Midnight Jewels

would be the height of stupidity. Summoning up a mental image of the approximate location of the heavy steel door, she made her way carefully across the room and groped along the wall.
    Her memory turned out to be reasonably accurate. Her nails skidded across metal a few seconds later. She found the handle and didn't know whether to pray it would turn or hope it wouldn't give an inch.
    It turned easily. Croft had, indeed, unlocked the door earner and left it unlocked. An amazing accomplishment considering his obvious condition. Mercy took a deep breath and stepped inside the cool, metal room.
    Now she had to have light. There was no way she could And the copy of
Valley
by memory or touch. But she couldn't risk having a sliver of light leak out into the main room. She would have to close the vault door behind her while she switched on the interior light and searched for the book. The thought of letting the massive door swing shut behind her was almost enough to make her forget the entire project.
    Mercy remembered questioning Gladstone about being trapped in the vault. But he had assured her the vault was no trap for him. Just the opposite. Mercy set her back teeth and let the door swing silently shut. Then she reached out and turned on the light.
    The sudden brilliance made her blink rapidly while her eyes adjusted. Then she went quickly to the section of the room where Gladstone shelved his small collection of curiosa. Burleigh's
Valley of Secret Jewels
was sitting right where it had been left. Mercy snatched it down off the shelf.
    "You've caused me nothing but trouble, Rivington Burleigh. I wonder if you know that. This is what comes of writing erotica, I suppose. Why couldn't you have been a metaphysical poet or something?"
    She held her bream again when she switched off the light and reached for the door. For a terrible instant the heavy door didn't budge when she pushed against it. She was terrified she had accidently tripped the interior locking mechanism. Mercy was nearly swamped with visions of being locked in the vault. She had never thought of herself as being claustrophobic, but in that moment when the vault door didn't seem to be moving, she knew she had a very strong fear of being trapped in a small, confining space.
    Then her weight overcame the normal inertia of the solid door and it swung silently outward. Mercy hastened over the raised metal threshold and closed the door behind her. She hesitated and then decided to reset the lock. With any luck at all Gladstone might not guess that anyone had been inside. She reached out and pushed the small button on the door.
    There was a nearly inaudible click as the lock took hold.
    Mercy realized she was starting to shiver in her wet dress. Clutching
Valley
, she picked up her limp skirt once more and slipped out of the room and back into the garden. It would be a grim joke if Croft had decided to play games by hiding from her now.
    But he was right where she had left him, sitting quietly in his meditation pose. His head turned as she came toward him through the shadows.
    "Hello, sweetheart," he said, his voice thick and dark as molasses.
    "I've got
Valley
. Let's go." She reached down to catch hold of his wrist and draw him to his feet. She felt another abrupt shift in his mood. "Are you okay?"
    "Feel sick again," he mumbled.
    "Oh, Croft, not here or now. Wait until we get upstairs."
    "You're damn bossy at times, you know that?"
    "I'm not nearly as bossy as you are. Give me that towel."
    "Why?"
    "So I can drape it over
Valley
, you idiot. I don't want someone to see us going up the stairs carrying this stupid book. How would we ever explain taking it out of the vault?"
    "Good point," Croft said with an air of grave admiration.
    "Come on, let's hurry."
    They made it to the first level of the house before encountering anyone. Mercy was guiding Croft past the darkened entrance of the sitting room when an amorous and quite inebriated couple lurched through the doorway and nearly collided with Croft.
    "Better watch out," Croft advised politely. "I might throw up on your shoes."
    The woman, dressed primarily in glittering eyeshadow, gazed up at him with a shocked expression. Her companion yanked his foot out of Croft's path.
    "You sick?" the woman inquired sympathetically.
    "Yeah," Croft admitted cheerfully.
    "You're wet," the man observed.
    "Went swimming."
    Mercy tugged on Croft's wrist. She kept the towel-wrapped
Valley
as discreetly out of the way as she could.