Джейн Кренц: Orchid

"Five hells." Rafe sounded thoroughly disgusted. "It's not romantic. It's a complete waste of everyone's time."

Orchid glowered at him. "Why are you complaining? You get paid to track down the thief, even though you obviously know who the culprit is before you even start. Sounds like easy money to me."

Rafe's jaw tightened. "It's not always quite that easy. George and Elvira go out of their way each time to fool me, too."

"Indeed we do," Elvira said. "Part of the game." She peered at Rafe. "Tell me, were you thrown off by any of the clues that I left behind this time?"

"The use of a miniature twin-blade saw to take apart the locked case gave me some pause."

"I hoped it would," Elvira sounded smugly satisfied. "It's Edison's trademark, not my own."

"Okay, I get the picture," Orchid said. "You and Mr. Yeager apparently have a longstanding competition going here, Mrs. Turlock. But what about the rest of these old books? You said that they were all stolen. Did you take them from Mr. Yeager's private collection, too?"

"Heavens, no, dear." Elvira smiled. "The rest of these were permanent acquisitions."

"Meaning she stole them from other private collections," Rafe muttered.

"I see. I think." Orchid eyed Elvira cautiously. "I take it that you are not unduly concerned about getting arrested, Mrs. Turlock?"

Elvira beamed. "Not bloody likely."

"May I ask why not?" Orchid glanced at Rafe. "I understand that Mr. Stonebraker contracted only to find Mr. Yeager's book, not to turn you over to the cops. He made that clear before we came here tonight. But what about the next private investigator or police detective who comes looking for a missing book?"

Elvira looked mildly astonished. "But, my dear, the only one I have to worry about is Stonebraker. No other private investigator or detective has ever discovered my little hobby of collecting old books. I'm a fine, upstanding member of the community. Who would suspect me? Except for Rafe, of course?"

She had a point. Orchid, herself, could hardly believe that the wealthy, socially prominent Elvira Turlock, who sat on the boards of most of the major philanthropic societies in New Seattle and whose brilliant parties were legendary, was a book thief.

"But sooner or later—" Orchid persisted.

"As she said, not likely." Rafe gave Elvira a knowing look. "Mrs. Turlock is careful to limit her acquisitions. She only steals from a highly select group of private collectors."

Orchid looked from Rafe to Elvira. "I don't understand."

"I acquire my books from collectors who are not in a position to go to the police." Elvira waved a graceful, heavily ringed hand at the volumes in the glass cases. "Every one of the volumes that you see here had been previously stolen from someone else before I took it."

Orchid raised her brows. "I get it. You steal from other thieves who can't go to the cops because they would have to admit they had stolen the books first."

"Precisely." Elvira nodded approvingly. "It limits my risk. However, I have many of the same security problems as the other collectors who dabble in stolen books and art."

"In other words," Rafe said, "she has to worry about thieves too. Mrs. Turlock is in no position to go to the police, either."

Orchid nodded. "Hence the state-of-the-art security system in this chamber?"

"Indeed." Elvira smiled at Rafe. "I've just had it updated again. You might want to have a look at some of the new features. Quite clever, if I do say so myself."

A gleam of what could only be professional interest appeared in Rafe's gaze. "Thanks. I'd like that."

"The least I can do. But first you both must join me for coff-tea and dessert before you leave. After you phoned this evening, I had my chef prepare a very nice pear-berry tart. You're quite fond of pear-berries, as I recall."

"My favorite," Rafe said. "Very thoughtful of you, Elvira."

Orchid could hardly believe her ears. Now they were discussing fruit tarts just as though they were not all standing in the midst of several million dollars worth of stolen books.

"Excuse me," she said crisply, "but if you're finished with me, Mr. Stonebraker, I really should be on my way."

Rafe looked at her with unwavering eyes. "But I'm not finished with you, Miss Adams."

A chill of awareness shot through her. It was suddenly very difficult to look away from that intent, icy stare. From out of nowhere, she was struck with an almost overwhelming urge to run but she did not think she could move if her life depended on it.

This was how a moose-deer that has just been singled out of the herd by a predator feels, she thought suddenly.

What was wrong with her? She was mildly claustrophobic but the underground gallery had not bothered her until now.

A tingling sensation wafted across the metaphysical plane, ruffling all her senses, psychic and otherwise.

Belatedly she recognized the faint shimmer of paranormal energy being actively projected. Talent seeking a prism.

An instant later, it vanished. But not before Orchid recognized Rafe's unique brand of psychic power. She did not know if he had meant to intimidate her with a flash of raw strat-talent or if the fleeting contact had been accidental. She strongly suspected the former.

Primal fear metamorphosed into outrage. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Sorry." Rafe turned his attention to the nearest bookcase. "It was an accident."

Elvira glanced quizzically from one to the other. "Something wrong?"

"Not at all." Orchid managed to summon what she hoped was a cool, professional smile. "Mr. Stonebraker let a bit of talent slip on the psychic plane. I thought perhaps he wanted to focus, but apparently he just lost control for a moment."

She glanced at Rafe out of the corner of her eye. Touche, she thought when she saw his stoic expression. She could have sworn that he blushed. She knew she had embarrassed him.

Any man endowed with Rafe's monumental degree of arrogant self-mastery would naturally be chagrined by the condescending assumption that he did not have complete control of his psychic talent. But he could hardly argue the point. If he denied it, he would be tacitly admitting that the flash of strat-talent had been deliberate. And that would mean that he had meant to intimidate her.

"I see." Elvira dismissed the event with a charming smile and turned to walk off down the gallery hall. "As long as you're here, why don't I show the two of you the rest of my collection? For obvious reasons, I rarely have the pleasure of allowing others to view it."

Orchid avoided Rafe's gaze. Perhaps the brief pulse of power had been an accident, she thought. Or perhaps she was overreacting. She was tired, she reminded herself. Anxiety dreams, punctuated by the two full-blown nightmares, had disrupted her sleep for the past several days. And then, this morning, Morgan Lambert had phoned her with the news of Theo Willis's death.

It had not been a good week.

"I'm especially proud of my Fay histories of the second generation." Elvira paused to indicate a row of leather-clad spines. "Aren't they lovely?"

Orchid smiled. "I like those. Read them in high school."

Elvira gave her a knowing look. "I'm not surprised they appealed to you, dear. Rafe, however, is of the opinion that Fay romanticized the second generation colonists. Isn't that right, Rafe?"

"I don't care for the romantic style," Rafe said.

"Figures," Orchid grinned. "I'll bet you've never read any of my books, have you?"

His brows drew together in a disapproving frown. "No."

"Don't bother. You wouldn't like them. Much too romantic."

"Personally, I love your books, Miss Adams," Elvira said. "Indeed, I am collecting them. Legally, of course. I was so excited when Rafe told me you would be coming with him today. I would be delighted if you would autograph a book before you leave."