by Jayne Castle
She waved both hands to stop him. “Not that. The bit about the broken heart.”
He shrugged. “It’s no secret in the family.”
“It’s ridiculous. Some kind of stupid joke.”
“We don’t joke about that kind of stuff in my family,” Jeff said.
“I don’t know what Cruz told you, but I can assure you, I did not break his heart.”
Jeff just looked at her, not speaking.
She sighed. “For Pete’s sake. Forget it. Tell me about your version of the family talent.”
“Right.” Jeff was eager to change the subject. “I’m a para-hunter, so I’ve got the good night vision and the reflexes and all the rest. But what I’m really good at is reading a crime scene. I can walk you through the series of events that took place there. Something about the way psychic energy gets thrown off by acts of violence.”
“Really? That sounds interesting.”
A spark of excitement gleamed in Jeff’s eyes. “Don’t laugh, but I’d like to apply to the FBPI academy and become an agent.”
“The Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation? Why would I laugh? Sounds like a fine and noble career goal to me.”
Jeff made a face. “Not as far as my dad and the boss and Big Jake and everyone else in the family is concerned. We’ve always had sort of a weird relationship with official law enforcement. I can’t figure it out, to tell you the truth. It’s not like AI Security doesn’t occasionally do favors for the FBPI, just like we do for the Guilds and the Arcane Society.”
“Favors?”
“Well, sure, those agencies only come to us when they know they can’t deal with the problem on their own, and they pay for the work we do, so I guess you can’t really call it doing favors, but you get my point, right?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, I think so.”
“The thing is, AI Security is a business. Bottom line is we work for people who can afford us. I want to be a part of real law enforcement, the kind that tries to get justice for everyone, even people who can’t afford high-priced security agencies. I want to make a contribution.”
“I understand,” she said.
“More and more I feel like it’s something I was meant to do.”
“A calling.”
He thought about that. “Maybe. In a way.”
“Well, why not quit the family firm and follow your bliss? Apply to the FBPI academy.”
He stared at her as if she had just suggested that he fly. “Quit Amber Inc.?”
She spread her arms wide. “It’s a big world. Lots of opportunities for a motivated young man. Who says you have to stay in the family business for your whole professional career?”
“Well, that’s sort of how things are at Amber Inc. If you’re in the family, you work for the family firm. One way or another.”
“Surely a few of your relatives have gone out on their own.”
Jeff thought for a moment. “Well, there’s my great-uncle Ned. He opened a travel agency.”
“There you go.”
“But mostly his company just handles corporate travel for Amber Inc.”
“Oh.”
Jeff cogitated for another moment. “The boss’s father is a lawyer. So is his mother.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. Okay, it sounds like they didn’t toe the family line.”
Jeff sighed. “Their law firm has only one client.”
“Let me guess. Amber Inc.”
“Yeah.” Jeff pondered briefly and suddenly brightened. “Aunt Brenda.”
“What happened to her?”
“She’s a doctor, a pediatrician at the Frequency Medical Center.”
“The Frequency Medical Center was built by Amber Inc. Right. Well, Jeff, looks like you’ve got a problem. I’ll tune some amber for you, but if what you really want is to become a genuine FBPI agent, you’re going to have to kick over the traces and take a stand against family pressure.”
He gave her a morose look. “You don’t know my family.”
“Are you kidding me? After what I went through since I met your boss? Trust me, I know your family.”
He winced. “Yeah, I guess maybe you do. You know, you’re not quite what I expected, Miss Dore.”
She narrowed her eyes. A lot of men were prone to tasteless jokes about female amber tuners. The phrase getting one’s amber tuned had multiple meanings in certain quarters frequented by males.
“And just what did you expect?” she asked coldly.
“I dunno,” he admitted. “Should have known you’d be a little different, though.”
“And why is that?” she demanded.
“Because you’re the woman who broke the boss’s heart.”
Chapter 19
JEFF DROVE HER BACK TO HER APARTMENT SHORTLY before two so that she could change clothes for the auction preview appointment with Wilson Revere. They used a small, nondescript Float provided by Amber Inc. Security. The little vehicle did not call attention to itself in any way. If Jeff hadn’t explained that beneath the boring gray paint job the car was discreetly armored with heavy-duty mag-steel, Lyra would never have known.
“Gets lousy mileage because of all the steel,” Jeff said. “And it’s sort of embarrassing to drive. But it has one big advantage. No one looks twice at it.”
“Does Amber Inc. Security maintain a fleet of armored vehicles?” Lyra asked.
“The company garage always has a few on hand.”
“To protect the executives? Not that I can envision Cruz Sweetwater buzzing around in a Float, mind you.”
Jeff laughed. “If you’re in any of the executive suites at AI, it means you can take care of yourself. You drive whatever you want. Mostly we use the armored cars for clients.”
“So now I’m an AI client?” She wrinkled her nose. “I hope no one plans on sending me a bill because, thanks to a recent lawsuit against a certain unnamed company, I can’t afford a high-rez private security firm.”
“Don’t worry, there won’t be any bill.” Jeff slid the little compact into a parking space at the curb. “The boss is picking up the tab on this case personally.” He glanced at the rearview mirror as he powered up the engine. “Speaking of the boss, looks like he’s ready to take his shift.”
“What?” Alarmed, Lyra twisted around in the front seat just in time to see a familiar black Slider glide into the parking space behind the Float. “Oh, no, no, this is a really, really bad idea.”
Even as the sense of impending doom settled on her like a dark cloud, Vincent, perched on the back of the seat, started bouncing and chortling with anticipation. His red beret flapped wildly.
Lyra watched Cruz get out of the Slider and walk toward the Float. He wore another sleekly tailored black jacket, black trousers, and black bolo tie trimmed with a gleaming amber stone. The well-dressed assassin on his way to an upscale auction.
She grabbed Vincent and her tote, opened the door, and jumped out.
“No,” she said. “Absolutely not, Cruz. You cannot go with me to the auction preview.”
He halted in front of her. “Sure I can.” He batted one of Vincent’s paws a couple of times in greeting and kissed Lyra in a quick, outrageously proprietary way. Before she could protest, he straightened, braced one hand on the roof of the Float, and leaned in to speak to Jeff through the open window. “I’ll take it from here. I’ll give you a call when we need you back.”
“Yes, sir. Bye, Miss Dore,” Jeff said as he drove off down the street.
Lyra glared at Cruz. “Wilson Revere is an important client.”
Somehow Cruz managed to look politely innocent, even a little confused.
“So?” he said.
“Look, you and Revere obviously have a history. If I walk into that auction with you, he might decide he doesn’t need my consulting services after all.”
“Revere reads the papers like everyone else. He knows that you and I are seeing each other again. He wouldn’t have hired you if that was a problem. I told you, I think it’
s actually the reason he did hire you. He’s going to try to use you somehow.”
She ignored the last sentence and focused on the main point she wanted to make. “One night doesn’t mean that you and I are involved,” she warned.
“It does as far as the media is concerned.”
“But it will look unprofessional if I arrive at that auction with you.”
Cruz smiled. “Think of me as just another client.”
SHE WAS STILL FUMING AN HOUR LATER WHEN SHE walked into the hushed, elegant atmosphere of the Fairstead Gallery with Cruz at her side. She consoled herself with the knowledge that at least she looked thoroughly professional in a skirted suit and pumps. Her hair was up in a businesslike twist. She wore her charm bracelet on her wrist. The usual pair of small, discreet amber earrings gleamed in her ears.
Vincent had been left at home. High-end auction houses did not welcome dust bunnies or any other species that possessed more than two legs. They were also highly selective when it came to the two-legged types. The only way a low-rent amber tuner turned part-time antiquities consultant could cross the threshold of the Fairstead was because she had been invited by one of the gallery’s high-rent clients.
A number of well-dressed people circulated among the display cases, making notes about the various items that were slated to go on the block. Several uniformed guards stood watch. Lyra spotted two other amber consultants. Both moved routinely in these rarified circles. She knew they had noticed her, also. They gave her veiled what-the-hell-is-she-doing-here looks and then did double takes when they recognized Cruz. She returned the acknowledgments with a dazzling screw-you smile.
She heightened her senses and felt the familiar frisson that told her there was a lot of good amber in the room. She glanced at Cruz and knew he felt it, too. An affinity for amber was one thing they did have in common.
A suave, distinguished-looking man with discreetly enhanced patrician features and a wealth of unnaturally bright silver hair appeared as if by magic. Ignoring Lyra, he beamed at Cruz, displaying a lot of perfect teeth.
“Mr. Sweetwater,” he gushed smoothly. “An unexpected pleasure. I’m Valentine Fairstead. I do not recall seeing your name on the guest list, but I am, of course, delighted that you decided to attend the auction.”
“Thought I’d take a quick look,” Cruz said, glancing casually around at the cases. “But I won’t be bidding unless Miss Dore spots something of special interest. I rely on her for all my appraisals.”
Horrified shock flashed in Fairstead’s eyes. He looked at Lyra as if she were one of the multifooted species not welcome in the gallery.
“Miss Dore?” he repeated somewhat blankly.
“I wouldn’t consider buying amber antiquities without her,” Cruz said.
To his credit, Fairstead recovered quickly. He bestowed his gleaming smile on Lyra.
“Yes, of course, Miss Dore,” he said. “Welcome to the Fairstead Gallery.”
“Thank you,” she said. It took effort to keep her voice cool and polite, but she managed. “Actually, Mr. Sweetwater is here only because he very kindly offered to escort me today. One of your other guests has engaged my services this afternoon.”
“I see.” Fairstead was clearly thunderstruck. “Isn’t that a little, ah, unusual?”
“I understand that you are going to be auctioning off some extremely unusual amber today,” she said just as smoothly. “Rare amber is my specialty.”
“Yes, of course,” Fairstead said weakly.
Another man in an elegantly tailored business suit and a black and amber tie came toward them. He was tall and well-built with the refined masculine features that Lyra associated with rez-screen anchormen. There was nothing soft or genteel about his eyes, however. They were glacier blue. He gave Cruz a speculative glance and then smiled wryly at Lyra. She recognized him instantly. Wilson Revere was in the news a lot.
“I trust you’re not going to tell me that I’ve already lost my new consultant to my competition, Miss Dore,” he said. “I’ll be crushed.”
“No, absolutely not,” she assured him swiftly. “I’m here to consult for you, as arranged, Mr. Revere. I mean, Wilson. Mr. Sweetwater offered to give me a ride, that’s all.”
Cruz looked amused at being relegated to the role of chauffeur.
“Not like I had anything better to do this afternoon,” he said. He inclined his head with cool civility. “Got something special in mind here today, Revere?”
“Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Revere smiled. “I’m looking forward to getting Miss Dore’s opinion before I bid on it, however. I wouldn’t want to make an expensive mistake.”
“No,” Cruz said, “you don’t want to make any big mistakes.”
He was using what Lyra thought of as his professional hit man voice, cold and laced with the promise of doom.
Infuriated, she swung around to face him. She should have worn higher heels, she thought. In her conservative two-and-a-half-inch pumps she was only a couple of inches above his shoulder. The lack of height was not an asset when one was trying to intimidate a man like Cruz.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do, Mr. Sweetwater,” she said, infusing the words with as much authority as she could muster. Damn it, she was a professional, and she would not let him ruin things.
To her overwhelming relief, Cruz responded politely to the unsubtle hint. “Take your time,” he said. “I’ll have a look around on my own.”
“You do that.” Lyra bestowed a warm smile on Revere. “Why don’t you show me the item that is of particular interest to you, Wilson?”
“Certainly.” He gave Cruz a slyly amused smile and took Lyra’s arm.
Together they walked off toward a distant display case. Lyra knew Cruz was watching their backs. She could feel his gaze the entire length of the room.
The Fairstead Gallery specialized in spectacular rare amber jewelry of all descriptions. Rings, watches, cuff links, necklaces, and earrings glowed and glittered in the locked glass cases.
The gallery was also known for the gemstone quality of its raw, uncut, and untuned amber, the most valuable of which were the specimens of rare and exotic varieties.
“I assume the media was right for once?” Revere said in a conversational tone. “You and Sweetwater have resolved your legal issues?”
“There was nothing to resolve. Amber Inc. crushed my lawsuit.”
“I trust Sweetwater made it worth your while to rescue that team that got trapped in the ruin?”
“We’re still negotiating my fee,” she said easily. “Now, why don’t you show me the amber that caught your eye?”
“Right over here.”
He guided her toward the row of cases set against the back wall. She experienced more than just a frisson of awareness when they got close to the specimens. All of her senses were fully rezzed by the unusual latent energies of the stones on display. The collection was, indeed, impressive. Chunks of rare emerald, ruby, and sapphire amber were arrayed on black velvet in the artistically lit cases. She also spotted some remarkable crystal, jade, and chalcedony amber, all of excellent quality.
“I’m interested in the amethyst piece in the last case,” Revere said. “What do you think?”
She walked to the display case and studied the rough, uncut stone inside with all of her senses. The amethyst amber was attractive, showing good color and clarity. But when she probed for the latent energy of the stone, feeling her way into the untuned currents, disappointment whispered through her.
“It’s a nice piece,” she said. “It would make beautiful jewelry, but its resonating power is weak. Not that most people would notice, of course.”
He watched her with a speculative expression. “Only someone who could rez amethyst would care one way or the other.”
“Yes.
Revere studied the amber in the case. “You’re sure about the latent energy in that stone?”
“Positive.”
“Well, so much for t
hat.” But he did not look disappointed. Instead, he appeared satisfied, as if she had passed a test. “I’m not interested in making earrings out of that chunk of amethyst.”
“I’m sorry, but you know how it is with amber. Not every piece is powerful.” She cleared her throat. “Do you mind me asking how you planned to use it?”
“I’m looking for lab-quality stones. Your discovery of the ruin and those relics has fired up a lot of interest in amethyst.”
“I see.”
Revere glanced back toward the front of the room where Cruz was examining the contents of a case. “Can’t let the competition get too far ahead of us. My people are convinced that the existence of the ruin is proof that there’s a lot more power in amethyst than the experts have realized. Since we can’t get our hands on any of the relics that Amber Inc. seized from you, I’m looking for some raw stones to use for research purposes in the RezStone lab.”
“Oh, geez. Sounds like an arms race.”
“Amber is power,” Wilson said. “In more ways than one.” He did not take his eyes off Cruz. “As long as you’re here, there is one other specimen that I’d like you to examine.”
“Of course.” She surveyed the rough stones. “The emerald is a nice specimen.”
“I’ve got some good emeralds in the lab. The stone I want you to see is in Fairstead’s private viewing room.”
“This gallery isn’t it?” she asked, looking around.
“No,” Wilson said very softly.
Valentine Fairstead materialized again, white teeth shining.
“If you will follow me, Mr. Revere,” he murmured.
He led the way past a guard and rezzed the lock of a door that Lyra had not noticed in the dim light. Revere ushered her into a small, windowless room. Fairstead followed, closing the door behind him.
“I keep this particular specimen in the vault,” Fairstead said.
He crossed the small space and pulled aside a midnight blue velvet curtain, revealing a gleaming mag-steel bank vault-style door. Keeping his back to Lyra and Revere, he rezzed the lock.
The heavy door opened slowly. More steel glinted in the shadowy interior.