Midnight Jewels

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Croft glanced up. “This credit card doesn’t belong to Dallas.”

  She frowned. “Whose is it?”

  “My guess is that it came from the wallet of one of the guests in that motel we stayed in on the way to Gladstone’s.”

  Mercy’s eyes widened. She crouched down to look at the card. The name etched in plastic was Michael J. Farrington. “You don’t think Farrington is just Dallas’s real name?”

  Croft pulled out another card. “This one’s in the name of one Andrew G. Barnes. I’ll bet Gladstone would be furious if he knew his hired muscle had stashed a little on the side for himself after that robbery. Dallas and Lance were probably supposed to get rid of all the evidence, but they were too greedy to dump the credit cards.”

  Mercy nodded. “As long as they keep purchases under a certain minimum, they can use the cards a long time without anyone checking for authorization. You’ve made your point, Croft,” Mercy said ruefully as she got to her feet. “It’s probably safe to say these cards don’t belong to Dallas. Lance probably has a few stray souvenirs in his wallet, too.” She bit her lip. “Where is Lance?”

  Croft rose smoothly beside her. He nodded in the direction Lance had run while firing his gun. “At the other end of that row of buildings.”

  “Unconscious or...” Mercy glanced uneasily down the narrow path. She realized she was afraid to complete the question.

  “Unconscious,” Croft said.

  “Thank heavens.” Mercy wasn’t aware she had spoken aloud until Croft responded, his voice still devoid of inflection.

  “Did you think I’d killed him?”

  Mercy hugged herself. “I didn’t know what to think. He just went racing up this little alley and disappeared. You’ve mentioned your interest in the philosophy of violence and I—”

  “I’m interested in violence. Not death.”

  “Is there a difference?” she snapped, goaded.

  He looked at her. “They’re frequently linked, but yes, there is a difference. All the difference in the world.”

  She knew he could see her expression much more clearly than she could see his. Mercy turned away, lifting her hands to clasp herself against the chill. She realized she was still holding the stick she had used to defend herself.

  “Where did you find that?” Croft asked, taking the stick from her and examining it briefly.

  “I found it in that horrible cabin where you left me. I couldn’t stay in that place, Croft. It was awful. I couldn’t stand it another moment.”

  He wasn’t paying any attention. “It looks like a shovel handle.”

  Mercy stared at the piece of wood as Croft tossed it aside. Images of a dead miner flowed back into her mind. The miner’s personal possessions were stacked on a table. Camping gear. A battered hat. A shovel.

  “Let’s get out of here, Croft.”

  “As soon as we tie these two up and leave them in one of the buildings. The general store would be a good place, I think.”

  “What are you planning to do about them? We ought to call the sheriff’s office.”

  “We will. An anonymous tip. We’ll tell the authorities that if they’re interested in solving the motel robbery, they might check the general store in Drifter’s Creek. We’ll let the sheriff take it from there.”

  “As good citizens, we ought to go straight to the authorities. We shouldn’t turn in an anonymous tip over the phone.”

  “Good citizenship is not high on my list of priorities at the moment.” Croft stepped out into the corridor between buildings. “I have other things to do.”

  “Croft, you can’t handle this sort of thing on your own. You’re supposed to call the cops when you get into a situation like this.” Mercy hurried after him as he made his way down the alley. “We’ve got proof that Dallas and Lance were probably involved in that motel robbery and some indication that Erasmus Gladstone might be Egan Graves or at least connected to him. We should turn everything we’ve got over to the sheriff and let him take it from there.”

  “Take it where? He might be able to build a case against Dallas and Lance, but they’re unimportant. Gladstone is the one who matters, and Gladstone is too well protected to be hurt by Dallas and Lance. He would never let himself be vulnerable in that way. If the sheriff questions him, he’ll simply say he’s shocked to learn he’d hired two thieves to work for him. No one will believe that Gladstone sent his hired help to steal a couple of wallets and open the empty safe of a rundown motel. It’s obvious he doesn’t need the few dollars and the stolen credit cards.”

  “I guess you’ve got a point,” Mercy said uncomfortably. “And Gladstone’s already paid for the book, so who would think he’d want to steal it. It will be obvious to everyone that Dallas and Lance were probably operating on their own. No one would think Erasmus Gladstone was a common thief. But what about what happened to you tonight?”

  “I got drunk and fell in the pool.”

  “You were poisoned or drugged.”

  “There are forty or fifty artists at Gladstone’s estate who will say I was drunk when they last saw me.”

  Mercy chewed on her lower lip. “Maybe blood tests would turn up some evidence of poison or drugs.”

  “I doubt it. Whatever Gladstone used will probably look like alcohol in my blood, if there’s even enough left of the stuff to detect in a test. These new designer drugs are getting more sophisticated every day. Just like Gladstone to be at the forefront of the technology.”

  “You’re looking for excuses. You don’t want to go to the authorities,” Mercy accused.

  “You’re right. I don’t deal well with authority. I prefer to operate on my own.”

  “Well, you’re not on your own,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m here, remember?”

  He stopped and turned around so quickly she almost ran into him. “Believe me, I’m well aware of your presence.”

  Mercy opened her mouth and then closed it abruptly. Croft had told her he never made threats, so what she saw in his eyes had to be a statement of fact. He did not want to hear any more arguments on the subject of good citizenship. Mercy decided to shut up.

  Croft studied her face, nodded once in satisfaction and then continued down the alley.

  There was no point arguing with a ghost, Mercy told herself.

  She maintained her silence while Croft collected the unconscious bodies of Dallas and Lance, tied them hand and foot with a cord he found in the Jeep and left them in what had once been the Drifter’s Creek general store.

  Mercy kept quiet while Croft did a quick survey of the contents of the Jeep, turned off the lights and then drove the vehicle to the side of the road and hid it among the trees. He wiped off the steering wheel and door handles when he got out.

  She didn’t say a word as the Toyota was carefully extracted from its hiding place among the trees. It was Croft who finally broke the silence.

  “You’ll have to drive. I’ve used up everything I’ve got. I need rest. Get as far as you can before dawn and then find a motel.” He didn’t wait for her response. He handed her the keys and went around to the passenger side of the car.

  He fastened his seatbelt, leaned his head back against the head rest and closed his eyes.

  Mercy could have sworn Croft was asleep before she drove the car through Drifter’s Creek.

  I’ve used up everything I’ve got.

  His words floated through Mercy’s head frequently as she made the long drive through the mountains that night. The man beside her in the car wasn’t just napping or dozing. He was sunk deep in a heavy sleep that bordered on unconsciousness. She wondered once or twice if she should try to find a doctor, but something told her Croft wouldn’t appreciate the act.

  She realized she was experiencing a strange combination of exhaustion and tension that would have made it impossible for her to sleep. She
probably shouldn’t be driving, either, Mercy told herself. But Croft had said to get as far as she could before dawn.

  So she drove on into the night, her eyes never leaving the excruciatingly twisted pavement that flowed endlessly into the path of the headlights. Her hands were frozen on the wheel. Her nerves continued to dance with the remnants of adrenaline. She was aware of the exhaustion waiting to ensnare her, but her mind and body were too keyed up to give into it.

  She couldn’t have surrendered to sleep, anyway. Croft had said she had to drive. He would never have ordered her to do it if it hadn’t been necessary. Someone had to get them out of the mountains and he couldn’t do it.

  I’ve used up everything I’ve got.

  Croft was not really a ghost, Mercy thought. He was just a man. Any resemblance between Falconer and a supernatural specter was purely coincidental.

  She wondered if Dallas and Lance would have believed her.

  The first pale shift in sky color appeared as the mountain road widened and began branching off in different directions. She picked one of the side roads at random and wound up in a small town a few miles from the interstate.

  There were two motels. Mercy picked the larger one which seemed to be favored by truckers. There were three big rigs in the lot. She parked the Toyota near one of them.

  Croft spoke without opening his eyes. “Use a fake name, fake license and pay cash.”

  “How can I fake the license? They can check it.”

  “They won’t.”

  He was right, Mercy reflected. Motel desk clerks rarely double checked the license plates of the cars in their parking lots.

  A few early risers were already stirring, checking out at the front desk and carrying their bags to their cars. The desk clerk didn’t seem to think it strange that Mercy was checking in so early in the morning. He was probably accustomed to truckers’ driving hours.

  Mercy collected the key and went back to the car, wondering how she was going to get Croft upstairs. If she couldn’t wake him long enough to get him out of the car, she would have to leave him where he was. She certainly couldn’t carry him.

  He didn’t move as she approached the passenger side of the car, but his eyes suddenly opened.

  “We’re checked in,” Mercy said gently as she unlatched the door. “Can you make it upstairs?”

  He glanced at the two-story building ahead of him. “Yes.” He got out of the car and followed her silently up to the room. It was the heaviness of his tread as he wearily climbed the steps that told Mercy just how exhausted he still was. Normally he moved soundlessly. When she unlocked the door he stepped inside.

  “I’ll get the luggage,” Mercy said.

  When she got back to the room she found him sprawled on the bed, sound asleep.

  She needed sleep, too. Mercy set down the luggage, aware of the weariness in her body. She went into the bathroom and stared at her drawn face in the mirror. The sight was not inspiring.

  A few minutes later she curled up beside Croft and closed her eyes, wishing for the same deep slumber he had found so easily.

  Twenty minutes later she was still awake. She began to wonder if she would ever be able to sleep again.

  Chapter 16

  Croft awoke with something less than his usual instant awareness, but he knew he had slept off most of the effects of the poison or drug as well as the additional adrenaline he had forced into his system to deal with Dallas and Lance.

  The additional dose of adrenaline had probably helped eat up what had remained of the poison or drug after Mercy’s first aid. But the combination of the two had left him totally drained. He had never been so exhausted in his life.

  He had a vague memory of following Mercy up to the motel room sometime around dawn. The bright mid-morning sunlight was visible between the curtains now. Croft stretched, testing his muscles and strength. Then he turned his head on the pillow and looked for Mercy. She should have been sound asleep beside him but she wasn’t even on the bed.

  He shouldn’t have made her drive out of the mountains the previous night, Croft thought, but there had been no other option. He had wanted to put distance between them and Gladstone and knew he wasn’t capable of driving.

  As usual, he thought with an inner wince, he hadn’t given Mercy much choice. He never seemed to give her much choice.

  Mercy hadn’t complained or argued, though. She had simply gotten in the car and driven out of the mountains, even though she must have been tense and tired herself. And even though she had witnessed more violence within a span of a few hours than most people saw in a lifetime.

  A good woman and a good friend. The kind he could depend on in a crunch. She had proven that more than once last night. He still remembered what it felt like to be staring down into eight feet of glowing blue water.

  Croft levered himself up on one elbow and looked for Mercy. He wondered why she wasn’t sleeping beside him on the bed. Maybe she was in the bathroom. Or perhaps she had awakened and gone out for breakfast.

  But she wasn’t in the bathroom and she wasn’t at breakfast. She was sitting cross-legged on the worn carpet, still wearing her jeans and the pullover she had tossed on before leaving Gladstone’s estate. Her eyes were closed and her hands were resting palms up on her knees.

  She was meditating, Croft realized. He was so surprised he spoke without thinking.

  “Mercy? Are you all right?”

  Her eyes snapped wide open and her head turned quickly. He saw the unnatural brightness in her gaze and realized tension was still consuming her.

  “No,” she said starkly, “I am not all right. I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t settle down. My insides feel as if they’re racing along at a hundred miles an hour.”

  “It’s the stress,” Croft said quietly, understanding what was happening to her. “Sometimes it hits you like that afterward.”

  “After what, Croft? After finding you nearly drowned in a swimming pool? After being hunted through a ghost town by a couple of jokers with guns? After driving out of the mountains in the middle of the night when any sane person would have waited until daylight? After deciding not to report attempted murder to the authorities? Don’t be ridiculous. Why should a few little incidents like that bother me? They sure don’t seem to bother you. You’ve been sleeping like a log.”

  She was wound up tighter than a bed spring, Croft realized. He sat up slowly, pitching his voice to a low, soothing level. “It’s okay, Mercy. Calm down. Everything’s going to be all right. You just need some rest. You’re a little high-strung at the moment, but after you’ve had some sleep you’ll be fine.”

  “The hell I will. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to me as if I were one of those Dobermans. I’ve been sitting here for an hour trying to use meditation to calm myself down, but it doesn’t seem to work for me.”

  “It takes practice. Years of it.”

  “Well, I haven’t got years. I need something now.” She sprang to her feet, her eyes glittering. “This is all your fault.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t you dare sit there and assume full responsibility for everything.”

  He blinked. “Mercy you just said it was all my fault and I agree.”

  She threw up her hands in outrage. “Don’t try to humor me. I am not a child. It’s true you used me to get to Gladstone, but there’s no point apologizing. We both know you’d do it again given the same set of circumstances. It’s your nature to do what you feel you have to do. You don’t let anything get in your way, especially not a woman who…”

  “Α woman who what, Mercy?” he asked curiously.

  “A woman who loves you, damn it!”

  Croft went very still, absorbing her words. He had never seen Mercy like this. She was flushed with a heat that, under other conditions, he would have assumed was a sign of sexual arou
sal. Her eyes were glittering, green pools of fierce, feminine energy. She was riding a wave of residual tension that burned like fire in her, feeding on her nerves.

  She didn’t know what she was saying.

  “Mercy, be still,” he said firmly. “Sit quietly. I’ll help you meditate. I’ll help you get into the calm part of yourself. Just listen to me. I’ll give you the words—”

  Without any warning except an enraged yelp, Mercy exploded across the room. She launched herself across the bed, sprawling on top of Croft before he fully realized what was happening. The force of her impact pushed him back against the pillow. Her legs tangled with his and her nails dug into his shoulders as her eyes burned into his.

  “Listen to me and listen good, you arrogant bastard. You’ve used me and manipulated me right from the start. You’ve even had the nerve to admit what you were doing while you did it. You’ve given all the orders and made all the decisions. You’ve had the unmitigated gall to make love to me because you thought you could control me more effectively if you turned me into some sort of sexual slave.”

  “A sexual slave? I think that’s overstating the situation a little, Mercy.”

  Her nails tightened on his shoulders. He was going to have marks on his skin, Croft thought.

  “Shut up. I am not interested in your fine points of logic or philosophy. I’m doing the talking and I’m not finished with you yet. I’ve never met anyone as arrogant as you, Croft Falconer, but things are going to change. Until now everything has gone your way, but this morning I’m going to have things my way.”

  “Mercy, honey, you’re upset. You need to clear your mind. You need to calm down.”

  “The only reason I’m in this condition is because of you. So you’re going to do something about it.”

  “I will,” he promised. “I’ll help you.”

  “Damn right, you’re going to help me,” she muttered as she yanked at the buttons of his shirt. “But I’m not in the mood for any more meditation. And I don’t want to listen to any more of your noble talk about assuming responsibility for this mess we’re in. We already know it’s all your fault. I need more than words. I need something to help me get to sleep. I am, as they say in California, stressed to the max. I need to work off all this nervous tension. That means I need a physical release. You know what? I’m going to use you to get it. It’s about time I got to use you for something.”