Midnight Jewels

you, Mercy. Not while we're there. It would be too risky."
    "You said that if I came up with a better idea you'd be open to it," she replied, feeling very uneasy.
    "You won't come up with a better idea. I've already thought the problem through. A better idea doesn't exist. I want to be certain that you're going to act the part of my woman for the next couple of days."
    "And if I don't agree?"
    "Then we'll cancel the whole trip right now."
    She was shocked. "You can't do that! This is my future we're talking about here. Don't you dare threaten me, Croft."
    "I've told you more than once, I don't make threats."
    The situation was infuriating but Mercy felt trapped. That morning she had tried to cut the emotional strings that seemed to bind her to this man's will, tried to tell herself he was using her and that she owed him nothing. But she knew now as she faced him across the table in the dingy little café that nothing about this situation was going to be simple or straightforward.
    And there were, heaven help her, some undeniable facts to take into consideration, not the least of which was that Croft had managed to instill unpleasant worries in her mind about the true identity of her valuable client. That alone was probably reason enough to take a companion with her to the Gladstone home.
    But she couldn't ignore the fact that Croft had misled her, or rather allowed her to come to some false conclusions. She didn't doubt for a moment that he had behaved within the framework of his own eccentric, strict, but honorable personal code. As far as he was concerned he had unfinished business to handle. He was determined to protect her even as he used her to follow the trail of
Valley of Secret Jewels
. In his own way he was doing his best to meet the obligations of honor and vengeance he felt he had to fulfill. She was forced to respect that even as it made her seethe.
    Set against the need to make certain the creator of the Society of the Graced was truly dead, Mercy supposed her desire to gain a toehold in the world of antiquarian books was rather unimportant to Croft. The best she could hope for was that Gladstone was the innocent, reclusive eccentric he appeared to be.
    "All right," she finally said, knowing there was no other choice. "We'll pose as lovers."
    The blazing forcefulness went out of his eyes in a single blink. When his lashes lifted again, Croft's hazel gaze was warm as his mouth tilted. "It shouldn't be too hard. That's exactly what we are. Lovers."
    Abruptly incensed Mercy yanked her hand from under his as he relaxed his grip- "Whatever else we are, we're not lovers. This trip is turning out to be nothing more than what it was originally planned to be: A business vacation, pure and simple." She shot to her feet, reaching down to collect her shoulder bag.
    "Mercy, don't try to deny our, uh,
relationship
. I won't let you pretend it doesn't exist." Croft was on his feet, picking up the grease stained check that had been dropped on their table earlier. He hurried after Mercy who was already several steps ahead.
    She swung around and noticed the bare table behind him. "Aren't you going to leave a tip?" she snapped, keeping her voice low so the waitress wouldn't overhear.
    Croft's eyes narrowed. "Why should I? She didn't bother to make the tea the way I asked. A tip is supposed to be given for good service. It doesn't make sense to reward lousy service. It only encourages more of the same."
    "Spare me your philosophy on the nature of punishment and reward. That woman is working minimum wage at most. I wouldn't be surprised if she's divorced and raising a couple of kids on whatever she earns here. From the looks of things she'll probably be stuck in this berg for the rest of her life. That's punishment enough for a bad cup of tea. Leave her a tip, Croft."
    He surrendered without a word and reached for his wallet. Mercy nodded once in satisfaction. Every time she was about to give up on him, she saw a small ray of hope. Croft could be managed. He could be pushed. He could be made to alter his ways. But a woman would have her hands full in the process.

    Following Gladstone's directions, Croft turned off the narrow mountain highway fifteen miles past the small cafe where they had stopped for breakfast. The new road was even narrower than the one they had left. It was obvious that keeping it in good repair was not a high priority for the State. Croft slowed the car to thirty miles an hour as the Toyota began to