles of his back.
“Adam.”
She got his shirt partway open and pushed her hands inside. He reached down and tugged her skirt up to her waist. Her panties were already damp. The scent of her arousal was more intoxicating than the Amber Dew, a bigger rush than alien psi.
He groaned against her breast. “You’re wet.”
She found him through the fabric of his trousers. “You’re hard.”
“Talk about coincidence.”
“We at J&J believe there are no coincidences.”
“You may be right.”
He managed to free himself long enough to sit up on the side of the sofa. He yanked off his low boots. With an effort, he made it to his feet and got rid of his trousers and briefs. He didn’t bother to remove his shirt. He just wanted to get back to Marlowe as quickly as possible. The urgency sweeping through him ignited all of his senses.
She opened her arms for him. He settled between her legs and stroked her small furnace. She raised one knee and reached for him with one hand. When her fingers closed around him, it took everything he had not to climax then and there. But he forced himself to pull back from the brink. He needed to be inside her.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice very tight. Her fingers sank into his shoulders, pulling him closer. “Now.”
The feminine command was more powerful than any siren song. He pushed himself deep into her moist, snug channel. She clenched around him. He’d had some good sex in his life, he thought. But he’d never experienced anything like this.
The energy level in the room climbed even higher. He could have sworn that both of their auras were going to combust. When Marlowe screamed softly and convulsed beneath him, he opened his eyes to watch her face in the moment of release.
She was incredible.
She was his.
He could not wait any longer. His climax stormed through him in racking waves.
SOMETIME LATER, WHEN HIS BREATHING AND PULSE had slowed to normal, he untangled himself from Marlowe’s warm body and looked down at her again.
She was sound asleep.
Chapter 16
THE FLASHING, SPARKING, IMPOSSIBLY HOT PSI WAS everywhere. The lightning strikes bounced from one brilliant mirror to another, enveloping her in a storm that blinded all of her senses. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
There was only one hope. She had to find the underlying pattern in the violent currents of energy that were ricocheting off the dazzling quartz surfaces . . .
MARLOWE AWOKE TO THE LIGHT OF A GREEN-TINGED dawn. The glow of the ancient Dead City wall was fading rapidly in the first pale rays of the sun. She was breathing too quickly. Her pulse was racing. Gibson crowded close, mumbling anxiously, both sets of eyes wide-open. She knew it was a sure sign that he was concerned.
“It’s okay,” she said. She sat up cautiously and cradled his small, furry body close. “Just the usual aftermath crap. Been here before. Thanks for the company.”
Reassured, he closed his hunting eyes and chortled a morning greeting, hopped out of her arms, and tumbled off the bed. He headed for the kitchen.
Memories of the passionate encounter on the couch came back in a torrent, followed by hot-and-cold chills. She looked down and noticed that she was wearing her nightgown. She was quite sure that she had not put it on all by herself. In fact, she had no recollection of much of anything after the lovemaking until the dream had awakened her.
“And they say it’s men who go to sleep afterward,” she announced to the room at large.
Another alarming thought jolted her senses. Where had Adam slept? Where was Adam, come to that?
She glanced uneasily at the pillow beside her. There was no way he could have spent the night with her. She wouldn’t have slept a wink. But, dear heaven, what if he had? What if she had actually slept with him?”
The pillow was still smooth and pristine.
She did not know whether to be hugely relieved or terribly disappointed. Of course Adam hadn’t spent the night in her bed. That was impossible. If he had slept next to her, she would not have been able to sleep at all, even in her exhausted state. But he had put her to bed after she had more or less passed out on him. How embarrassing.
A tiny frisson of energy whispered through her. She shivered, recognizing her Jones intuition. Something had happened between Adam and herself last night, something more than an episode of passion. She had the eerie, deeply unsettling feeling that some kind of bond had been established. Adam was different from the other men she had known. When the end came, she was not going to be able to walk away as easily as she always had in the past. This was not good, she thought.
Get real. It was great postburn sex. You were both buzzed on adrenaline and psi, and you’re attracted to each other. It happens.
But it had never happened quite like that, she thought. Not to her.
She climbed out of bed, found her robe, and wandered into the kitchen to put the water on for tea. The note was on the kitchen counter. She had never seen Adam’s handwriting, but she was pretty sure she would have known it anywhere. Besides, his dreamprints were all over the paper.
Hope you slept well. I’ll call you in the morning.
Adam
She crumpled the note and looked at Gibson, who was on top of the refrigerator, awaiting breakfast.
“What do you know?” she said. “Looks like Adam Winters is the perfect date for me. Always gone by dawn.”
But for some reason that did nothing to lift her spirits. She did not want Adam to be the perfect date, she realized. She wanted something more. She wanted him to be Mr. Right.
Get over yourself. Take what you can get, and enjoy it while you can. Might be a good idea to get to work, too. Trying to save the underworld, remember?
She rezzed up the computer while she waited for the tea water to boil. The message from Tully popped up instantly.
I have what you’re looking for. There is interest elsewhere. Arcane is invited to make a preemptive offer.—T
“I was right. Tully found the lamp.”
She switched off the tea water, opened the refrigerator long enough to grab a chunk of cheese and some bread for Gibson, and ran for the shower. She didn’t need the caffeine now.
A short time later she emerged from the bathroom, hair still wet, and pulled on a pair of jeans, a black turtleneck, and biker boots. She grabbed her leather jacket and headed downstairs to the parking garage with Gibson tucked under one arm.
“Could be just another fake,” she told Gibson, who was still munching cheese. “But Tully is the best in the business when it comes to this kind of thing.”
Gibson downed the last of the cheese and chortled. She dumped him into the saddlebag, rezzed Dream, and drove out of the garage.
Chapter 17
“IT’S A FAKE,” CHARLOTTE DEENE SAID.
An emotion far more intense than disappointment seared her senses. Rage. She looked at the ugly artifact sitting on the coffee table, barely resisting the urge to hurl it against the nearest wall. She had to fight the impulse. She had to remain in control.
“Son of a ghost,” Keith whispered. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. He was always cold these days.
Tucker stared at the lamp, clearly shaken. “Are you sure?”
Charlotte looked at her brothers. The three of them were triplets, but fraternal, not identical. There was, however, a strong family resemblance. They were all fair-haired with gray eyes. Although they were the same age, Keith looked much older. The warping in his dreamlight currents was taking a physical toll on his body. His face had begun to hollow out, and he was losing weight.
“Believe me, it’s not the real Burning Lamp,” she said. “I’m a dreamlight talent, remember? I’ve tried
everything. If that vase was infused with even a small amount of raw dream energy, I’d have been able to sense it by now.” She touched the rim of the artifact and heightened her senses again, making absolutely certain. “All I’m picking up are some murky dreamprints, most of which were probably left by the museum staff. The artist’s prints are on it as well. They indicate that this thing was made sometime around the Era of Discord, not on Earth.”
“Shit,” Tucker whispered. “I can’t believe that after all this time the Arcane experts didn’t realize they were storing a fake in the museum vault.”
“At the time of the Era of Discord the Winters family must have commissioned a replica of the real lamp, probably to get J&J off their backs,” Charlotte said. “A curator stuck it in a vault, and everyone forgot about it. In the intervening decades there has apparently been no reason to dig it out of storage.”
“More likely the Joneses just made damn sure it stayed buried,” Keith muttered. Another shiver went through him. He pulled his jacket more tightly around himself and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve.
Charlotte watched him with growing concern. The three of them were alone in the world. They had been since shortly after their birth. Their father had died before they were born. Their mother had been killed in an accident a few months later. Charlotte, Keith, and Tucker had grown up in an orphanage.
For years they had survived on their talents, their looks, and their natural charm, running sophisticated cons, scams, and frauds.
But now Keith was dying, not because of some fatal disease but because he had been unable to resist pursuing the dangerous secrets he’d discovered in the old journal. It was the oldest story in the world, she thought. The ending was always the same. The price for forbidden knowledge was always far too high.
“I can’t believe I took all those risks just to steal a fake.” Tucker’s jaw locked. His eyes burned with hot psi. “I thought the whole gig was going to crash when Marlowe Jones realized I was a chameleon talent. We’re damn lucky she concluded I was just a cheap con artist trying to marry into her family.”
