Midnight Jewels

led immediately into another. A mental picture of Mercy lying nude on a field of wildflowers formed in his mind. She was so damn sexy, so warm and soft and inviting and she didn't even realize it.
    Croft shook his head again, trying to force the stray, disrupting images from his head. What the hell was the matter with him? He was getting hard, for crying out loud. This was all wrong. Normally he never had any trouble clearing his mind for this kind of work. He had to be able to focus everything on the task at hand. It was the only way to assure the degree of mind-body coordination needed. He couldn't afford to distract himself with images of making love to Mercy.
    Christ. He was going to screw this up if he didn't get hold of his erratic thoughts. With a sudden grimness Croft tried to concentrate on regaining his customary physical, emotional and mental control. He had spent years training himself to be in control regardless of what was happening around or inside him.
    Another wave of nausea interrupted the process. It only lasted for a few seconds this time, however. At least he seemed to be getting some form of control over his stomach. Must have been the salmon. Hell of a time to get food poisoning.
    Funny, he understood why his stomach might be feeling queasy if he had gotten some bad fish, but he had never heard of a food poisoning victim enjoying this pleasant euphoria. This was almost like being drunk.
    But he never got drunk.
Never
. He had never allowed himself to become what his father had become, not even for a few hours. He didn't dare. He knew his limits and respected them strictly. And it had only been half a glass of wine from a bottle Dallas had used to pour drinks for several other guests.
    Croft glanced around, vaguely aware that the overhead lights had been turned off before he had entered the garden room. The swimming pool still glowed faintly. He caught glimpses of it as he moved along the path toward the vault room. The garden itself had a weird green shadowy ambience because of the lamps that had been left on under the leaves. All in all, a nicely exotic effect. Should appeal to the artsy crowd upstairs. Too bad there was no one there besides himself to enjoy it.
    It might be fun to make love to Mercy in the middle of a tropical forest.
    Croft came through the far side of the garden and leaned heavily against the glass doors that opened onto the vault room. He could see the heavy metal door sealed shut in the wall. When he pushed against the glass doors he was amazed by how heavy they seemed. He hadn't noticed their weight the night before.
    Once inside the room, he made straight for the sealed vault. He had to stop and think about the technique he had used the previous night to unlock it. He knew on some level of awareness that he shouldn't have had to pause while he tried to recollect the method. He had memorized it, after all. He had wanted nothing to slow him down now. Slowly he pulled the delicate little tools out of the seam of his shirt.
    For an instant he stood, swaying slightly and staring down at the small lock picking implements. He was an old hand with these. The knowledge it took to use them was imbedded in his fingers after years of practice. So he shouldn't be standing here trying to recall exactly how to use them.
    Impatiently he turned toward the vault door. There wasn't much time.
    It took a few embarrassingly awkward attempts, but the sophisticated lock finally surrendered, just as it had the night before. Every lock was vulnerable in some way. A moment later, Croft started to ease the heavy door open.
    He didn't just want another look inside the vault, he remembered vaguely. He also wanted one more look at
Valley
. That damn book was still the key. He had studied it a number of times but he knew he must be missing something. The door handle moved in his hand.
    It was then that he knew there was someone else nearby.
    There was nothing tangible on which to base the sudden knowledge but Croft didn't require hard evidence. He had stopped relying solely on his five senses years before. Surviving in his unique line of work had often meant listening to a sixth sense.
    Another wave of nausea hit him at that moment. Christ. Just what he needed.
    He staggered slightly as the sick feeling threatened to overwhelm him. It took a fierce act of will to fight down the queasy sensation. He had to control it.
    The nausea faded. Croft took advantage of the returning euphoria to make his way to