Jayne Krentz: In Too Deep

Fallon felt something snap inside him. “It’s not that easy, damn it.”

“Hey, hey, calm down, cousin. Didn’t mean to shock you. I just assumed—”

“When it comes to Isabella, don’t ever assume anything.” Fallon surged to his feet, phone clenched in his hand. “You think it’s easy to marry her?”

“Well, Aunt Maryann approves of her. She told your folks that it was a perfect match. Naturally your parents told mine.”

“And now everyone in the family thinks I’m going to marry Isabella?”

“It would seem to be the logical next step,” Zack said, speaking carefully now.

“This hasn’t got a damn thing to do with logic.”

“With you, everything comes down to logic. Am I missing something in this equation?”

“People in Isabella’s family don’t get married,” Fallon said through his teeth.

“Some kind of religious thing?”

“Some kind of conspiracy theory thing. Marriages mean licenses. Isabella was raised not to leave a paper trail. She doesn’t even have a birth certificate.”

“So we’re just talking about a piece of paper?”

Fallon exhaled slowly, forcing himself to regain control. “I’m overreacting here, aren’t I?”

“You do sound uncharacteristically emotional,” Zack agreed. “But you’re a Jones and you’re in love. We get emotional about this kind of stuff in our family.”

“It’s not just the license,” Fallon admitted after a while. “I don’t want her to stay with me out of gratitude or pity.”

“Gratitude? Pity? Trust me, Fallon, a lot of people feel a lot of things when it comes to you, but gratitude and pity are rarely on the list. Why would Isabella feel either?”

“Can’t talk about it right now. Got work to do.”

“Wait, don’t hang up.”

“Serves you right after all the times you hung up on me when you were working as a contract agent for J&J.”

Fallon cut the connection and went to the window. From that angle he could see most of the counter inside the Sunshine. Isabella was no longer inside the café. She must have finished her morning break and must have now been on her way around the corner to the grocery store. She would spend a few minutes chatting with Harriet Stokes while she collected the mail.

She’s okay.

But his Jones intuition was riding him hard now, lifting the hair on the nape of his neck. He needed to find Isabella. There was no logical reason to take the gun, but he pulled out the lowest drawer of the desk and picked up the weapon and the holster.

He buckled the gun in place, took his leather jacket off the wall hook and went to the door. He would just amble down the street to the grocery store and intercept Isabella when she emerged with the mail. They could have another cup of coffee and tea together at the Sunshine.

The computer pinged. Something important had just come in. He went back across the room to see the new data that had arrived.

I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs , he thought morosely. I respond to that damn ping the way the animals did to a bell. I start salivating. My reward is another dot of light on the paranormal grid instead of some kibble, but that’s the only difference. I’m a creature of habit and a lousy conversationalist. Even the bad guys get bored listening to me. What was it Garrett said? Not a lecture on para-physics. Just shoot me now.

Why would Isabella want to marry him even if she didn’t have a phobia about licenses and paper trails? Great. Now he was feeling sorry for himself.

The encrypted message was from Max Lucan. The buyer who commissioned the delivery of the mirror showed up at the motel where Garrett was staying. Sander Clay. The name should ring a few bells. He’s the CEO of Clay Tech Industries. Turns out the Feds have been watching him for months because they think he’s involved in illegal arms dealing (the normal kind). My people grabbed him when he tried to terminate Garrett. Got it all on video complete with sound. Turned everything over to the FBI. Garrett is talking as fast as he can. He even admitted to killing Caitlin Phillips.My work here is done. Any luck on your end?

Fallon straightened. He did not have time to respond to the query. The need to find Isabella was escalating.

He was heading back to the door when another ping sounded. He wanted to ignore it, but his intuition told him something important had come in.

The new e-mail was from the head of security at the L.A. Arcane museum. . . . Can confirm that the entire staff submitted to a Q&A with Clare Lancaster Jones, the lie detector-talent you recommended. Everyone passed with flying colors. The list of names is attached. I’m at a loss to explain the theft of the mirror. A full inventory is currently being conducted to determine what other artifacts, if any, were stolen....

The sense of urgency was pushing adrenaline through his veins, but he desperately needed answers. He pulled up the list of museum employees who had passed the psychic version of a lie detector test and compared it with the list he had ordered from the museum’s personnel department.

There was one name on the list of employees that was missing from the list of people who had submitted to Clare’s Q&A.

Lights lit up all over the grid as the connections slammed into place. He now knew who had sold the Quicksilver Mirror and, most likely, a number of other artifacts on the black market. But first he had to get to Isabella.

He went down the stairs to the empty first floor. When he reached the street, he headed for the grocery store.

Harriet Stokes was at the counter. She looked up from a gardening magazine when Fallon entered.

“Morning, Fallon. How’s it going?”

“Fine.” Fallon looked around, taking in the shelves of canned goods, the small freezer section and the bins of bulk nuts and grains. “Where’s Isabella?”

“Haven’t seen her yet this morning.” Harriet put down the magazine. “Expect she’s over at the café having coffee with Marge and Violet and Patty. Everyone in town wants to know how Cinderella got on at the ball.”

“What ball?”

“That would be the one which required a fancy dress and glass slippers.”

“What are you talking about?” Fallon headed for the door. “Never mind. I don’t have time now.”

He went outside and cut back across town to the Sunshine. When he yanked open the door, Marge, Violet and Patty stared at him.

“Where’s Isabella?” he asked.

Marge frowned. “She left a while ago. Said she was going to pick up the mail.”

Fallon went cold. “She never made it to the grocery store.”

Violet smiled. “Take it easy. She said she was going to check up on Walker first. She was a little worried about him for some reason.”

“Son of a bitch.”

He broke into a run, heading toward Walker’s cabin on the bluffs. He was dimly aware of Marge, Violet and Patty following him. Other people peered curiously out of doorways and shop windows.

When he went past the Scar, Oliver Hitchcock came out of the front door.

“Hey, Jones, what’s up?” he shouted.

“Isabella,” Fallon said. “She’s in trouble.”

The crack of thunder and the flash of lightning announced the rain.

By the time he reached Walker’s cabin, he was thoroughly soaked. He did not feel the cold. An icy psi fever was burning in him.

He went up the steps and pounded on the door.

“Isabella. Walker. Open the damn door.”

There was no response. He was about to kick in the door when he discovered that it was unlocked.

The utter emptiness of the interior of the cabin gave off the ominous vibes of violence. He could feel it in his bones. He wanted to howl his rage into the teeth of the storm, but he made himself take a couple of minutes to search the cabin.