Midnight Jewels

comment so Mercy decided to change the subject. She was aware that she was no longer afraid of him, but she was very definitely feeling wary of the man. He didn't fit into any category of male she could identify and label. That fact was as intriguing as it was unsettling. "What about your car? Are you sure you want to leave it here on the street?"
    "It should be reasonably safe for a while, don't you think? Ignatius Cove doesn't look like the sort of place where gangs start stripping cars on the main street five minutes after the sun sets."
    "Well, no, but—"
    "Don't worry about the car, Mercy."
    "I won't," she assured him tartly. "After all, it's yours, not mine."
    Mercy led the way for two blocks, past the small plaza and fountain at the end of the street, and then turned left, away from the view of the cove, to climb the bill toward her apartment. By the time she reached the end of the rather steep street, she was breathing a little heavily, as usual. The walk home was definitely something of a workout. As she stopped in front of her apartment building she was well aware that Croft's breathing hadn't altered. The knowledge irritated her. The man must have
some
weakness, she rationalized.
    "What is your field of interest, Croft?" she asked as she dug the keys back out of her purse.
    He gave her a quizzical look. "My field of interest?"
    "Your book collection," she said impatiently as she walked up the single flight of stairs that led to her second-story apartment. "You've come all this way to see
Valley
, so you must be a collector. What's your chief area of interest?"
    He smiled for the first time. It wasn't much of a smile, just a faint lifting of the corners of his firm mouth. Mercy got the impression he didn't have a lot of experience in smiling. But it was a genuine smile and she was rather pleased with herself for having drawn it from him.
    "You mean you want to know why I'm trying to obtain
Valley of Secret Jewels
?" he asked in mild amusement.
    Mercy gave a small cough to clear her throat and opened her front door. "Well, it is a rather unusual specimen."
    "It's erotica, pure and simple," he stated flatly. "Some of the best ever written."
    "Yes." Mercy wasn't quite certain what else to say. Uneasily she remembered her earlier image of meeting Croft in a darkened bedroom. Talk about erotica. Deliberately she made herself ask the logical question. "Is that what you collect? Erotica?"
    "No, Mercy. My interests lie in another direction."
    "Which direction?" She turned just inside her doorway to face him, aware that she was feeling nervous again. She quickly tried to analyze her reactions and came to the conclusion that, while she wasn't physically afraid of him, she simply couldn't shake the dangerous frisson of sensual awareness he seemed to evoke in her.
    She reminded herself that ghosts, even the ones that weren't actually threatening, always sent chills down the spine.
    "I suppose you could say that my main field of interest is the philosophy of violence."
    He walked through the door and closed it behind him before Mercy could assimilate the meaning of his words. She stepped back, automatically giving him room. Her eyes widened.
    "Violence?" she whispered.
    "I'm something of an expert on the subject."

----
Chapter TWO

    She took the news well, Croft decided. It pleased him that she wasn't the kind to scream and have hysterics. Of course, he could have been more subtle. But he was still annoyed at the way she had tried to lock him out of her shop earlier, so he couldn't resist the chance to shock her.
    The fact that she had managed to draw such a response from him at all surprised him. Normally he did not allow himself to act on the basis of such minor emotional prods. He was accustomed to people acting uncomfortable in his presence. Sometimes they had good reason to feel that way.
    Mercy was still edging backward, probably heading for the kitchen where there was undoubtedly a back door. She was watching him alertly, waiting for him to pounce, but her eyes held a staunch challenge. She was no coward.
    "What exactly do you mean by saying you're an expert in violence, Mr. Falconer?"
    Croft sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. People were always reassured when a potential aggressor kept his hands out of sight. "I own three schools of self-defense. Two in California, one in Portland, Oregon."
    She blinked and relaxed slightly. "You mean you're an expert in judo or karate?"
    "Something like that," he