Midnight Jewels (13 page)

Croft glanced at her expression as he started to take the luggage out of the car. "We could try to find another place farther down the line."

Mercy eyed the handful of cars in the parking lot. "We might as well stay here. It's getting late and mere's no guarantee any other place would be open. At least they've got a coffee shop. I'm starving."

Croft hesitated, then shrugged and started toward the tiny lobby.

Mercy suddenly remembered something. She trotted to catch up with him. "Two rooms, Croft."

He said nothing, didn't bother to look at her. He just kept striding toward the entrance.

"And I like to be on the second level," Mercy added forcefully.

"Any other requests?"

She didn't care for the cold tone of his voice. "Yes. See if they have a safe. I think I'd like to put
Valley
into it for the night."

He stopped abruptly and stared down at her. "Why in hell do you want to do
that? You haven't worried about keeping it in your apartment for me past few weeks. Why start fretting about it now?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "Maybe it's because this place is so rundown looking. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence in the staff, does it? No telling who's working here. I'll bet the locks on the doors are the kind you can open with a credit card. Women traveling alone learn to take precautions, Croft. If some joker decided to prowl my room looking for cash while I was asleep he might accidentally find
Valley
and take it on a whim."

"You wouldn't have to worry about that if you were sleeping with me."

His logic was unassailable, so she decided to twist it. "No," she agreed tardy, "I wouldn't. You're not me type to prowl motel rooms going through ladies' purses, are you?"

"Not on my good days."

The clerk behind the desk proved helpful and courteous, to Mercy's surprise. After he had assigned them their rooms, he accepted me paper wrapped copy of
Valley
and put it in the motel safe. The safe was an ancient tiling, but it looked solid enough, Mercy thought. She felt better knowing the nucleus of her business future was safely stowed for the night.

Over an uninteresting, distinctly greasy meal of hamburgers and fries in the empty coffee shop, Mercy attempted to keep up a cheerful conversation with Croft. But he hadn't been overly talkative all day and didn't appear inclined to change the situation now. Once again Mercy had the impression his mind was on other things. It was frustrating. It was also depressing.

So much for using this little jaunt to Colorado to get to know each other, she decided gloomily.

By the time Mercy crawled into the lumpy bed and turned out the light that had illuminated the plain, cheaply furnished room, she was seriously wondering whether anyone ever got to know Croft Falconer very well. She doubted it.

She lay in silence for a few minutes listening for sounds from the room next to hers. Croft had gotten the room next door. The walls were thin but other than plumbing sounds she couldn't hear any sign of him.

That was hardly surprising, she told herself. The man moved like a ghost. Mercy fluffed her pillow, turned on her side and closed her eyes.

Croft stood in darkness watching the shadows outside the motel room window. He had opened the window earlier in an effort to get some fresh air into the musty, damp smelling room. The pine and fir outside sighed in anguish. Mercy was right, he thought in fleeting amusement. The trees did make weird sounds. They also cut off most of the starlight that tried to filter through them. The darkness on the forest floor was very thick.

But unlike Mercy he didn't find the heavy darkness oppressive. He could understand her instinctive reaction. She was a creature of the light. Glowing, transparent, vibrant with color. He, on the other hand, was a creature of the night. He comprehended darkness, knew it on an intimate level, used it, acknowledged it, accepted it.

Half an hour before Mercy had finally settled down to sleep. He had listened to her rustle around the room, cataloging each sound and noting it as a part of her bedtime ritual. He had paid particular attention when he'd heard her open the suitcase. He could just imagine her taking out a prim, full-length nightgown.

Then he had listened with a sense of pleasant anticipation as she opened a closet door. She would be taking off the bright papaya colored shirt she had worn, unbuttoning it quickly and revealing the sweet curve of her breasts. The chill in the room probably caused her responsive nipples to tighten.

Next had come the jeans. He had heard her step out of them and had drawn a mental image of her nicely rounded rear clad only in filmy panties. In a moment the panties had followed the jeans. He had heard the slight, unbalanced movement she'd made when she had caught hold of the closet door to steady herself while she pulled them off. Then she was naked. He had imagined the way the light brown triangle of curls at the apex of her legs would have gleamed in the dull light from the overhead fixture.

The pleasant anticipation had given way to frustration as Croft had listened to Mercy climb into bed. His barely contained desire had made him restless.

Now, as he stood near the window, he contemplated letting himself into Mercy's room and joining her in bed. She would be drowsy and soft with sleep, not really in any condition to lecture him on the proper course of their relationship.

Relationship.

It occurred to him he didn't like the word. Probably because he didn't completely understand it. It was too vague, too imprecise, and it covered too much territory. It was a word he couldn't fully comprehend or understand, a woman's word. A female could use it and pin any meaning
she wanted on it, leaving a man to flounder in search of a definition. Besides, it didn't begin to describe the bond that existed between himself and Mercy now that they had become lovers.

He remembered how she had surrendered completely in his arms and told himself that if he pushed just a little, she would do so again tonight. He liked that, liked knowing he could overcome her normal wariness.

Croft brushed aside the memories of how he had lost his own sense of control. It was easier not to think about that aspect of the lovemaking.

The tension in his body made him aware of the torture he was inflicting on himself. Deliberately Croft turned his mind to other matters. He was supposed to be working, he reminded himself grimly. The woman had a way of distracting him that was disconcerting and potentially dangerous.

Valley erf Secret Jewels
was the important thing at the moment. Croft frowned, thinking about Mercy's insistence on leaving it in the motel safe. He would have offered to keep it for her, but he had had a hunch she would have refused. She didn't like the notion that he was interested in
Valley
. It made her distrust him a little. He, in turn, hadn't liked the idea of her distrusting him, so he hadn't even brought up the possibility of giving him the book for safekeeping. It was all very convoluted when he thought about it.

Croft hadn't realized before just how complicated a "relationship" could get.

But one thing was clear: the more he thought about it, the more he disliked knowing
Valley
was sitting downstairs in
that poor excuse for a safe. And his reasons for disliking the idea had nothing to do with his relationship with Mercy. Instead, they were simple and logical.

If Gladstone was a legitimate collector, there was no problem. But if he was the man who had once called himself Egan Graves, then by now he would know
that Mercy was
not traveling alone. Gladstone the honest book collector would probably not mind that his dealer had brought along a male companion. Graves, however, would be alarmed.

If he were alarmed, or even merely curious,
Valley
might be in jeopardy downstairs in
that safe. The book would be more secure if Croft removed it from its present location and brought it back upstairs for the remainder of the night.

Croft made up his mind and turned away from the window. He would explain to Mercy in the morning that he had retrieved the book because he hadn't trusted the night clerk. Any clerk serving time in an out-of-the-way motel such as this one would naturally be curious about anything a traveler chose to put into the safe. Perhaps too curious.

Croft opened the door of his room without making a sound and silently moved down the hall toward the stairs.

Outside in the chilled darkness he discovered the motel's vacancy sign had been switched off for the night. The lights were also off in the motel lobby. Croft went up to the door and leaned on the bell. There was no echo from within and he assumed the clerk had probably disconnected it along with the flashing vacancy sign. Croft wondered if the motel's absentee landlord was aware of the minimal level of service available.

Then again, perhaps the landlord didn't mind. After all, there wasn't likely to be much traffic through this section of the mountains late at night in the summer.

Croft stepped back from the door, eyed the hinges critically and decided Mercy was right. This was the kind of place where the locks could be neutralized with a credit card.

A minute later he was inside the threadbare lobby, letting the door swing softly shut behind him. The odor of cheap wine assailed his nostrils immediately and Croft suddenly knew what the night clerk did for entertainment in the eve-nings. A faint snoring from a cot in the corner confirmed his conclusion.

The night clerk was out like a light. An empty bottle of cheap wine lay on the floor beside the cot. Croft made one attempt to shake the clerk awake and gave up in disgust. The guy had obviously found a surefire cure for insomnia. He wouldn't wake for hours.

Croft crossed the room and stepped behind the counter. The ancient safe stood on the floor of the small office, a hulking shadow in the darkness.

Croft opened only three desk drawers before he found the combination taped to the inside of one. Clearly security was not a major problem in this neck of the Colorado woods.

Mercy awoke with a racing pulse and a chilled feeling that seemed to be centered in the pit of her stomach.

For a moment she struggled to orient herself. Her mind refused to identify the strange surroundings and the uncomfortable bed for several vital seconds. Two facts were stark in her mind: this wasn't her apartment and something was very wrong.

Mercy lay still under the covers as the shadows of the motel bedroom gradually took shape. Slowly she regained control over her quickened breathing. This was ridiculous, she thought. She had lived alone much too long to wake up tense and afraid of the dark. Nothing was wrong. She was simply in a strange room. All she had to do was calm down and get her bearings. There was nothing to worry about. Croft was right next door, after all. One small scream would easily penetrate the thin walls.

Sitting up slowly, she clutched the sheet to her throat and wished that Croft were closer. She wouldn't have minded if
he were right there in the room with her. There was something very comforting about the thought.

Her pulse had slowed but still hadn't returned to normal. What on earth was the matter with her? she wondered. This wasn't like her.