Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

knowledge about ancient gold artifacts rather than an overwhelming desire to touch all the childhood bases.”
    Risa didn’t like admitting it, but it made too much sense for her to deny. “I guess so. I hadn’t actually seen her in several years. We kept in touch by phone.”
    The gold pen hesitated. “You have her number?”
    “She moved around too much. She’d call me collect.”
    “From a pay phone, no doubt.”
    Risa shrugged. “I didn’t ask. The last time we talked, it sounded like a cell phone.”
    “Moving up in the world.”
    She thought of Cherelle’s clothes when they first met and said nothing. If that had been moving up, her friend had been a long way down.
    “She didn’t call anyone the whole time she was in your room,” Shane added. “At least, not from your phone.”
    “You checked?” Risa asked, irritated.
    “Everything on this room comes out of the comp account.”
    “Since when?”
    The gold pen vanished back into his pocket with startling speed. “Since your friend put about ten grand on the tab.”
    Risa’s jaw dropped.
    He pulled out his pocket unit and keyed in a file number. Silently he handed the unit to her. The list of charges Cherelle had put against the room was startling.
    And long.
    “I’ll pay you back,” Risa said grimly.
    “No.”
    “Yes. It’s—”
    “Not worth arguing about,” he cut in. “I have a standing reward of ten thousand dollars for information leading to the purchase of museum-quality artifacts. As far as I’m concerned, Cherelle collected it. Or are you going to argue that she had nothing to do with the Celtic gold we bought and it’s all a beaut of a coincidence?”
    Out of habit, Risa started to argue, then stopped herself. “I’d like to, but even fuzzy feelings from childhood can’t make that one fly.” She scrolled quickly through the list of purchases and handed the unit back to him. “Well, now we know why the camera didn’t see her leaving the room before Bozo got here.”
    Shane hadn’t kept track of Cherelle’s charges for today. He gave the list one fast look, took the unit back, and flipped it into communicate mode. Before he was finished talking, fifteen people were scanning stored camera data, looking for a hefty woman with short brown hair, baggy jeans, and a blue nylon wind shell.
    “Tell them she’s probably dragging a black rolling suitcase,” Risa added. “Mine. It’s not in the closet.”
    Shane added the information and disconnected. When he turned around, Risa was digging through the heap of clothes in the center of the room. At the bottom were two ratty suitcases.
    “Cherelle’s?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    He went to Risa, took one of the suitcases, and began feeling the seams with a gambler’s sensitive fingertips. All he found was old grime and a new rip. It was the same for the second suitcase. He glanced over to Risa. She was sorting through the mound of clothes on the floor with the swift, confident motions that had always fascinated him. That kind of cool precision was unexpected in a woman who looked—and was—as lushly sensual as Risa Sheridan.
    “Are all the clothes on the floor yours?” he asked.
    “So far,” Risa said.
    “No notes in lipstick on the bathroom mirror?”
    She snorted. “Cherelle wouldn’t waste good makeup.”
    “No notes on the grocery list in the kitchen?”
    She gave him a startled look.
    He smiled. “No, I haven’t been snooping. Most people have a list going somewhere in the house. Kitchen, usually.”
    “No note.”
    “How about the list?”
    A smile flickered over her face. “It’s there. Every word in my handwriting.”
    She picked up a robe and shook it out with a hard snap that sent a crumpled piece of paper shooting out of the folds toward Shane. He snatched the paper out of the air with a lightning motion, smoothed out the page, and began reading silently.
    “I didn’t know you were into the vortex thing,” he said, looking toward her.
    “What vortex thing?”
    “You know. Red-rock country and holding hands at the solstice. Talking to the dead through a channel or having the dead talk to you. Expanding your psychic—”
    “Bullshit,” she muttered, then froze, trying to remember something Bozo had said. Not red-rock country, but something like it.
    “—powers,” Shane finished. He turned over the colorful page, which had apparently been torn from some kind of pamphlet. “Well, well. She was doing the Sedona channeling scam.”
    Risa