Chapter 45
“HOW DID YOU HANDLE IT?” FONTANA ASKED QUIETLY.
She knew what he meant. “The claustrophobia?”
“Must have been bad.”
They were on her apartment balcony overlooking the Green Gate Tavern, glasses of wine in hand. Elvis perched on the railing, munching on the remains of the pizza they had all shared earlier. He still wore his white cape and dark glasses.
Sierra drank some of her wine, thinking back to the sensations she had experienced that afternoon. “Running from Harlan’s ultragenerator was certainly a distraction. But later, after he triggered the illusion trap, I couldn’t seem to stop shaking. So I just kept walking up and down that hall past the chamber. I knew it wouldn’t be long before you came for me. That’s what I kept telling myself.” She paused. “That’s how I got through it.”
“It was my fault. Should have figured out sooner that Ostendorf was involved.”
She rounded on him, outraged. “That’s ridiculous. You moved amazingly fast as it was, taking down the drug operation and cornering Patterson within days of getting into the executive suite. Harlan Ostendorf covered his tracks well. It’s amazing that you figured out what he was up to at all, let alone realized that he had kidnapped me today. I think you must have a pretty strong streak of intuition, yourself.”
“I should have understood immediately that he was the only one who could have known about the sector chart in the journal.”
“Listen up, Mr. Guild Boss. If you intend to make it in the business, you’re going to have to learn when to beat yourself up over a perceived failure and when not to beat yourself up over one. What happened today was not your fault. Get over it.”
He went still for a moment. Then his mouth twitched.
“Maybe you’ve got a future as an executive career coach,” he said.
She wrinkled her nose. “No, that wouldn’t be any fun. I’ve met a few executives, and let me tell you, none of them take direction well. You’re a perfect example.”
“You’re probably right. Stick to the do-gooder gig.” He rested both forearms on the railing, wineglass cradled between his hands. “It’s definitely your forte.”
“What about the six ultragenerators that you recovered?”
“They are going straight into the vault at the research lab.”
The old, familiar irritation spiked within her. “In other words, they have become official, classified Guild secrets.”
“Damn straight. What’s more, if I see so much as a word about those generators on the front page of the Curtain, I am going to be one very pissed-off Guild boss.”
“I’ve got four words for you. Freedom. Of. The. Press.”
“Trust me, you do not want news of those weapons getting out to the general public,” he said quietly.
“Is that right? And just what, exactly, are the lab people going to do with them?”
“Deactivate them.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“It’s already been done. I oversaw the process this afternoon.”
That stopped her cold. “Good heavens. How?”
“Turns out dissonance energy is still dissonance energy, no matter where it comes from on the spectrum or how it’s generated. The old rule still applies.”
“What old rule?”
“Takes a ghost to kill a ghost.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Remember how I was able to punch a hole through that beam when we ran the Rider ambush?”
“Of course.”
“It gave me the idea that maybe an ultragenerator could be burned out if it was confronted with too much ghost light. So I called in all of the Council members as witnesses. We put the generators into a quartz-walled chamber underground and arranged them so that the beams would collide with each other. Then we activated them and ran like hell.”
“Oh, my gosh.”
“There was an impressive explosion.” Fontana smiled. “But afterward we were left with half-a-dozen burned-out generators. As far as the lab techs can determine, the mechanisms were thoroughly and permanently fried. Useless.”
She thought about that. “You know, since the story has a happy ending, it really would make a terrific scoop for the Curtain.”
“No.”
“Fontana, if you intend to move the Crystal Guild into the mainstream, you’re going to have to get past this obsession with secrecy.”
“No,” he repeated.
“You do realize,” she said coolly, “that there will be more dangerous artifacts coming out of the rain forest as time goes on?”
“We’ll worry about it when it happens.”
“The Guilds won’t be able to keep all of them secret.”
“We’ll see.”
“Fontana—”
“You know, it’s been a long day. Would you mind very much if we put off arguing about Guild secrets until some future date?”
“Oh, all right. But don’t think I’m going to just up and forget about this.”
“Never crossed my mind.”
For a time they did not speak. The silence between them grew, but it was not tense or awkward, Sierra thought. It felt good to stand here with Fontana, sharing the night with him. They drank their wine. Elvis got down off the railing and helped himself to another slice of pizza.
After a while, Fontana stirred a little.
“This afternoon Kay told me that Ostendorf got you to go out to the limo by telling you that I had invited you to meet me at the Amber Club,” he said.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“She said she was sure that I was going to propose a Covenant Marriage over lunch.”
“Kay’s a bit of a romantic.”
“She was wrong about me planning to propose over lunch.”
Sierra looked at the Green Gate sign. “I know.”
“Nobody proposes a Covenant Marriage on his lunch hour.”
“That’s what Matt said.”
“You’re supposed to propose CMs over dinner,” Fontana explained very seriously. “Every guy knows that.”
“Right. Dinner.”
“So,” Fontana said, “since we just finished dinner, will you consider entering into a Covenant Marriage with me?”
She felt as if she had just fallen off the balcony. Weightless. Dazed. Disoriented.
“What?” she yelped.
“Not exactly the response I was hoping for.”
“Are you serious?” she demanded.
“Maybe I should tell you another little secret. Men never joke about Covenant Marriage.”
“Neither do women. What is going on here? We’ve only known each other a few days, and it was a business arrangement from the start.”
“Not quite.”
She drew a breath, thinking of the passion they had shared. “Okay, not quite.”
“I knew I wanted you forever the day you walked into my office. I’ve been waiting for you all of my life.”
“Oh, Fontana,” she said softly.
“If you need more time, I’ll understand. Traditionally, there’s a long engagement before a Covenant Marriage. We can have one of those if you like. But it won’t change anything for me.”
The strange, off-balance sensation evaporated. A wonderful sense of certainty took its place.
“I felt the same way about you the day I walked into your office,” she said. “The moment I saw you, my intuition kicked in. I knew you were the one.”
He set the glass aside and cradled her face in his powerful hands. “I love you, Sierra.”
She smiled, gloriously sure. “I love you.”
“Guess this means I’ll be going to your grandparents’ anniversary party.”
“It looks that way, yes. Think you can handle it?”
“I’m a Guild boss.”
“You can handle anything.”
He laughed. “As long as I’ve got you.”
He kissed her then, sealing the promise. After a while they went into the apar
tment and down the hall to the bedroom.
The energy of love flashed and flared and sparked in the night.
OUT ON THE BALCONY ELVIS TOOK UP A POSITION ON the table beside the empty pizza box. His white cape glittered in the angled beam of light that shone from the living room behind him. He waited.
It didn’t take long for his audience to appear. The dust bunnies materialized out of the fog by the dozens, lining the balcony railing and crowding the prime front row seats, the chairs and the lounger.
Elvis picked up his guitar. Time to rock ’n rez.
TURN THE PAGE FOR A LOOK AT
RUNNING HOT
An Arcane Society Novel
by Jayne Ann Krentz
Available December 2008 from G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
MARTIN WAS GOING TO KILL HER.
She stepped off the gangway and onto the sleek, twin-engine cabin cruiser, wondering why the cold despair was hitting her so hard. If there was one thing you learned fast when you were raised by the state, it was that ultimately you could depend only on yourself. The foster home system and the streets were the ultimate universities, awarding harsh degrees in the most basic kind of entrepreneurship. When you were on your own in the world, the laws of survival were simple. She had learned them well.
She thought her past had prepared her for any eventuality, including the possibility that the only man she had ever trusted might someday turn on her. She had been mistaken. Nothing could blunt the pain of this betrayal.
Martin emerged from the cabin. The dazzling Caribbean sunlight glinted off his mirrored glasses. He saw her and gave her his familiar charismatic smile.
“There you are,” he said, coming forward to take the computer case from her. “You’re late.” He glanced at the man in the white shirt and dark blue trousers coming up the gangway with her suitcase. “Weather problems?”
“No, sir.” Eric Schafer set down the small suitcase. “We landed on time. But there’s some kind of local holiday going on. The streets were jammed. You know how it is here on the island. Only one road from the airport, and it goes straight through town. No way to avoid the traffic.”
Eric straightened and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. His shirt, embroidered with the discreet logo of Crocker World, had been military-crisp this morning when he had climbed into the cockpit of the small corporate jet in Miami. It was now badly wilted from the island heat.
“The Night and Day Festival,” Martin said. “I forgot about it. Big event down here. A combination of Mardi Gras and Halloween.”
He was lying, she thought. She watched the strange dark energy flash in his aura. It was all part of the plan to kill her. The festival would provide excellent cover for a murder. With so many strangers on the island, the local authorities would be too busy to notice if Mr. Crocker returned from his private island alone.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” Eric asked.
“Where’s Banner?”
“Left him back at the airport. He’s keeping an eye on the plane.”
“You two can take the jet back to Miami. No point both of you cooling your heels on this rock for an entire week. You’ve got wives and kids who will probably be very happy to see you. I’ve been keeping you guys busy these past few months.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks.”
Eric’s gratitude was real. Martin knew how to bind his people to him with a combination of generous salaries and benefits and his own natural charisma. She had often thought that he could have been a very successful cult leader. Instead, he had chosen a different career path.
He went up the short flight of teak steps to take the helm.
“Get the lines for me,” he called down to Eric.
“Sure thing, Mr. Crocker.” Eric crouched to uncoil the ropes that secured the powerful boat to the dock.
She wondered what he and the others on the staff would think when she disappeared. Martin had probably already prepared a convincing story for them. Something to do with falling overboard, perhaps. The currents around the island were notoriously tricky.
She felt the vibration beneath her feet as the boat’s engines started to churn. Eric gave her a friendly wave and dashed more sweat off his forehead.
There was no veiled look of masculine speculation in his expression, no sly wink or grin. When he got back to the airport, he and his copilot, John Banner, would not make any comments about the boss going off with one of his girlfriends. No one on Martin’s staff had ever mistaken her for one of Martin’s many lovers. His women tended to be tall, willowy, and blonde. She was none of those things. She was just the hired help.
Officially she was Martin’s butler, the one person who traveled with him everywhere. She kept his life organized and oversaw the operation of his many residences. Most important, she supervised the entertaining of his friends and business associates, and the occasional visiting politician, lobbyist, or head of state.
She raised her hand in farewell to Eric and squeezed back tears. Regardless of what happened today, she knew that she would never see him again.
The boat slipped gracefully away from the dock, headed toward the entrance to the small harbor.
Like many who moved in the stratospheric circles inhabited by those of great wealth, Martin owned several houses and kept a number of apartments in various locales around the world. The Miami mansion was his main residence but the place he considered home was the small island he had purchased a few years ago. The only way to get to it was by boat. There was no landing strip, just a single dock.
Unlike his other residences, which were always maintained in a state of readiness, Martin kept no staff on the island. The house was much smaller and far more modest than his other dwellings. He considered the place his private retreat.
Once past the stone pillars that marked the harbor entrance, Martin revved the engines. The boat picked up speed, slicing eagerly through the turquoise water. He was busy at the wheel, not paying any attention to her as he concentrated on piloting the craft. She heightened her other senses and took another look at his aura. The dark energy was stronger now. He was getting jacked up.
The boat felt very small around her. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.
She had known for days—weeks, if she was brutally honest with herself—that Martin was planning to get rid of her. She was even sure she knew why. Nevertheless, some small part of her had clung to the slender thread of denial, even as it unraveled. Maybe there was some logical explanation for the disturbing changes in his aura. Maybe the new darkness was the result of mental illness. As dreadful as that possibility would be, at least it would allow her the comfort of knowing that he was no longer in his right mind; that the real Martin would never plot her death.
But her own finely honed survival instincts had refused to let her deceive herself any longer. Martin might have had some affection for her at one time, but deep down she had always known that their relationship had been rooted in her usefulness to him. Now he had concluded that she had become a liability so he was going to get rid of her. In his mind the situation was not complicated.
She stood at the stern and watched the harbor and the small town grow smaller and smaller. When they became tiny, indistinct blobs, she turned around. Martin’s private island was very close now. She could make out the house perched on the hillside.
Martin slowed the boat and brought it neatly alongside the wooden dock.
“Get the lines,” Martin said sharply, his attention on maneuvering the boat.
That did it. For some inexplicable reason the simple, routine order flipped the last switch somewhere in her head. The unholy brew of pain, sadness, disbelief, and mind-numbing fear that had been swirling through her in alternating currents for days was suddenly swept away by icy cold rage. Her other senses leaped violently in reaction to the adrenaline rush.
The son-of-a-bitch was planning to murder her. Now. Today.
“Sure thing, Martin,” she said, amazed by how cool a
nd controlled she sounded. But, then, she’d had a lot of practice concealing her emotions and reactions behind a gracious, exquisitely polite facade. She could have given a geisha lessons. But she was no geisha.
She grabbed the stern line, then stepped lightly out of the boat and onto the narrow dock. It didn’t take long to tie up. She had done it countless times in the past.
Martin left the wheel and came back down the steps.
“Here, take this,” he said, handing her the computer. “I’ll get your suitcase and the supplies.”
She took the computer from him and waited while he swung the suitcase and the two bags of groceries up onto the dock. He glanced around, making sure he had everything he wanted out of the boat. Then he stepped onto the dock.
“Ready?” he said.
Not waiting for a reply, he scooped up the bags of groceries with an easy motion and tucked one into the crook of each arm. His aura flashed with impatience and a really scary excitement. The pulses of dark energy were becoming increasingly agitated. This wasn’t just business, she realized. He was actually looking forward to murdering her. Her own fury flared higher.
“Of course.” She gave him her best professional smile, the one she used to greet his guests and business associates. She thought of it as her stage smile. “But just out of curiosity, when do you plan to do it?”
“Do what?” he said. He was already turning away from her, heading toward the small SUV parked at the end of the dock.
“Kill me.”
He froze in midstride. She watched the torrent of shock crash through his aura. The indescribable colors flashed across the spectrum. She really had taken him by surprise, she realized. Had he actually believed that he could plot her death without her sensing it? Evidently the answer to that question was a resounding yes. Then again, she had never told him all of her secrets.
When he turned to face her, his expression was a mix of anger and impatience.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he said. “Is this is your idea of a bad joke?”
She folded her arms, hugging herself a little.
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