In Too Deep

And when I do screw up, I put people in danger.”
    “Now you’re talking about the Nightshade case, aren’t you?”
    “It’s not just Nightshade. Yesterday at the Zander house, if you hadn’t called me—” He stopped.
    “But I did call you,” she pointed out. “What’s more I had enough sense not to go into the basement alone. Give me some credit. I told you, I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”
    Energy heightened a little in the atmosphere. She knew that he had tapped in to his talent.
    He went to the counter where the industrial-size coffeemaker sat, picked up the package of ground coffee and started to fill the machine. He did not bother with a measuring spoon.
    “How, exactly, can you take care of yourself?” he asked.
    She leaned back against the sink and folded her arms. “That’s one of the things I admire about you, Mr. Jones. Your interrogation technique is so amazingly subtle.”
    He filled the machine with water. She noticed that his jaw was clenched.
    “I hope you’re not grinding your teeth,” she said. “That sort of thing leads to crowns and root canals.”
    “I’ve tried not to push you,” he said.
    “I know. You’ve been very patient, all things considered. You weren’t able to find out anything about me online, were you? Just my picture-perfect bio.” She could not conceal her pride. “Even the brilliant director of Jones & Jones hit a brick wall when he went looking for me. Am I good, or what?”
    He smiled wryly. “You’re good. I found a nice, neat narrative of your life all the way back to your birth and it’s all fake, isn’t it?”
    “Yep.”
    “I’ve known from the beginning that you’re running from something or someone.” He flipped the switch on the coffee machine. “You chose Scargill Cove as a hideout, and I’m pretty damn sure that wasn’t by accident.”
    “Coincidence?”
    “I’ve explained to you that we have this policy about coincidences at J&J.”
    “Right,” she said. “Out of curiosity, how long were you prepared to wait before you pounced?”
    “Pounced?” He looked baffled.
    “Before you started demanding answers,” she clarified.
    He watched the coffee fill the pot. “I was planning to wait a little longer, but given recent events, I think maybe now would be a good time for you to start talking.”
    She considered that. “Okay, but I really don’t see any connection between the discovery of the Bridewell curiosities and my presence here in the Cove. Aside from the fact that I have a talent for finding things, of course. I mean, it’s what I do. Even when I don’t want to do it, if you see what I mean.”
    “Talk to me, Isabella.” He looked at her with his shadowed, unreadable eyes. “I need some answers.”
    “I understand,” she said. “And now that I’ve worked with you for a while, I know that I can trust you. It’s not like I have a choice, anyway.”
    “Why is that?”
    “I knew the night I arrived in Scargill Cove that this was as far as I could run. I’m good at living off the grid, heck, I was born off of it. But it’s only a matter of time before they find me.”

    THEY SAT at their respective desks. Fallon swallowed some coffee and watched Isabella sip her green tea. He could see that she was composing herself, trying to decide where to start her narrative. He searched for a way in.
    “What did you mean when you said you were born off the grid?” he asked.
    She looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Ever heard of the Iceberg website?”
    “That bizarre conspiracy-theory website run by some nut who calls himself the Sentinel?” Fallon grimaced. “Sure, I know it. Some folks say I’ve got conspiracy issues, but I’m a piker compared to the Sentinel. That guy is so far over the horizon, he’ll never come back. He must have lost touch with reality long ago.”
    “Think so?”
    “He’s definitely looney tunes.”
    “So why do you monitor his website?”
    Fallon shrugged. “Because sometimes he hits on a nugget of solid information that I can plug in to one of my case files. Like they say, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. The problem with whatever I get from the Iceberg site is that the bits of good data are always tangled up in one of the Sentinel’s crazy wheels-within-wheels, circles-within-circles fantasies. Teasing out the truth can take hours of research. There is no logical foundation to the Sentinel’s theories and therefore no meaningful