In Too Deep (25 page)

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The endless night was illuminated here and there by small galaxies composed of points of light. Each tiny sun was important; each was connected to another but he could not quite grasp the patterns.

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The clusters of stars were like swarms of fireflies in an endless garden of night. He was well and truly lost.

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But someone was calling to him across the vast reaches of time and space.

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Isabella.

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He looked for her but he could not see her in the shadows. He had to find her. She was infinitely more important than whatever fabulous discoveries awaited him in the heart of chaos. And she was in danger. . . .

Fallon awoke on a rush of energy, all of his senses at full throttle. He had to find Isabella
now
.

He was out of bed and reaching for his pants before he could assess and analyze the decision. The part of him that was always engaged in probabilities and possibilities did a fast assessment of the situation. If Isabella was in danger, that danger would have arrived via the patio.

Given the hotel’s desert landscaping, that meant he would be covering some rough ground. He paused long enough to pull on the low boots that he had worn on the plane. He was going to look like a lust-crazed idiot if he showed up on her patio half-naked with no good reason.

He jerked open the sliding glass door and went out into the night.

“
ARE
YOU
THREATENING
TO murder me?” Isabella asked. The new tide of energy slamming through her was enough to propel her to the very edge of the bed. Another inch and she would fall onto the floor. She was battling the invisible psychic thrall the whole time, but she was making some progress.

“No, no, no, Miss Valdez. I assure you I am not a hit man. I told you, I’m the Messenger.”

“You know what happens to messengers.”

There was no sound out on the patio, just a sudden shifting of the shadows. But suddenly Fallon was there, sweeping into the unlit room on a pressure wave of energy. He went straight toward the intruder like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

“Shit.” The Messenger no longer sounded like a silver-tongued salesman. He sounded panicked. He leaped for the only available exit, the door that opened onto the hallway.

Isabella felt the paralysis lift instantly as the intruder lost his focus. She rolled out of bed and got to her feet in time to see Fallon grab the fleeing Messenger and spin him around. For the first time, she saw the ski mask that covered the man’s face. He had relied on more than his unnerving talent to conceal his identity.

“No, wait,” the Messenger gasped. He flung up his hands to ward off a blow.

Energy flashed in the atmosphere.

“Don’t kill him,” Isabella said quickly. “Not yet. He knows stuff. We need to talk to him first.”

“Yes,” Fallon said. “We’ll definitely have a chat first.”

He slammed the Messenger onto the floor. The man groaned. Fallon leaned down and ripped off the ski mask.

“Always knew you’d come to a bad end, Lockett,” Fallon said. “Didn’t know I’d be the one to take you out, though. I assumed it would be some other disgruntled client.”

Lockett stiffened. He stared up at Fallon. “You know my name?”

“I never do business with people I don’t know.”

Lockett sat up slowly, clearly dazed by more than just the body slam. “I don’t understand. No one knows my identity. I never let clients see me. How the hell did you find out?”

“I don’t think that’s important at the moment. What are you doing in this room?”

“He said that someone wants me to spy on J&J,” Isabella said indignantly. “There was a huge bribe involved. And a threat.”

Fallon looked at her. “Robe.”

“What?”

“You’re in your nightgown. Put on a robe.”

She looked down. “Oh, right.”

Her nightgown was made of soft cotton. It was ankle length and long-sleeved. All in all it was far more modest than the evening dress she had worn earlier, but she suspected that it was the principle of the thing that worried Fallon. She grabbed her robe and slipped into it.

Fallon turned back to Lockett. “What’s this about a bribe and a threat?”

“I never threatened her,” Lockett said forcefully. “I wasn’t the one trying to bribe her, either. I simply relayed the message. That’s what I do. You should know that, Jones.”

“What was the message?” Fallon asked.

Lockett heaved a world-weary sigh. “My client wanted me to offer Miss Valdez a sum of money in exchange for transmitting certain details concerning the operation of Jones & Jones. That’s all there was to it.”

“I told him no,” Isabella said, still incensed. “Then he informed me that a hundred thousand dollars had already been wired into an offshore account. The number is on the table.”

“What about the threat?” Fallon asked.

Lockett cleared his throat and managed to regain his salesman’s voice. “Uh, that would seem to be moot at this point.”

“No,” Fallon said. The word was etched in steel. “It’s not moot.”

Isabella moved to stand at the foot of the bed. “He said that turning down the offer from his client would not be good for my future health and well-being.”

“That’s all there was to it,” Lockett said earnestly. “I swear it. I don’t know what the client had in mind. You know my policy, Jones. I always deliver the exact message, word for word, that I was commissioned to carry and I never deliver any threat that could get me arrested.”

“In that case, I will just have to use my imagination.” Fallon said. “Which is not a good thing for your client. Go deliver that message.”

“Of course, of course,” Lockett said.

“I want it delivered exactly twenty-four hours from now,” Fallon added.

“Always happy to oblige a long-standing client such as yourself, sir.”

“Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Lockett scrambled upright, grabbed the ski mask and headed for the patio door.

“My apologies, Miss Valdez,” he said, skittering past Isabella. “Just business, nothing personal.”

He vanished into the night.

Isabella turned on Fallon, outraged all over again.
“You let him go?”

“He’s a rat, but rodents have their place in the feeding chain.” Fallon crossed the room to close the sliding glass door. “Occasionally he’s my rat. Besides, I know how to find him.”

“You’ve actually used that dreadful little man to deliver messages to people?”

“Lockett is a professional, and he has connections at all levels of our world.”

“You mean the world of private investigators?”

“No, the community of people with talent. Sensitives inhabit the entire ecosphere of society. We’ve got our thieves, scam artists and drug runners, just like we’ve got our CEOs, academics and politicians. There are good guys and bad guys in our world just as there are in the rest of society. Lockett is one of the few people I know who can move from the streets to the boardroom to government circles and back again. In his own way, he’s trustworthy. I’ve used him before and I’ll probably use him again.”

“I see.” She sniffed. “Well, I suppose professional investigators like us have to be practical about this sort of thing.”

“I’m afraid so. Talent is talent and in my experience, really good, reliable talent is hard to come by.”

“He’s a little weasel of a man, though.”

“I’ll give you that,” Fallon said. “But if it’s any comfort, he won’t ever bother you again.”

She thought about the panic in the Messenger’s voice when, for a brief moment, he thought he was facing death at Fallon’s hands. “I think you’re right about that. What about the money?”

“Hang on a second.” He took his phone out of his pocket and punched in a code. “Dargan, it’s Jones.” There was a short pause. “What do you mean which Jones? Fallon Jones . . . You’re right, I’m the only Jones who would be calling you at three o’clock in the morning. Unfortunately for both of us, you happen to be the best tracking hunter on my list in the Sedona area. I want you to keep tabs on a man named Kit Lockett. He’ll be using some other name, but I’m going to e-mail you a photo and profile, which includes his home address, make and model of his car, credit card info and favorite bars. He just left the Cloud Resort here in Sedona. He’ll be staying somewhere nearby. Find him and keep an eye on him.”

Isabella folded her arms and listened while Fallon issued instructions with surgical precision.

“No, I don’t want you to grab him,” Fallon said. “I gave him a message to deliver to one of his clients twenty-four hours from now. He always does that part of his job in person so that there is no electronic trail; otherwise I’d have one of the cryptos handle this. He’ll be making contact with someone soon. I want the name.”

And suddenly Isabella understood.

Fallon closed the phone and dropped it into his pocket. He paused, brows slightly elevated, when he saw Isabella looking at him.

“Of course,” she said, satisfied. “You want to find out who tried to bribe me.”

“That’s the idea,” Fallon said.

“Ha. I should have thought of that right away. Can’t wait to see which dumbass in the Society thinks I can be bribed for a lousy hundred thou.”

Fallon grinned briefly. “A
lousy
hundred thou?”

“Okay, so I’ve never seen that much money in one place at one time in my life. That’s hardly the point.”

“What is the point?”

“I am deeply offended. Pissed off, actually. My honor has been impugned or something.”

“I’m a little irritated myself.” He picked up the slip of paper that was on the console.

“Wonder what the client will do when he realizes I’m not going to take the money,” Isabella said.

“I don’t think the client cares whether or not you accept the bribe.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The idea is to make sure that there’s a trail from this account that leads straight back to you,” Fallon explained. “Trust me, whoever goes looking will soon find out that it is in the name of Isabella Valdez. Word of the bribe will be all over Arcane within hours after the discovery is made.”

“In other words, it’s all about making me look guilty.”

“Yes.” Fallon opened the slider again and made a move onto the patio.

“Wait.” She hurried to the door. “Where are you going?”

“Back to my room. I need to go online.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Close that bank account and make sure there is no link to you.”

“But what about the money?”

He kissed her lightly. “I’ve got a plan for that.”

“What plan?”

“No reason it shouldn’t go to a good cause. I’m going to transfer it into the Society’s Foundation Trust.”

She smiled. “Someone just made a generous donation to further paranormal research?”

“At the moment it’s an anonymous donor,” Fallon said. “But I hope to be in a position to personally thank the individual very soon.”

T
he aging trailer sat on the last concrete slab in the last row of the Desert Palms Trailer Court. Fallon brought the rental car to a halt.

“This is it?” he asked.

“Yes.” Isabella contemplated the trailer, afraid to open her other vision. There was a forlorn air of neglect about the place. The inside shades were pulled shut. “What if I’m wrong, Fallon? What if she really is dead?”

“We’ll deal with that when we have more data.”

She half smiled at his bracing, no-nonsense statement. “I love it when you do that, you know.”

“When I do what?”

“Insist on collecting the facts before leaping to a conclusion.”

He opened the door. “I’ve been told that it drives most people nuts.”

“That’s because they don’t understand. I really can’t imagine why so many people think you’re prone to finding conspiracies around every corner.”

She got out and waited while he came around the car to join her.

“See anything?” he asked.

She knew what he meant.

“I’m afraid to look,” she admitted.

“But you’ll do it because you’re an intrepid J&J investigator.”

“There is that.” She braced herself and raised her talent.

Energy enveloped the trailer. She drew a sharp breath.

Fallon watched her. “Something needs finding?”

“Yes.” Jolted, she started forward. “Whatever it is, it’s very hot. That means it’s important. Oh, Fallon, I should have come here sooner.”

“Take it easy.” He caught up with her. “You handled things the way your grandmother wanted them handled. If there’s something in that trailer to be found, we’ll find it. In fact, she probably meant for you to find it with me, not on your own.”

“Maybe.” She dug the key out of her purse and went up the three steps.

The door of the neighboring trailer swung open. A woman with tightly permed blue hair peered out. “About time you showed up, Elly.”

Isabella exchanged a quick glance with Fallon. She could tell that he understood that when she came here to visit her grandmother she used yet another ID.

“Hello, Mrs. Ragsdale,” Isabella said politely. “Nice to see you again.”

Mrs. Ragsdale glowered. “I suppose you didn’t bother to come here until now because you didn’t think that your grandmother left you anything of value, eh?”

“I’ve been busy dealing with her business affairs,” Isabella said weakly. “Lawyers, wills, that sort of thing. You know how it goes with estates, even small ones.”

“Bernice always said that if anything ever happened to her, you’d be along eventually to take charge of her things.” Mrs. Ragsdale peered at Fallon. “Said when you did show up, you’d most likely be with a man.”

Fallon looked at her. “Were you and Bernice good friends?”

“Played bridge every Wednesday and Friday night,” Mrs. Ragsdale declared. “Bernice was a fine player.”

Isabella tightened her grip on the key. “Were you here when my grandmother died, Mrs. Ragsdale?”

“Yep. Watching the late-night talk show. She must have called the ambulance, herself.” Mrs. Ragsdale sighed. “We all saw it pull up. They took her away. She never came out of the hospital. Heard later it was a heart attack. Everyone here at the Court is going to miss her, that’s for sure.”