“So my talent made me look good for the part of the bad guy, is that it?”
“It was certainly a major factor.”
She thought about that. “Okay, that’s a much better reason.”
Fallon’s eyes gleamed with amusement but he said nothing.
“There was also the fact that you were a relatively new hire,” Max continued. “You’d been here less than six months. And when I pulled your personnel file, I got a real queasy feeling.”
She was incensed. “What was wrong with my file? It was perfect.”
“A little too perfect,” Max said. “Trying to track down your previous employers or close relatives turned out to be impossible. It was as if you were a ghost.”
“Good description,” Fallon said. “I ran into the same problem when I hired her.”
Isabella gave him her most repressive glare.
“On the other hand, Garrett and Phillips had been working for me for a few years and had an impressive track record,” Max continued. “In addition, they were very convincing. When Caitlin vanished under suspicious circumstances and Garrett made a production out of finding the record of the last deal with Sloan, I gave Garrett everything he needed to track you down.”
“All he cared about was recovering the mirror,” Isabella said. “After that he probably planned to pull the plug on his career at Lucan and disappear with the artifact.”
“I may have to rethink my employee benefits program,” Max said. “Clearly I’m not offering a competitive salary package. I’ve lost three high-level talents this month. You, Phillips and Garrett.”
Isabella glared. “That is not amusing, Mr. Lucan.”
“You have my most sincere apologies,” Max said.
“Fat lot of good that would have done me if I hadn’t had J&J watching my back.”
Fallon stirred ever so slightly. “I think it would be a good idea if we all stay focused here. Is there a drug lord involved in this thing?”
“No,” Max said. “Looks like Julian embellished that story a bit. But a certain black-ops agency did pick up the rumors of the artifact and asked Lucan to try to get it off the market.”
“Well, Julian certainly had a client,” Isabella said. “And I doubt very much that it was a spy agency.”
“We’re still waiting for him to come out of the woodwork,” Max assured her. “Don’t worry, if and when he shows up, we’ll grab him.”
“Surely you have a list of possible suspects,” she said.
“We do,” Max said. “We’re checking it, trust me.”
“For heaven’s sake, how many collectors would be interested in old weapons infused with paranormal properties?”
Max and Fallon looked at each other. Fallon shrugged. So did Max.
Isabella sighed. “Okay, more than a handful, I take it.”
“You’d be surprised,” Max said.
“We’ve got two problems,” Fallon said. “We need to find both the client and whoever was supplying Phillips and Garrett with the para-weapons.” He looked at Max. “I take it that you didn’t come up with anything helpful on Sloan’s computer?”
“My people are still digging but so far nothing,” Max said. “Sloan was a very careful man. Which makes me wonder who got to him.”
“Given the timing of his death, I’m thinking whoever was supplying him with the para-guns was the one who shot him,” Fallon said.
“Really?” Isabella asked, fascinated.
Max frowned. “Hadn’t thought about that possibility.”
“But why would the person who was obtaining the weapons want to ice the broker?” Isabella asked. “And why kill him before the mirror sale was completed. Seems to me the supplier needed Sloan just as much as Caitlin and Julian did.”
“That may have changed,” Fallon said. “Arms dealing is a dangerous line of work. Lot of tough competition. We can assume that the supplier concluded that he no longer needed Sloan and that the broker had become a liability.”
“Sloan was the one person with a direct connection to the supplier,” Max said. “With the broker out of the picture, there is no one who can identify the person who provided the weapons to him. I agree with you, Fallon. Sloan’s death was no coincidence. The supplier was severing all connections in preparation for firing up a new business arrangement.”
“But what about the mirror?” Isabella said. “It was worth a lot of money and it was good as lost in the Vantara mansion.”
“Looks like in the grand scheme of things, the mirror was no longer important,” Fallon said. “The loss of the artifact was minor collateral damage.”
Max leaned back in his chair. “Which makes you wonder what the supplier’s new business arrangements look like.”
“Yes,” Fallon said. “It does. It also makes you wonder what he plans to sell next.”
Isabella shivered. “Whoever it is must think he can make a lot more money with his new partners than he could with Caitlin and Julian.”
Fallon contemplated Max. “Keeping an eye on Garrett and identifying the client who commissioned him to acquire the mirror is your problem. You know the paranormal black market better than anyone, including me. The supplier, however, is a J&J problem.”
“I agree,” Max said. “The Quicksilver Mirror came out of an Arcane museum. It probably wasn’t the first artifact that Phillips and Garrett got from that source.”
“Got a hunch someone has been cleaning out the museum basements for a while,” Fallon said. “Easy to see how it could happen. The Society has been collecting for more than four hundred years. Like most museums, most of the collection is in storage. Who would notice if occasionally a couple of items went missing?”
“I’ll leave the problem of identifying the supplier to you, Jones.” Max sat forward. “Been meaning to ask you, where did you get the black eye? You look like you fell off a cliff.”
Fallon touched his ribs and winced. “Feels like it, too.”
Max opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a bottle of whiskey. “Try some of this stuff. Good for what ails you.”
“Thanks.” Fallon eyed the bottle. “I believe I will.”
“Hold it right there.” Isabella held up a hand. “Is this some kind of male bonding ritual?”
“It’s what colleagues in the investigation business do occasionally when they are working a case together,” Max said.
“Got it.” Isabella smiled. “Pour me a glass as long as you’re at it. I’m in the investigation business, too, remember?”
Fallon smiled his rare smile. “Not likely to forget.”
FALLON’S PHONE RANG just as they walked out the front door of the office tower. Isabella waited while he took the call.
“Dargan. What have you got for me? Right. No surprise. I thought that might be it. You’re done. Send us the bill. What do you mean, who is us? I’ve got a new full-time assistant and investigator. I’m not the only one in the office anymore.”
He closed the phone.
“Dargan ID’d the Messenger’s client?” Isabella asked.
“Carolyn Austin. Jenny’s mother.”
30
Walker finished a circuit around the gas station and garage. All was well. He walked past Stokes’s Grocery, turned right and started to work his way back through town, following the usual pattern of his rounds.
It was three in the morning. Every window was dark, even the one on the second floor of Jones & Jones.
Fallon Jones and Isabella Valdez were still out of town. Walker was worried about them. The pressure in his head told him that they were in danger but there was nothing he could do except guard the office and Isabella’s apartment. Jones would take good care of Isabella, he told himself. Jones was strong.
He walked past the inn and then went around behind Seaweed Harvest. Methodically he checked out the backyards, parking areas and garbage cans behind the shops. You never knew what you were going to find in the trash.
The pressure in his head rose suddenly w
hen he went past the back of the Sunshine. He walked faster, letting the pressure guide him. He was on the road that led to the highway now. He rarely walked this far beyond the town limits. He searched the shadows on either side of the pavement with his special vision.
He spotted the dark, hulking outline of the SUV parked in the trees alongside the road. The headlights were off. As he watched, a man and a woman opened the doors and got out. They started walking through the trees, heading toward town. The man led the way, moving with an easy confidence that indicated he, too, possessed a special kind of vision. The woman, however, stumbled and came to a halt.
“Not so fast,” she said. “I know you can see where you’re going, but I can’t.”
“I’ll guide you.” The man moved back to take her hand.
Outsiders, Walker thought. They did not belong in the Cove.
He started toward the vehicle, walking very fast now.
“Shit,” the man whispered. “Some guy is coming this way. Doesn’t move like a hunter, but I think he’s got night vision.”
“Must be the one they call Walker. Everyone says he’s a nut.”
“Crazy or not, he’s seen us. Want me to take him out?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “Hurry. But make it clean. No blood. No evidence. We’ll dump the body in the ocean off the Point. He’s a known crazy. Everyone will think he jumped.”
“A broken neck will fit that scenario.”
The man plunged toward Walker, tearing through the trees like a big hunting cat intent on bringing down a deer.
Walker did not move. He knew his special vision would protect him.
The attacker pulled up sharply a couple of yards away. He turned on his heel, searching the trees.
“Lost him,” he snarled. “The bastard is good. Never even saw him move.”
Because I didn’t move, Walker thought.
“Find him,” the woman ordered. “He’s seen both of us.”
“He’s not here, I’m telling you. He got away.”
“A talent of some kind,” the woman said. “All right, let’s get out of here. I need to think.”
They scrambled into the front seat of the SUV. The engine roared to life. The headlights came up. The heavy vehicle wheeled back onto the road and sped off, heading toward the highway.
Walker stood guard until dawn but the intruders did not return. When the sun rose, he walked back into town. The muffins were sitting on a plastic plate on top of the trash can lid behind the Sunshine, as usual. He could hear Marge rattling pots and pans in the kitchen.
He thought about talking to Marge. But it wouldn’t do any good to tell her what had happened. She would not know what to do. No one else in town would know what to do, either. The only one who could handle the problem of the intruders was Fallon Jones.
There was no way around it, Walker concluded. He would have to wait until Jones returned to the Cove. He had overheard Marge tell one of the regulars that Fallon and Isabella were due back this morning. In the meantime, he would take his bath in the hot springs out at the Point and do his daily meditation. The waters of the hot springs always calmed him and his head always felt more clear after a couple of hours of meditation.
He could usually sleep after the bath and meditation ritual. By the time he woke up Fallon Jones would be back in town. Jones would know what to do.
AT NINE O’CLOCK, his inner agitation temporarily soothed by the waters of the spring and the meditation ritual, he walked back to his cabin to sleep for an hour or two.
The music of the waltz invaded his fevered dreams. He awoke, the anxiety slamming back as it always did. The pressure in his head was excruciating this time. He managed to get out of bed and stagger down the hall to the small living room.
The music grew louder and more relentless. He thought his skull might explode.
He collapsed on the rug. The violent energy of the waltz carried him off into the night.
31
Marge folded her elbows on the counter and gave Isabella an expectant look.
“Well?” she said. “Did you have a good time at the ball, Cinderella?”
Isabella sipped her tea and swiveled slowly from side to side on the stool while she considered her answer.
“It was very exciting,” she said, choosing her words with care.
“Any pictures?” Marge asked.
“No, to be honest, I didn’t even think about taking pictures.”
“Darn.”
The bell over the door chimed. Violet and Patty walked into the café, raincoats dripping.
“We came for a full report,” Violet announced. “Are there pictures?”
Isabella set down her mug. “I was just explaining to Marge that there are no photos. To tell you the truth, things got a little complicated down in Sedona. This guy broke into my room and tried to bribe me to make it look as if I was on the take and Fallon had to beat him up. Then we went to Cactus Springs to check out my grandmother’s trailer and another guy showed up who convinced us to help him find an old artifact. When I located the artifact, he tried to kill Fallon, and Fallon had to beat him up, too, and then we came home.”
Marge, Violet and Patty exchanged looks.
Marge frowned at Isabella. “That’s it?”
“Pretty much,” Isabella said.
“Gee,” Violet said. “Guess that’s the last time we let you and Fallon go off on a romantic getaway trip.”
Marge shook her head. “I can’t believe it. We send the two of you off to a glamorous ball with a beautiful gown and glass slippers, and you and Fallon end up getting attacked?”
“The best part is that I found out my grandmother is alive, but I can’t contact her yet because it might put her in jeopardy.”
Violet looked blank. “I thought you said your grandmother was dead?”
“Fallon is sure she is okay. She’s gone underground until we wrap up the case.”
Marge’s brows rose. “Your grandmother sounds like a very interesting woman.”
“She is,” Isabella assured her. “All in all, it was a very busy trip, but it’s good to be home.”
“You can take the girl out of Scargill Cove but you can’t take the Cove out of the girl,” Patty said. “Welcome home, Cinderella.”
“Thanks,” Isabella said. “If it’s any consolation, I can tell you that Fallon looked great in a tux.”
Marge smiled. “I’d have paid good money to see Jones in a tux.”
“Worth every penny, trust me,” Isabella said.
Violet laughed.
Marge snorted and straightened. She looked at Patty and Violet. “You two want coffee?”
“Of course,” Patty said.
She plunked herself down on one of the stools. Violet hopped up onto another one.
Marge went to the coffee machine.
“Anyone seen Walker today?” Isabella asked.
“The muffins are gone,” Marge said. “So he must have come by on his morning rounds.”
“He’s probably at the hot springs,” Violet said. “He spends a lot of time there during the daylight hours. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Isabella said. “For some reason, I’ve been thinking about him a lot this morning.”
Marge poured coffee into two mugs. “Don’t worry, he’ll show up sooner or later.”
Isabella slipped off the stool. “I’m going to the grocery store to collect the mail. But first, I’ll drop by Walker’s place and see if he’s there. Maybe he’s ill.”
“Just be sure you don’t do anything to startle him,” Marge warned.
“I’ll be careful,” Isabella promised.
She slipped into her yellow raincoat, collected her umbrella and went outside onto the street. She paused briefly and looked up at the window of Jones & Jones. Fallon was not visible. She knew that he was probably at the computer, phone to his ear, multitasking as he searched for a trace of the person who had supplied the Quicksilver Mirror to Sloan.
She walked to
the end of the street and followed the bluff path to the weathered cabin that Walker called home. The cabin looked much the same as it always did, lonely and forlorn. But it always seemed to her that there was a certain stalwart air about the place, as if the cabin would persevere, regardless of the ravages of time and the elements. Walker had infused the place with his own energy and aura, she thought.
She went up the tumbledown steps, careful to avoid the broken middle tread, and then stopped. The shades were pulled down but that was par for the course with Walker. There was no smoke from the chimney but that, too, was normal. Still, something in the atmosphere was raising goose bumps on her arms. She opened her senses.
A terrible cold fog enveloped the cabin. Walker’s home was always awash in a haze of secrets, but until now, the mists had been tinted with the chill of old mysteries. Not today.
Today the fog seethed and burned with the ominous dark radiance that warned of impending death.
Heedless of Marge’s advice, she pounded on the door.
“Walker, it’s me, Isabella. Are you in there?”
For the first time she became aware of the faint notes of a delicate melody. The light, tinkling strains of the waltz were barely discernible above the crashing of the waves below the bluffs. There was an eerie undercurrent in the music that rattled her senses. Her intuition was screaming at her.
Run.
She was suddenly certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that Walker was in mortal danger.
Pushing past the panic, she twisted the old knob, expecting to find the door locked. But to her surprise, it opened. The music was louder now. Searing fog swirled in the small, rustic front room. Walker lay un-moving on the floor in the center of the energy storm.
“Walker.”
She moved into the room and crouched beside him, searching for a pulse. Relief swept through her when she found one. Walker was alive but unconscious. There was no blood. She ran her hands through his unkempt hair but found no signs of a wound.
The music seemed to be getting louder now. For some reason the icy strains of the waltz made it hard to think.
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