Midnight Jewels

contained desire had made him restless.
    Now, as he stood near the window, he contemplated letting himself into Mercy's room and joining her in bed. She would be drowsy and soft with sleep, not really in any condition to lecture him on the proper course of their relationship.
    Relationship.
    It occurred to him he didn't like the word. Probably because he didn't completely understand it. It was too vague, too imprecise, and it covered too much territory. It was a word he couldn't fully comprehend or understand, a woman's word. A female could use it and pin any meaning she wanted on it, leaving a man to flounder in search of a definition. Besides, it didn't begin to describe the bond that existed between himself and Mercy now that they had become lovers.
    He remembered how she had surrendered completely in his arms and told himself that if he pushed just a little, she would do so again tonight. He liked that, liked knowing he could overcome her normal wariness.
    Croft brushed aside the memories of how he had lost his own sense of control. It was easier not to think about that aspect of the lovemaking.
    The tension in his body made him aware of the torture he was inflicting on himself. Deliberately Croft turned his mind to other matters. He was supposed to be working, he reminded himself grimly. The woman had a way of distracting him that was disconcerting and potentially dangerous.
    Valley erf Secret Jewels
was the important thing at the moment. Croft frowned, thinking about Mercy's insistence on leaving it in the motel safe. He would have offered to keep it for her, but he had had a hunch she would have refused. She didn't like the notion that he was interested in
Valley
. It made her distrust him a little. He, in turn, hadn't liked the idea of her distrusting him, so he hadn't even brought up the possibility of giving him the book for safekeeping. It was all very convoluted when he thought about it.
    Croft hadn't realized before just how complicated a "relationship" could get.
    But one thing was clear: the more he thought about it, the more he disliked knowing
Valley
was sitting downstairs in that poor excuse for a safe. And his reasons for disliking the idea had nothing to do with his relationship with Mercy. Instead, they were simple and logical.
    If Gladstone was a legitimate collector, there was no problem. But if he was the man who had once called himself Egan Graves, then by now he would know that Mercy was not traveling alone. Gladstone the honest book collector would probably not mind that his dealer had brought along a male companion. Graves, however, would be alarmed.
    If he were alarmed, or even merely curious,
Valley
might be in jeopardy downstairs in that safe. The book would be more secure if Croft removed it from its present location and brought it back upstairs for the remainder of the night.
    Croft made up his mind and turned away from the window. He would explain to Mercy in the morning that he had retrieved the book because he hadn't trusted the night clerk. Any clerk serving time in an out-of-the-way motel such as this one would naturally be curious about anything a traveler chose to put into the safe. Perhaps too curious.
    Croft opened the door of his room without making a sound and silently moved down the hall toward the stairs.
    Outside in the chilled darkness he discovered the motel's vacancy sign had been switched off for the night. The lights were also off in the motel lobby. Croft went up to the door and leaned on the bell. There was no echo from within and he assumed the clerk had probably disconnected it along with the flashing vacancy sign. Croft wondered if the motel's absentee landlord was aware of the minimal level of service available.
    Then again, perhaps the landlord didn't mind. After all, there wasn't likely to be much traffic through this section of the mountains late at night in the summer.
    Croft stepped back from the door, eyed the hinges critically and decided Mercy was right. This was the kind of place where the locks could be neutralized with a credit card.
    A minute later he was inside the threadbare lobby, letting the door swing softly shut behind him. The odor of cheap wine assailed his nostrils immediately and Croft suddenly knew what the night clerk did for entertainment in the eve-nings. A faint snoring from a cot in the corner confirmed his conclusion.
    The night clerk was out like a light. An empty bottle of cheap wine lay on the floor beside the cot. Croft made