Midnight Jewels Read online

  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 coolly set mouth.

  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. Α 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. Α 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.”

  “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 halt. 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. Ignatius 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 stared 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. Ι 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 hill 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.”

  Chapter 2

  She took the news well, Croft decided. It pleased him that she wasn’t the kind to scream and have hysterics. Of course, he could have been more subtle. But he was still annoyed at the way she had tried to lock him out of her shop earlier, so he couldn’t resist the chance to shock her.

  The fact that she had managed to draw such a response from him at all surprised him. Normally he did not allow himself to act on the basis of such minor emotional prods. He was accustomed to people acting uncomfortable in his presence. Sometimes they had good reason to feel that way.

  Mercy was still edging backward, probably heading for the kitchen where there was undoubtedly a back door. She was watching him alertly, waiting for him to pounce, but her eyes held a staunch challenge. She was no coward.

  “What exactly do you mean by saying you’re an expert in violence, Mr. Falconer?”

  Croft sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. People were always reassured when a potential aggressor kept his hands out of sight. “I own three schools of self-defense. Two in California, one in Portland, Oregon.”

  She blinked and relaxed slightly. “You mean you’re an expert in judo or karate?”

  “Something like that,” he answered vaguely. “The method I teach is my own. It’s based on some ancient martial art techniques that most of the western world isn’t very familiar with.”

  She smiled suddenly, clearly relieved to be given a logical explanation. “That’s fascinating. I guess it explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “The way you move. The way y
ou seem to sort of, well, float. It’s very disconcerting.” She gave up trying to explain. “Never mind. I’ll get Valley. I’ve got it in a box in the kitchen closet. Remember, you’re welcome to look at it since you’ve come all this way, but it’s definitely not for sale.” She dropped her purse onto the sofa, turned and went into the kitchen.

  Croft stared after her, aware that he wouldn’t have minded more time with that smile. He liked the way it lit her eyes. She had very nice eyes. They were a green shade that mirrored her emotions with compelling clarity. It was like looking through a piece of translucent jade. In the short time he had known her he had seen everything from curiosity to fear in that gaze. He found himself wondering how Mercy’s eyes would reflect passion.

  Croft shook his head, a little startled by the direction of his thoughts. He was there on business, and when he was working he never allowed anything, especially sex, to distract him.

  Still, Croft acknowledged with his usual blunt honesty; he couldn’t deny that Mercy Pennington interested him. It wasn’t because she was exotically beautiful. He decided the earlier analogy to jade was appropriate for the rest of her. Jade was a subtle stone that rewarded only the careful observer.

  One had to study jade and get to know it thoroughly before one could properly appreciate it. The way it reflected light, its inner strengths and shadows, the way it warmed to the touch were all quiet manifestations of its character that were not obvious to the casual eye.

  But Croft had learned long ago to look carefully at that which interested him. And Mercy, for some reason, perhaps because of her connection with the book, definitely interested him.

  He guessed she was in her late twenties. She wasn’t tall, probably only about five foot five. A good seven or eight inches less than himself. Her hair reminded him of the tawny sections of his Rottweiler’s black and tan coat. It was a rich, warm shade of brown that made him want to put out his hand and stroke her. He wondered in silent amusement how Mercy would feel about being compared to his dog.