Jayne Castle: After Dark

Not bloody likely, she thought. Hers was not the sort of neighborhood that attracted upscale businessmen who were inclined to worry about getting mugged.

On the other hand, something told her that Emmett didn't fret too much about street crime. He looked quite capable of taking care of himself.

Fuzz rumbled. It wasn't a wamin&. The dust-bunny sounded inquisitive.

"I see." Lydia looked at the newspaper in Emmett's hand. "It really wasn't necessary to go out of your way to tell me that you've changed your mind about hiring me as a consultant. I already assumed I wouldn't get the job."

"Did you?"

"You, uh, indicated that you were real big on discretion. I sort of figured that what with the dead body and the cops and the evening headlines, you might conclude that discretion wasn't my strong point."

"Apparently not." He glanced back along the shabby hallway and then looked at her. "I would prefer not to continue this conversation out here in the hall. May I come in?"

"Huh?" At first she thought she had misunderstood.

"You want to come inside?"

"If you don't mind."

She flushed and hurriedly stepped back. "Oh, sure, sure. Please, come on in."

"Thank you."

When he moved into the foyer, he made no more noise than Fuzz did. That was where the resemblance ended, Lydia decided. Emmett London did not in the least resemble a dust-bunny blowing across the floor. There was nothing haphazard, fluffy, or scruffy about him.

He looked like someone who made his own rules. The expression in his uncompromising eyes and the severe lines of his face told her that he also lived by those rules. An ominous sign, she thought. In her experience, people who adhered to a rigid code were not particularly flexible.

Emmett studied Fuzz with a thoughtful expression as Lydia closed the door. "I assume he bites?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Fuzz is perfectly harmless."

"Is he?"

"As long as all you can see are his daylight eyes, there's nothing to be concerned about. The only time you have to worry about a dust-bunny is when he stops looking like a wad of dryer lint."

Emmett raised his brows. "They say that by the time you see the teeth it's too late."

"Yes, well—as I said, there's no need to be alarmed. Fuzz won't bite."

"I'll take your word for it."

The conversation was deteriorating, Lydia thought. She needed a distraction. "I just poured myself some wine. Will you join me?"

"Yes, thank you."

She relaxed slightly. Maybe he wasn't here to tell her that he was annoyed with her for getting him involved with the cops. Surely he wouldn't accept an offer of hospitality and then inform her that he was going to sue her and Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors.

Then again, maybe he would do exactly that.

"When I heard your knock, I thought you were my landlord." She went into the kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator, and removed the jug of wine. "I've been after him to get the elevator fixed. It isn't working—but I expect you noticed."

Emmett came to stand in the doorway. "I noticed."

"Driffield is a lousy landlord." She poured the wine into a glass. "I'm trying to get enough cash together to move soon. In the meantime, he and I are locked in an ongoing war. So far he's winning. I've given him so much trouble lately that I have a hunch he's looking for an excuse to evict me."

"I understand."

Oh, sure. She seriously doubted that anyone had ever tried to evict Emmett London, but she decided it would probably not be politic to say so.

"Enough about me," she said smoothly. "It's a dull subject. Let's go out onto the balcony. I've got a view of the ruins."

He followed her outside and carefully lowered himself into the other lounger.

It was amazing how much smaller her treasured balcony seemed with him occupying such a large portion of the limited space. It wasn't that he was an especially big man, she thought. He probably qualified as medium on most counts. Medium height, medium build. It was just that what there was of him was awfully concentrated.

She had a feeling that with Emmett, like Fuzz, by the time you saw the teeth it was too late.

In spite of having spent nearly half an hour with him this morning, she knew little more about him than she had when he'd called her office and made the appointment. He had told her only that he was a business consultant from Resonance City who collected antiquities.

"We didn't have a chance to finish our conversation this morning," Emmett said.

Lydia thought about Chester's body in the sarcophagus and sighed. "No."

"I'll come straight to the point. I need a good P-A and I think you'll do."

She stared at him. Apparently he wasn't going to sue her, after all. "You still want to hire me? In spite of the fact that I got you into the evening papers?"

"I'm not in the papers." He sampled the wine. "Detective Martinez very kindly refrained from giving my name to the press."

She whistled softly. "Lucky you."

"Luck had nothing to do with it."

She relaxed slightly. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm really very good at what I do."

"I'm glad to hear that." His smile lacked all trace of true humor. "It's not like I've got a lot of choice."

That gave her pause. She recalled Melanie's question that afternoon. Why hadn't he gone to the Society or to a classy museum to find a para-archaeologist?

She cleared her throat. "I don't want to talk myself out of a job, Mr. London, but you do seem to be, for want of a better phrase, financially comfortable."

He shrugged. "I'm rich, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, that's what I mean. Let's be honest here. With your money you could go to the Society of Para-archaeologists and pick a private consultant who has established a reputation with big-time collectors."

"I know," he said simply. "But I need one who isn't too particular."

She chilled. "Too particular about what?"

"About getting involved in the illegal side of the antiquities trade."

Lydia went very still. "Oh, damn. I knew you were too good to be true."

HE HAD NOT handled that well. Emmett realized his mistake immediately. Lydia looked as if she had been flash-frozen in her chair. She did not move so much as a single muscle.

The dust-bunny on her shoulder stirred, but since it didn't open its second pair of eyes Emmett figured he was safe for the moment.

Lydia's lagoon-blue eyes gleamed with anger, however. It was probably just his imagination or maybe a trick of the evening light, but he could have sworn that her red-gold hair had turned an even more fiery shade. Unlike the dust-bunny, she did look dangerous.

"Perhaps I should explain," he said gently.

"Don't bother. I get the picture." She narrowed her eyes. "You're under the impression that I'm a thief? That I deal in illicit antiquities?"

Obviously a bit of diplomacy was required at this juncture, Emmett decided.

"I think you have connections in the underground market here in Cadence," he said deliberately. "I need those contacts, and I'm willing to pay well for them."

She slammed down her wineglass. "I am not a ruin rat. I'm a respectable member of the Society of Para-archaeologists. Okay, so I haven't worked on any licensed excavation teams lately, but I am in good standing with the Society. I've got enough academic credentials to paper a wall, and I've worked with some of the most noted experts in Cadence. How dare you imply—"

"My mistake." He held up one hand to silence her. "I apologize."

She was clearly not mollified. "If you want to hire a thief, Mr. London, I suggest you go elsewhere."

"I don't want to hire a thief, Miss Smith. I want to find one. Preferably with as little publicity as possible. To do that, I figured I'd need someone who knew the underground side of the antiquities business."