In Too Deep

let me have any fun on the job.”
    “Not true. I let you find a serial killer and some dead bodies, didn’t I?”
    “Well, there is that.” She plucked two more hors d’oeuvres off the tray. “You’ve got to try one of these little puff pastry thingies. They’re yummy.”
    “Thanks,” Fallon said.
    He took a canapé in one hand, nodded briefly at the small crowd watching the scene and wrapped his other hand around Isabella’s arm. He ate the puff pastry as he steered her toward the glass doors that opened onto the terrace.
    “Good, aren’t they?” Isabella said.
    “Not as good as Marge’s muffins.”
    “No,” she agreed. “Nothing else is that good.”
    “Except your grandmother’s ginger soup.”
    “Except for that.”

23
    T hey stood at the terrace railing and looked out at the night. The towering red rocks that gave Sedona so much character were transformed into dark, looming monoliths beneath the crystal-sharp moon. Isabella shivered a little with a bone-deep awareness.
    “It’s true what they say about this place,” she said. “You really can feel the energy.”
    “It’s not a nexus because it lacks ocean currents, but it definitely has its own kind of power,” Fallon agreed. “There are several vortexes in the region.”
    “I can see why the Society likes to hold some of its meetings here.”
    “Trust me, Zack and the Council didn’t choose this location just because it sits on a vortex site.”
    “No?” She glanced at him. “Why, then?”
    “Because it’s got a certain reputation. Notice all those brochures in the lobby advertising vortex tours, crystal healing and spiritual guides?”
    “I see what you mean. You can hold a convention of psychics here and no one will think it’s weird.”
    “It’s called hiding in plain sight,” Fallon said.
    She shivered again, this time because of the chill in the air. “It’s a lot colder than I thought it would be. This is supposed to be a desert.”
    “It’s January and the altitude here is forty-five hundred feet,” Fallon said. “We’re lucky it’s not snowing.”
    “Leave it to you to know exactly why I’m freezing my rear off out here.” She folded her arms around herself. “I should have thought to check the weather report when I packed for this trip. Guess I was a little too focused on the dress and shoes. I was so worried they wouldn’t arrive in time.”
    Fallon looked at the dress. “The dress is nice.”
    “Glad you approve, but don’t thank me until you get the bill.”
    “No problem. It’s a business expense.”
    “Right.”
    Nothing personal, she thought. It wasn’t as if he had bought the dress for her as a gift. Just a business expense.
    “The dress was pretty pricey,” she warned.
    He shrugged.
    “But not as expensive as using one of the Arcane corporate jets to get here,” she added.
    “Doesn’t matter.”
    “I had to spend some bucks on the dress because it’s hard to fake quality in a fancy evening gown, you see. But the shoes are a knockoff.”
    “Don’t worry about it, Isabella. Like you said, the jet cost a hell of a lot more.”
    “Okay.”
    He took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. It carried the warmth and scent of his body. She suddenly felt much warmer.
    “Thanks,” she said.
    He nodded once, dismissing the small act of gallantry and propped one foot on the low rock barrier that rimmed the terrace. He leaned forward, one arm braced on his thigh.
    She edged a little closer to him. He looked so sexy and so devastatingly masculine out here in the shadows, she thought. There was the distilled essence of the relentless avenger, the protector and the warrior in the energy that enveloped him. He was the kind of man you could always depend on, she thought. His word was his bond. Honor mattered to Fallon Jones.
    He moved one hand, slightly revealing the face of his black watch and one of the old-fashioned gold-and-onyx cuff links that secured the cuff of his crisp white shirt.
    “Did someone give you those cuff links?” she asked.
    He glanced down at his left wrist. “Family heirlooms. Once upon a time they belonged to Caleb Jones. They’ve been passed down the line to me.”
    “That’s nice,” she said. “Things like that help keep you in touch with the past. They remind you of who you are and where you came from and what you need to be.”
    “Yes,” he said.
    “Someday you can pass them down to your own son. Or daughter. No reason a woman