Midnight Jewels

the hell was wrong with him? Maybe it was something he had eaten from the buffet table. But all he had had was a couple of slices of the smoked salmon and some crackers. There was the half glass of wine, but that was hardly enough to have this kind of effect. Besides, it had been an excellent Bordeaux, not some rotgut vinegar.
    Rotgut vinegar. That was a joke. As if Gladstone would serve anything but me best wine. Croft realized he was grinning. It was damned amusing when he thought about it. Gladstone serving cheap wine. What a scandal. Croft almost laughed aloud.
    A small sense of shock went through him. The last thing he wanted to do right now was laugh out loud. The whole idea was to make absolutely no noise at all. He was good at that kind of thing. He could tiptoe through a swamp full of alligators and never wake one of the beasts.
    What was it Mercy called him? A ghost. That was it. He'd go in like a ghost. Get in, get a close look at the inside of the vault and get out. If he didn't find anything he would slip upstairs to the study. Somewhere there had to be something in the house that would give him the answers to his questions. His gut instincts told him that Gladstone was Egan Graves. There were too many similarities in style. This business about being the chief patron for an isolated artist colony, for example. Too much like running a cult. And that voice. Ray Chandler had once told Croft that his daughter still talked about the compelling quality of her ex-guru's voice. Then there was Gladstone's obvious preoccupation with security. The Rocky Mountain estate reminded Croft in some ways of Graves' Caribbean setting. Except for the dogs. They were a new addition.
    There were a myriad other small hints and clues. Croft was sure Gladstone was a reincarnation of Egan Graves. All he had to do was prove it. As soon as he had, he would get Mercy away before doing anything more. Above all he had to take care of Mercy.
    The nausea faded again, leaving behind a strangely pleasant sensation. Croft tried to analyze the feeling. This lightheadedness wasn't quite normal. True, it had been three years since the last time he had had to play ghost, but he would never forget the feeling of all his senses working together in a faultless rhythm. He knew what the adrenaline rush felt like, remembered the exquisite, almost painful tension, recalled the exhilarating feeling of walking along the sharp edge of an abyss.
    He remembered all those feelings very well, just as he remembered his own deep fascination with them.
    But he was only getting bits and pieces of those sensations tonight. Everything seemed to be overlaid by this strange sense of easygoing, light-headed cheerfulness. And the cheerfulness was only occasionally interrupted by the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
    Croft drew in a deep breath, trying to suppress the abnormal giddiness. He should be feeling a lot of things, but not giddiness. Something was wrong. Under ideal circumstances he would have called off tonight's mission and postponed it until he had his body more completely under control.
    It was dangerous being out of control, he reminded himself wisely. He never allowed himself to lose that fundamental sensation of being completely in command of himself. Never.
    Except when he made love to Mercy.
    Every time he took her in his arms he was sure he would be able to handle himself and her. But it always ended in a storm of wild, uninhibited abandonment. He wished he understood what happened when he was around Mercy. It worried him that he couldn't explain his passions or his sense of protectiveness or the strange bond that seemed to link him to her.
    Well, she wasn't with him now. He had no excuse for feeling unsteady and unnaturally cheerful. Something was wrong, but it was too late to turn back. He had to get the answers that night. There wasn't going to be another opportunity. Even if he could have persuaded Mercy to stay another day or two he wouldn't have risked it. She was safe enough for the moment, but if Gladstone and Isobel were starting to ask questions, it was time to get Mercy out of these mountains.
    The last thing he wanted to do was put Mercy in real jeopardy. Finishing what happened three years before was important, but not more important than protecting Mercy. Mercy could get into trouble so easily.
    Croft smiled fondly as he thought about her penchant for recklessness. She definitely needed him to keep an eye on her.
    That thought