In Too Deep

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Julian looked flummoxed. "What the hell are you trying to pull, Jones?"

  "You're right. I can't prove a thing, so get lost while I'm still in a good mood."

  Julian scrambled to his feet. "What happens to the mirror?"

  "It goes back to its rightful owner."

  Julian grimaced. "Guess I should have seen that coming."

  He half loped, half limped down the hall and disappeared around a corner. Isabella drummed her fingers on the side of the door frame.

  "I really hate to see him go free like that," she said. "It's not right."

  "Maybe not," Fallon said. With one hand he pulled a pristine handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his cheek. He used his other hand to take out his phone. "But letting him run might give us the answer to one lingering question."

  Isabella speared the flashlight at Fallon. Blood glistened on his jaw and dripped down the front of his jacket.

  "You're bleeding," she wailed.

  He looked down at the handkerchief. "Yeah."

  She rushed to him, took the handkerchief from his hand and gently blotted up more of the blood.

  "You need to sit down," she ordered. "You could go into shock."

  "I don't think so," he said. "Let's get out of here."

  He started to bend down to pick up the mirror but stopped midway, groaning a little, and gingerly reached inside his jacket.

  "I'll get it," Isabella said quickly.

  "Thanks." Fallon spoke into the phone. "He's running. Don't lose him. He's injured and will probably seek medical help. Don't interfere. Just keep an eye on him until one of Lucan's people takes over."

  He ended the call and punched in another number. "Max? Jones here. Isabella was right about everything. Looks like Caitlin Phillips is most likely dead. She was Garrett's partner, but he needed another fall guy after he realized he required Isabella's help to locate the artifact. What is it? The Quicksilver Mirror. Yeah. Worth a fortune in some quarters. We've got it and Garrett is running. I've got a hunter following him until you can get someone on it. I'll give you the whole story tomorrow. What? Of course we'll send you our bill."

  He closed the phone.

  Isabella picked up the mirror and took Fallon's arm to steady him, although he did not seem to be wobbly. She drew him carefully down the staircase.

  "What's the one lingering question?" she asked.

  "The name of the person who commissioned the Quicksilver Mirror."

  "You let Julian run because you want to know the identity of his buyer."

  "Well, that plus the fact that there wasn't anything else I could do with him except try to convince the local cops that he's guilty of breaking and entering and something tells me that wouldn't fly."

  "But Garrett doesn't have the mirror to sell now. Why would he contact the buyer?"

  "He might not," Fallon said. "But I'm thinking there's a high probability that the buyer will contact him."

  "Why?"

  "Because we are not going to let it be known that Arcane recovered the mirror," Fallon said patiently. "That will be our little secret."

  A cold thrill of comprehension swept through Isabella. "You think that the buyer will believe he's been double-crossed. That Julian has sold the mirror to someone else."

  "It's been my experience that not only is there no honor among thieves, but there's also not a hell of a lot of trust or mutual affection, either. What's more, that type tends to be vindictive."

  "One more thing. You said the mirror is going back to the rightful owner."

  "Yes."

  "Who is that?"

  "The Arcane Society. The Quicksilver Mirror was stolen from one of the museums."

  "Oh, geez. That raises some troubling questions doesn't it?"

  "Sure does," Fallon said.

  29

  Caitlin Phillips's body was found buried in her own backyard," Max Lucan said. "Looks like she was drugged and then strangled. Garrett has gone to ground in a third-rate motel outside of Sacramento. I've got a team on him. I'll let you know if he contacts anyone or if someone attempts to contact him."

  "Don't let the disgruntled customer get to them first," Fallon warned.

  "In spite of recent evidence to the contrary," Max said, "my people do know what they're doing."

  "Too bad you didn't know what they were doing," Isabella said.

  Fallon looked at her. "Play nice, Isabella. We need Max's help at the moment."

  She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, all right."

  Max raised his brows at Fallon. "Vindictive, isn't she?"

  "Not usually," Fallon said. "But this particular situation is a little different."

  It was the day after the events at the mansion. The three of them were sitting in the executive suite of Lucan Protection Services. It occurred to Isabella that although she had worked for Lucan for nearly six months, she had never been in Max Lucan's office. Her career path was clearly trending upward. When you worked for J&J, you got some respect.

  She had not been keen on the idea of coming face-to-face with her former boss on his own turf, but Fallon had said that it was important for her to be seen in the company of the president and CEO. It was, he claimed, the quickest and most efficient way of dispelling any lingering gossip about her. She knew he was right, but it made her uneasy. A lot of people were now aware of her real name, she thought. Her life was getting complicated. Then, again, maybe that was what happened when you finally got a life of your very own.

  "Garrett and Phillips were running their little side business out of Department A," Max said. "Looks like it was going on for damn near a year. They were obtaining weapons-grade paranormal artifacts and selling them to buyers on the black market. Orville Sloan was the broker who handled the arrangements."

  "They had to be very careful because they knew that your company has an agreement with Arcane," Fallon said.

  "Any devices or antiquities that appear to be potentially dangerous must first be evaluated by one of the Society's labs," Isabella stated. "If they are found to be weapons-grade, they must be dismantled or rendered inoperable. If that is not possible, the artifacts go into cold storage in a secure vault until such time as the techs can figure out how to de-energize them."

  Both men looked at her. She gave them her most charming smile.

  "Sorry if I'm lecturing," she said sweetly. "But you deserve it, Mr. Lucan. You actually thought I was the one behind the illegal arms sales. How could you believe such a thing?"

  Max fixed her with a considering expression. "Maybe because you ran?"

  "I ran because I found those files on my computer and I knew I'd been set up."

  "You should have come directly to me."

  "Oh, yeah, like you would have believed me instead of Julian."

  "And maybe I liked you for the dealer, because of all the people I've got working in Department A, you're the one with the talent to pull it off," Max said.

  "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 when 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."

  T
he 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.