Midnight Jewels

protection and they're individually every bit as valuable as the books. But even a relatively unimportant book like
Valley
goes in the vault."
    "I think you're putting too much emphasis on the importance of that vault," Mercy said uneasily.
    "I'm only putting a lot of emphasis on it because it's obvious Gladstone does. That business of being able to lock it from the inside interests me. It makes the vault a fortress within a fortress. A final retreat."
    "Or a prison." Mercy shivered, remembering her feelings of claustrophobia.
    "Yes," Croft agreed thoughtfully. "A fortress or a prison. But if Gladstone is really Graves, he will have made certain that he always has a way out. This time around he will be more cautious than ever."
    "Assuming this is Graves' second time around. Now tell me every single detail about your helicopter jaunt. Did Isobel make a pass?"
    Croft tilted his head to one side. "How did you know?"
    "Instinct. Thank goodness we're leaving tomorrow. The next thing you know, she'd be wanting to take you on a wildflower crushing expedition. What did she tell you?"
    "About what?"
    "About Gladstone. Come on, Croft, I know you didn't waste that whole trip playing slap and tickle with Isobel. Learn anything interesting?"
    "Not unless you consider the fact that Gladstone's apparently been impotent for the past three years interesting."
    "Not particularly. Did you believe her?"
    Croft shrugged. "Why not?"
    "Why not? I'll tell you why not. You may take my word for it. Isobel Ascanius is not the kind of woman who would stick devotedly by a man she no longer found useful in bed." Mercy tapped one nail on the marble counter top and frowned at her image in the mirror. "She's a smart woman and she's a beautiful woman. She could find another sugar daddy if she wasn't getting what she wanted from Gladstone."
    "Maybe she is getting what she wants from Gladstone. And maybe what she wants isn't sex," Croft suggested softly.
    "What more could she want besides sex and money?"
    "You really don't like the woman, do you?"
    "Nope."
    Croft smiled faintly. "I'll tell you what else she might be getting from Gladstone. Respect and power."
    That brought Mercy's head up sharply. "Respect for what?"
    "For such things as her skills as a pilot. I told her she was a good pilot this afternoon and you'd have thought I'd told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world."
    "And power? What kind of power?"
    "I'm not sure yet, but I'll tell you one thing. She's important around here, Mercy. She's not just a decorator item. Don't forget she was the one who found us that night in the pool. It wasn't Gladstone who responded to the alarm you tripped. It was Isobel."
    "And Dallas."
    "True, but I think we can assume Dallas and Lance are at the bottom of the hierarchy around here."
    Mercy considered that. "Okay, but I don't see where that takes us. So what if Isobel is something more than Gladstone's mistress? What's that prove?"
    "Nothing. It's just an interesting piece of the pattern." Croft moved away from the edge of the counter, rubbing his jaw. "I guess I'd better shave, huh?"
    Mercy couldn't resist. "Did Isobel complain about a five o'clock shadow?"
    "No." Croft began unbuttoning his shirt.
    "Croft, tell me what happened after Isobel made her pass."
    "Nothing." He removed his shirt and reached for his shaving kit on the counter.
    "Absolutely nothing?"
    "Absolutely nothing."
    "Good," said Mercy, satisfied.
    He caught her eyes in the mirror and arched his brows. "You believe me?"
    "Sure. In some ways, Croft, you're completely trustworthy."
    "But in other ways?"
    "In other ways you're as hard to pin down as a ghost. In fact, there are times when you bear a distinct resemblance to one."
    "A ghost?"
    "Yup. The only thing that makes me think you're not is that there are parts of you that are amazingly hard and substantial." Deliberately she let her eyes skim the territory beneath his belt buckle. Mercy tried to keep the assessing look cool, arrogant and casual, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks even as she made a point of heading for the door. She really wasn't very good at this sort of sexual provocation. It was the thought of Isobel making a pass at Croft that had driven her to such boldness. She was already regretting whatever imp had gotten hold of her tongue.
    Croft's hand snaked out, closing around the nape of Mercy's neck without any warning. He pulled her back against him and kissed her with deep thoroughness. His tongue