Midnight Jewels (3 page)

"You would find it… unethical to sell to a higher bidder?"

"That's right," Mercy said quickly, not liking the new, even more intense interest he was displaying. She sought for a way to break the strange spell that seemed to be engulfing her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few more things to do before I close this evening. It's already after five." She deliberately moved down the aisle toward him, hoping he would take the hint and get out of her way and leave the shop. The fact that she was alone with him was making her nervous.

This was not the sort of man one wanted to encounter in a dark bookshop aisle or a dark alley, Mercy decided firmly. But she had no sooner finished phrasing the silent warning to herself than her mind leaped to the image of a dark bedroom. Impatiently she brushed aside the evocative mental picture of meeting
this man in such dangerous surroundings.

He didn't move as she moved bravely down the aisle. He stood at the end of the narrow corridor watching her. His stance was
both relaxed and balanced. Somehow his very stillness was as alarming as anything else about him. Less than two paces away Mercy was forced to hah. Her hands tightened around a couple of books she had picked up to reshelve as she began to seriously wonder just how dangerous he was. Ingatius Cove had very little crime, but an isolated shopkeeper at the end of a working day was always a vulnerable target.

"I said, will you please excuse me?" She put as much force as possible into the superficially polite query. Somewhere she had read one had to be confident and controlled when dealing with situations such as this. There was always the hope that one could bluff one's way out of danger. She mustn't lose her nerve. "You're in my way."

"I would like to see the book."

"It's not here."

"Where is it?" he asked with a patience that was unnerving because there was absolutely no indication of how long it would last.

Mercy swallowed. "I've got it at home. I didn't want to take a chance on anything happening to it here. It's rather valuable."

He stated at her for a minute, his hazel eyes pinning her. Then he nodded once, apparently coming to a decision. "All right. I'll go to your place. How far is it?"

Mercy hesitated, trying to figure out the safest course of action. "Not far. Walking distance." Once they were out on the street she would have a chance of calling attention to her situation, if she indeed was in a situation. Outside there were cars and pedestrians and other shopkeepers closing up for the night. She would feel much safer. "If you care to wait outside, I'll just be a minute."

He nodded again, that single, economical movement of his head, and then turned, walked to the end of the aisle and disappeared.

Mercy stared after him, holding her breath as she waited for the bell to sound, indicating he had actually left the shop. She couldn't believe it was going to be this easy after all. The part of her
that was convinced she was in jeopardy was still sending bursts of fight or flight signals through her nerves. But another part of her was perversely disappointed to see the stranger leave. She had never met a man who had such an instantaneous effect on her senses. It was a strangely beguiling, if perilous experience.

The bell didn't tinkle and she didn't hear the door open or close, but Mercy knew she was alone in the shop. Cautiously she walked to the end of the aisle and glanced out the window.

The dark stranger was out on the sidewalk, lounging easily against the fender of a black Porsche. His gaze was centered on the shop door as he waited for Mercy to emerge.

His brand of patience was that of a hunter waiting for its quarry.

Mercy sucked in her breath and set down the books she'd been holding. She darted toward the door, reaching for the dead bolt. Once she had him locked out she could either slip out the back way or call the police.

As if he had read her mind, the man moved, reaching the door before she did. The knob turned, the door slid open just far enough to admit the toe of his boot, and Mercy knew she had lost the short race. The bell overhead tinkled this time, which was absurdly reassuring for some reason. That shot of confidence united with the adrenaline in her blood to make Mercy abruptly angry.

"If you don't mind," she snapped, shoving the door against his foot, "this is my shop and I would like to lock up for the night. Get out of here."

He stared down at her assessingly. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?"

"Let's just say you aren't the sort of customer I like to encourage."

"It's all right, Mercy Pennington, you have nothing to fear from me. I just want to see the book. I won't hurt you."

Mercy opened her mouth to tell him that under the circumstances he could hardly expect her to believe that, but when she met his eyes the protest died in her throat.

For some groundless, totally illogical reason she
did
believe him. Somehow, she realized, she would know if she were truly in danger from him. The information would be there in his gleaming hazel eyes. At the moment she was safe. Mercy didn't know how she could be so certain of that, but she was. The strange sensation of having communicated with this man on a subliminal level went through her again, providing reassurance even as it raised odd questions.

Tense seconds ticked past as her gaze locked with his. Neither of them moved. There would be no harm in simply
showing him her precious copy of
Valley
, Mercy thought suddenly. Her hand fell away from the door.

"I'll get my purse," she muttered and turned back toward the counter. He stepped out onto the sidewalk as she moved away from him. It was the lack of music from the bell rather than the sound of it that warned her he was gone again.

When she emerged onto the sidewalk a moment later and closed the door firmly behind her, the bell chimed as brightly as ever. Her unusual customer spoke as she turned the key in the lock.

"Doesn't that damn bell annoy you?"

She glanced at him in surprise. "It lets me know when someone's entering or leaving the shop. It's not an annoyance, it's a warning."

"I would find it a definite nuisance. It's unnecessary. The sound it makes isn't even very pleasing. And there are other ways of knowing someone's around."

She had known he was around even though the bell hadn't rung when he had entered the shop the first time, Mercy reflected. She frowned. Then she dropped her keys into her red leather shoulder bag, letting them jangle as she did so. The small action was deliberate. She just knew that he would never jangle a set of keys. They would slide silently into his pocket.

"What I would like to know," Mercy announced with a touch of aggression as she set a brisk pace down the street, "is why that bell didn't make any noise when you were entering or leaving."

"I told you," he said, moving silently along beside her, "I don't like the sound it makes."

Mercy glanced at him sharply but he wasn't paying any attention. He was examining the deliberately quaint, tree-lined, unmistakably prosperous street. Most of the boutiques and shops were closed for the day. The storefronts were elegantly rustic, the goods in the windows discreet and expensive. The few cars that were still parked at the curb tended to fall into the BMW-Volvo-Mercedes category. The people on the sidewalk were casually dressed in polo shirts with little animals embroidered on them, designer shorts and name brand sport shoes. They looked sleek and healthy.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Mercy pointed out.

"My name is Croft Falconer."

"Where are you from, Mr. Falconer?"

"Call me Croft or Falconer if you prefer, but skip the mister. I'm from Oregon."

"I see. Then you really haven't come such a long way for
Valley
after all, have you? Oregon is just a three- or four-hour drive."

"Not all distances are measured in terms of miles."

She couldn't quite decide how to respond to such a cryptic comment so Mercy decided to change the subject. She was aware that she was no longer afraid of him, but she was very definitely feeling wary of the man. He didn't fit into any category of male she could identify and label. That fact was as intriguing as it was unsettling. "What about your car? Are you sure you want to leave it here on the street?"

"It should be reasonably safe for a while, don't you think? Ignatius Cove doesn't look like the sort of place where gangs start stripping cars on the main street five minutes after the sun sets."

"Well, no, but—"

"Don't worry about the car, Mercy."

"I won't," she assured him tartly. "After all, it's yours, not mine."

Mercy led the way for two blocks, past the small plaza and fountain at the end of the street, and then turned left, away from the view of the cove, to climb the bill toward her apartment. By the time she reached the end of the rather steep street, she was breathing a little heavily, as usual. The
walk home was definitely something of a workout. As she stopped in front of her apartment building she was well aware that Croft's breathing hadn't altered. The knowledge irritated her. The man must have
some
weakness, she rationalized.

"What is your field of interest, Croft?" she asked as she dug the keys back out of her purse.

He gave her a quizzical look. "My field of interest?"

"Your book collection," she said impatiently as she walked up the single flight of stairs that led to her second-story apartment. "You've come all this way to see
Valley
, so you must be a collector. What's your chief area of interest?"

He smiled for the first time. It wasn't much of a smile, just a faint lifting of the corners of his firm mouth. Mercy got the impression he didn't have a lot of experience in smiling. But it was a genuine smile and she was rather pleased with herself for having drawn it from him.

"You mean you want to know why I'm trying to obtain
Valley of Secret Jewels
?" he asked in mild amusement.

Mercy gave a small cough to clear her throat and opened her front door. "Well, it is a rather unusual specimen."

"It's erotica, pure and simple," he stated flatly. "Some of the best ever written."

"Yes." Mercy wasn't quite certain what else to say. Uneasily she remembered her earlier image of meeting Croft in a darkened bedroom. Talk about erotica. Deliberately she made herself ask the logical question. "Is that what you collect? Erotica?"

"No, Mercy. My interests lie in another direction."

"Which direction?" She turned just inside her doorway to face him, aware that she was feeling nervous again. She quickly tried to analyze her reactions and came to the conclusion that, while she wasn't physically afraid of him, she simply couldn't shake the dangerous frisson of sensual awareness he seemed to evoke in her.

She reminded herself that ghosts, even the ones that weren't actually threatening, always sent chills down the spine.

"I suppose you could say that my main field of interest is the philosophy of violence."

He walked through the door and closed it behind him before Mercy could assimilate the meaning of his words. She stepped back, automatically giving him room. Her eyes widened.

"Violence?" she whispered.

"I'm something of an expert on the subject."