Gift of Gold

linguini with prawns.
    It was then that Verity saw the blood. It welled from the man’s chest, mingling with the linguini and turning the white cream sauce a sickly shade of red.
    Verity halted in shock. No one bled like that from a heart attack. Her mind whirled as fear and a terrible sensation of violence swirled around her. Writhing tendrils of emotion leaped from the image and dived toward her.
    Verity turned to run and collided with Jonas. He grabbed her wrist, his eyes narrow and grim as he looked at the flickering, fading scene behind her.
    “It’s okay,” he said roughly. “It’s okay, honey. I’m releasing the dagger. We’re out of here.”
    An instant later the half-formed corridor and the dying man at the dinner table popped out of existence in Verity’s mind. She opened her eyes and nearly lost her balance. Automatically she reached out to steady herself and found herself grabbing Damon Kincaid’s arm.
    “I beg your pardon?” Kincaid, who had been watching Jonas with close attention, glanced down at Verity’s hand on his arm. “Something wrong, Miss Ames?”
    “No, nothing.” She took a deep breath and tried another of the smiles Jonas had instructed her to apply. “I just felt a bit dizzy for a moment. I haven’t eaten today. Time for lunch.” She let go of Kincaid’s expensive jacket sleeve. Across the room, Jonas had restored the dagger to the wall. He was watching her with a furious glint in his eyes as she freed their host’s arm.
    Kincaid glanced at the thin gold and steel watch on his wrist. “You’re right,” he said jovially. “It is almost lunchtime. I would be pleased if the two of you would allow me to take you out to a meal as a thank-you for bringing the duelers here to my office.” He looked at Verity, not Jonas, for an acceptance of his invitation.
    Verity, still reorienting herself, looked at Jonas for guidance. She didn’t want to kill a potential deal by making the wrong choice here.
    Jonas took immediate command of the situation.
    “No, thanks,” he said coldly. “Verity and I have to be on our way. We’ve got a lot to do today. Are you ready, Verity?”
    “Yes, Jonas;” she said meekly, trying out the sweet smile again. She was curious to see if it had any direct effect on him the way it seemed to have had on Kincaid.
    “Let’s go.” He closed the mahogany pistol case and started for the door. He appeared to be totally unaware of Verity’s fluff-brained smile.
    “Just a moment,” Kincaid said as they reached the door. “You didn’t give me your final verdict on the dagger. Still think it’s a phony now that you’ve had a chance to handle it?”
    “It’s not sixteenth century,” Jonas said from the doorway. “More like 1955. Excellent work, but definitely a reproduction.”
    Kincaid’s mouth hardened. “You must be mistaken.”
    Jonas shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He started to close the door and then paused one last time. “If I were you, though, I’d be careful about dealing with whoever sold that dagger to you.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “For one thing, he sold you a reproduction. For another, I get the feeling his acquisition technique is a little crude.”
    “What the devil are you talking about?” Kincaid looked furious.
    “Forget it. Probably just some minor professional jealousy on my part. After all, he got a fortune out of you for a fake and I couldn’t even sell you a genuine set of pistols. Goodbye, Mr. Kincaid.”
    Kincaid stared at the door as it closed. He was torn between rage and a deep sense of danger. He stabbed the intercom on his desk.
    “Get Hatch in here.”
    “Yes, Mr. Kincaid.”
    Hatch appeared almost immediately, his colorless eyes blandly inquiring. “Yes, sir?”
    “Get hold of Gelkirk. I want him here in one hour.”
    “The appraiser? I’ll call him immediately.”
    William Gelkirk scuttled nervously into Kincaid’s office forty-five minutes later. He was a rotund little man with a fringe of hair surrounding a bald head and small eyes that looked out at the world through thick lenses. Kincaid found him irritating, fussy, and boring, but there was no doubt that Gelkirk was one of the finest authorities on sixteenth-century armor on the West Coast. He had appraised a few items for Kincaid in the past, but Kincaid had not consulted him about the dagger.
    Kincaid had been very certain of the dagger’s authenticity. After all, he had removed it himself from the vault the night he had calmly