Midnight Jewels (2 page)

Five minutes later man and dog were loping easily across the glistening sand at the water's edge. The light and energy of a new day filled the air and Croft and the dog drank in the essence of
both as they covered the ground toward the distant point of land at the end of the beach. As his body fell into a strong, easy rhythm, Croft found his mind wandering to the one totally unknown and unpredictable piece in this new puzzle—Miss Mercy Pennington.

Mercy eyed the huge stack of romance novels and mysteries that had just been plunked down on the counter near the cash register. She tried to keep all hint of mercenary satisfaction out of her eyes as she smiled at the woman on the other side of the counter. Christina Seaton was an excellent customer. She could be counted on for a minimum purchase of twenty paperbacks a month. Mercy experienced a pleasant tingle of anticipation whenever Christina came through the door of Pennington's Second Chance. She told herself that only another small business person could fully understand the nature of her fondness for this particular client.

"Will that be all today, Christina?"

Christina grinned. At thirty she was a couple of years older than Mercy and had a freshly scrubbed attractiveness that perfectly suited her designer jeans, loose knit sweater and expensive loafers. "Are you kidding? My kids will have to go without shoes this month as it is."

Mercy laughed. Very few children in Ignatius Cove were in danger of going without shoes or anything else their little hearts desired. The small town north of Seattle was an enclave of prosperous, upwardly mobile types, most of whom worked in the city but preferred to raise their families in a
small town environment. Ignatius Cove had the best of both worlds. They were close enough to Seattle to enjoy its urban benefits, but they had all the fun and advantages of living in a self-consciously quaint village at the water's edge.

Mercy had been well aware of the distinctive qualities of Ignatius Cove from the moment she had discovered it. When she had begun searching for a place to open a bookstore two years before she had known exactly what she wanted: a community of the affluent and educated, potential book buyers who had the cash to indulge their interests. Ignatius Cove fit the bill perfectly.

Mercy didn't attempt to compete head on with the one other bookstore in town which specialized in newly released hardcover bestsellers and art books. Instead, she had gone for the thriving secondhand market, supplementing her large, well organized stock with popular, new paperback releases.

The mix had proven satisfyingly profitable. By the end of the first year Pennington's Second Chance had earned enough to ensure its survival. By the end of the second year of business, the shop was well established with a solid customer base. Mercy measured her success by the fact
that she was now removing the corks instead of unscrewing the caps of the wine bottles she opened at home.

"Dorrie says you're finally going to take a vacation next week," Christina observed as Mercy rang up her purchases. "It's about time."

Mercy smiled and her slightly tilted green eyes lit with pleasure. Automatically she lifted a hand to push an errant tendril of golden brown hair back behind her ear. "Part business and part vacation. I'm very excited about it. I came across an interesting old book in a box of junk I bought at the flea market last month. Turned out it had some value. I advertised it in a little antiquarian booksellers' catalog and within a few days a man in Colorado phoned to say he
wanted to buy it. I'm going to deliver it to him next week while I'm on vacation."

"You're going to take it to Colorado yourself? Isn't that service above and beyond the call of duty? Why can't you just mail it to the man?"

"He wants it hand delivered. He told me he doesn't trust the mail and this book is very important to his collection. He's been looking for it for some time, I gather. At any rate, he considers my trip expenses to Denver part of the purchase price of the book. He says he prefers not to travel."

"He's paying your way?"

Mercy nodded as she finished totalling the sale. "He said I was to fly first class, but of course I won't. He's being generous enough as it is. I'D fly to Denver and rent a car to drive to his place in the mountains. I get the feeling it's quite a remote location. He's invited me to stay at his place for a couple of days. After that I'll take a leisurely trip through the Rockies and end up back in Denver. I'll fly home from there."

"Hmm. This sounds interesting. Young or old?"

"Who?"

"Your customer," Christina said impatiently. "Is he young or old?"

"Oh." Mercy wrinkled her nose slightly, thinking. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure. He sounds very charming on the phone. Has a great voice. Cultured, if you know what I mean, but I can't tell how old he is for certain. Maybe somewhere in his forties."

"A little old for you, but not too far beyond the realm of possibility. A woman has to be flexible these days."

Mercy smiled. "Whatever his age, he's definitely not too old to spend a fortune on a book. He had the money wired into my account yesterday."

Christina burst out laughing. "You're too young to let money replace romance in your life."

"Don't you believe it. Running a small business ages a person in a hurry. The money he paid for
Valley
is going to pay the rent on this shop for several months. What's more, he hinted he might be talked into throwing in a couple of books from his private collection as part of the purchase price. I could turn around and advertise them the same way I did the first one. I'd actually be dealing for real in antiquarian books. That's the classy end of the used book business."

"I can see it now." Christina narrowed her eyes as if seeing a glowing sign in the distance. "Mercy Pennington, dealer in rare books."

"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Mercy acknowledged happily. "First editions, private printings, beautiful eighteenth century bindings, copper plate illustrations. Definitely high class."

"Does that mean I'll have to start shopping somewhere else for my romances and mysteries?"

Mercy laughed. "Not for quite a while. It takes a great deal of money and a lot of time to get into the rare book business in a big way. Even if everything goes well with the sale of this book I found I'm going to be selling paperbacks for a long time to come. The rare book business will be a sideline. For a lot of dealers it never gets beyond that point."

"Well, good luck to you. And enjoy the trip to Colorado. Is Dorrie going to handle the shop for you while you're gone?"

Mercy nodded. "I think she's looking forward to being in charge for a full week. I've never left her alone here for longer than a couple of hours." Actually,
that was an understatement. Dorrie Jeffers was positively elated at the prospect of running Pennington's Second Chance by herself. After several months of part-time work, she was eager for the opportunity.

"That's exactly why you need this vacation. You treat this place as if it were your first born. You're much too devoted
to it. You need to get away from it for a while." Christina took the paper sack full of books from the counter and turned to leave. "Have a great trip and drive carefully. Those roads in the Rockies are something else."

"I'll be careful."

"And take a good look at your customer. Do yourself a favor. Try to see him as something more than a means of launching your new career in the rare book business. You never know. He might be a sexy recluse just waiting for the right woman to come along and take him out of the mountains."

"Somehow I doubt that. Why are you always so eager to see me married, Christina? Haven't you been reading those studies that show that single women are happier than married women?"

Christina grinned. "Us married types can't stand to see you single types so happy and prosperous and independent. Ruins the image of marriage. Besides, misery loves company. Take care, Mercy. I'll see you when you get back." When she opened the door the little bell overhead tinkled merrily.

Mercy waited until the bell was silent and then walked around the counter to finish straightening some shelves at the back of the shop. The place was empty and it was almost time to close for the day. She started thinking about dinner.

There was a package of buckwheat pasta in the cupboard at home. And she was almost certain there was still some pesto sauce in the freezer. There was also a bottle of zinfandel resting in the wire wine rack in the corner of her kitchen. The long summer evening stretched out before her and it was, after all, Friday. Friday was always deserving of some sort of celebration, even though she would be opening the shop again the next morning. Six-day work weeks were normal for small business entrepreneurs. After two years of working them, Mercy was accustomed to the hours.

When she left for Colorado on Monday morning she would be taking her first real vacation in two years.

Not everyone would count the trip as a vacation, Mercy reflected wryly. After all, it was definitely a business venture. But she was as excited as if she were about to embark on a cruise. The sale of
Valley of Secret Jewels
was a milestone in her new career as a bookseller. A whole new world was opening up to her. If she played her cards right, she would actually be entering the rarified atmosphere of antiquarian book dealership. Ignatius Cove had been good to her.

Life had changed a lot in the past two years, Mercy thought with satisfaction. Exactly two years earlier she had been learning how appalling her judgment in men was. She'd been busy canceling wedding plans and quitting her job in a public library. Now she was far more cautious with men, happily single and successfully established in a new career.

Mercy's thoughts returned again to dinner as she stretched on tiptoe to reach a book high on the shelf. Her fingers closed around the volume when she suddenly had the strange feeling that she was being watched. The sensation was unnerving, especially since the bell over the door had not rung as it was designed to when anyone entered the shop. She knew with a sudden, sure instinct that she was no longer alone. Mercy went very still.

"I'm looking for Mercy Pennington."

Mercy yelped and spun around. A man stood at the end of the long aisle of books. Her first impression was of darkness… unsettling, overwhelming darkness. Her shop had been invaded by a midnight phantom, a lean, somber ghost with hair the color of a raven's wing. He wore black chino trousers, low cut black boots and a black twill shirt that was open at the throat. Even the sound of his voice
invoked the night and all its mysteries. The echo of her own name was as deep and dark as the bottom of the sea.

Only his eyes offered a sense of light. They were a strange shade of hazel set in a bronzed face. The intelligence in his gaze was coupled with a strangely detached quality that was disturbing. Mercy looked into his eyes and wondered how any man could achieve such a degree of deep, remote calm.

She wondered what it would take to put ripples into the quiet seas of such eyes. Some primitive, feminine part of her longed to discover the secret. For a tempting instant Mercy found herself wanting to slap the man or kiss him to see if she could jar that remote expression.

Mercy was shocked when she realized that her reaction was a direct response to her attraction to this stranger, which had sprung into life without any warning. Never in her life had she met a man who had instantly awakened such a violent sense of awareness within her. The feeling was so strong and unsettling she clutched the nearest shelf for support.

She imagined he must be in his mid-thirties, perhaps older. His face was fierce angles and planes; high cheekbones, a rock hard jaw, an arrogant nose. No softness anywhere. But he stood in front of her with a poised, almost erotic grace that seemed to assault her senses.

His mouth was a firm, unyielding line. That mouth should have promised a total lack of emotion, but for some reason Mercy got just the opposite impression. She saw the potential for emotion there, saw too that it was under a rigid self-control. The problem was she couldn't begin to tell if it was passion or violence
that lurked beneath the surface of his cooly set mourn.

Any emotion this man chose to focus on a woman would be overwhelming, Mercy thought. She shook off the paralyzing awareness.

"I'm Mercy Pennington. You startled me. I didn't hear
you come in." She took a firm grip on her shaken nerves. "The bell over the door must be broken."

The man glanced back toward the door. "It's not broken."

"But it always rings when the door opens."

He shrugged. "It didn't this time." He dismissed the matter completely. The mystery of the non-ringing bell was obviously not a mystery to him. "If you're Mercy Pennington, then you have a book for sale. I would like to examine it, and if it's the one I want I'll meet your price, whatever you're asking."

"A book?" Her mind went blank. Something about this man was totally disorienting. He was asking her about a book, but she had the oddest sensation they should be talking about far more personal, more important matters. A flickering feeling of communication went through her. It was as if she already knew him on some level, though she didn't even know his name. "I've got hundreds of books for sale."

"Burleigh's
Valley of Secret Jewels
. I've come a long way for it."

He made it sound as though he'd come from the outer reaches of Hades. "Oh,
that
book." Relieved that this whole thing was going to be over very quickly, Mercy rushed on with the news. "I'm sorry, I've already sold it." She smiled brightly. "It's unfortunate that you had to drive out of your way for nothing."

His hazel eyes narrowed. "When did you sell it?"

"A couple of days ago. A man in Colorado phoned and said he'd take it sight unseen."

"Has he picked it up yet?"

"Well, no, as a matter of fact, but—"

"I'll top his offer."

Mercy was nonplussed. "I couldn't sell it out from under him. That would be unethical. He's already paid me for
Valley
and I've promised to deliver it to him."