Silver Master (4 page)

Davis studied the red plastic object in Celinda's hand. “It fits the description I was given.”

“What, exactly, was the description of this missing item you're looking for?” Celinda asked.

“I've got a photograph.” Davis went back to his chair, reached down, and opened the slim briefcase he had brought with him. He took out a glossy print.

Celinda looked at the picture. The relic in the shot was, indeed, identical to the one in her hand. In the photo it appeared to be lying in a metal drawer, the kind that museums and banks use to store valuables.

So much for hoping that Davis didn't know the relic was valuable.
Easy come, easy go,
she thought.

Alice rose from her chair. “I'll leave you and Miss Ingram to talk about that red doohickey. Believe it or not, I've got some actual police work to do.”

“Thank you, Detective,” Davis said. “You've been very helpful.”

“Gee, thanks, Mr. Oakes.” Alice did not bother to veil the sarcasm in her voice. She slung the strap of her black leather bag over one shoulder and made for the door. “Be sure to mention my name to Mercer Wyatt the next time you see him. Tell him that we at the Cadence City PD just live to assist the Guild in every possible way.”

Celinda froze. Mercer Wyatt was the CEO of the Cadence Guild.

“Oh, damn,” she whispered. “Please don't tell me this is Guild business.”

ALICE PAUSED AT THE DOOR. “GUESS I FORGOT TO MEN
tion that Mr. Oakes's client is Mercer Wyatt, the boss of the Cadence Guild.”

Celinda stifled a heavy sigh of regret. So much for Mr. Perfect. There was a saying in her business: Any match-maker who tries to match herself has a fool for a client. She should have remembered that bit of wisdom. But, oh, the vibes had been so good. Correction: the vibes were still terrific. What was wrong with this picture?

“Guess you did forget to mention that little fact,” she said to Alice. She drew herself up and gave Davis an accusing look. “I assumed you were probably working for some high-end collector.”

“The Cadence Guild is what you would call a corporate collector,” he said, unfazed by her glare. “It has a very fine museum.”

“Which, of course, is not open to the public.” She gave him a steely smile. “Like everything else the Guilds do, their museums are operated in an extremely secretive manner.”

Alice was starting to look amused again. “I'll leave you and Mr. Oakes to discuss this in private.” She turned back to Davis. “Don't forget our agreement. If you turn up anything in your investigation that I should know about, I expect to hear from you immediately.”

Davis inclined his head. “Understood, Detective.”

Alice looked skeptical, but she said nothing more. She went out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Davis studied Celinda, eyes cool and enigmatic. “I apologize for any confusion here.”

“My fault,” she said crisply. “I obviously didn't ask the right questions.”

Sensing her tension, Araminta muttered into her ear.

“I take it you are not a fan of the Cadence Guild?” Davis said.

“I am not a fan of any of the Guilds. I consider them antiquated, outmoded institutions. Not to mention arrogant, heavy-handed, and corrupt.” She gave him another chilly smile. “Just my opinion, of course.”

“Sure.” He gave her an equally wintry smile. “You're not the only person who has some reservations about the way the Guilds are run.”

“They certainly have had some bad public relations problems in the past,” she agreed with alacrity.

“Which they are working hard to overcome.”

She thinned her smile out a little more. “Got a long way to go.”

The Guilds had been established during the Era of Discord when the colonies had faced the threat of tyranny from a megalomaniac named Vincent Lee Vance. Until that turning point, there had been no necessity for the four struggling city-states that had grown up around the original colonies to establish militias. Regular police departments had been all that was necessary to maintain law and order in the new world.

When Vance and his fanatical minions had begun to terrorize the city-states, they had staged their assaults via the network of underground alien catacombs that crisscrossed the planet. The strange alien psi energy that radiated throughout the maze of tunnels rendered conventional weaponry unreliable at best and, at worst, extremely hazardous to those who used it.

But the underworld labyrinth provided its own natural artillery in the form of highly volatile, potentially lethal balls of fiery, acid-green energy technically known as UDEMs. The acronym stood for unstable dissonance energy manifestation. The balls of eerie green fire were called ghosts, because they drifted erratically and unpredictably through the tunnels like so many lost specters.

Certain individuals with unusual parapsych profiles—commonly known as ghost hunters—could control and manipulate the ghosts, transforming them into weapons. The vast majority of ghost hunters were men, because the paranormal ability to handle the unique energy storms generated by the UDEMs was linked to certain male hormones.

Every schoolchild knew the story. Vincent Lee Vance recruited ghost hunters into his renegade army. The city-states responded by creating the militias known as the ghost-hunter Guilds. In the end, the colonies were able to put down the rebellion, thanks to the admittedly heroic actions of the Guilds.

After the Era of Discord, the Guilds were never disbanded. Instead, those in charge saw a golden opportunity to corner a booming new market. Exploration and excavation of the alien catacombs was rapidly becoming big business. Hundreds of academic, corporate, and privately financed companies were eager to go underground to compete in the search for valuable alien antiquities and the quest for long-lost secrets. And they all needed ghost-hunter teams to protect the crews from the wandering balls of alien energy. It took a ghost to kill a ghost, and only ghost hunters could do the job.

The Guilds contracted the services of their members to those who wanted to hire them. Over the years the organizations, led by a series of shrewd, ambitious men, had become powerful, secretive institutions bound by mysterious traditions and Guild Law.

History was repeating itself once again with the recent discovery of the vast, underground rain forest. Within the last few months the Guilds, led by Cooper Boone, the boss of the Aurora Springs Guild, had moved swiftly to position themselves as the primary source of guides and bodyguards for researchers, para-archaeologists, treasure hunters, and others who wanted to explore the jungle.

There were those—Celinda counted herself among them—who considered the Guilds only a notch or two above criminal mobs.

“I don't suppose you're going to tell me why the Cadence Guild is interested in my relic,” she said.

Davis smiled his faint smile. “One of the things that I offer my clients is a guarantee of confidentiality.”

“Why did the Guild hire you?” she asked. Then she held up a hand to stop him from responding. “Wait, let me guess. Guilds usually throw their business at people connected to the organizations. There must be half a dozen private investigation and security firms in Cadence that are owned and operated by retired hunters. Is your firm one of those companies?”

He contemplated her with a considering expression. “I come from a family of hunters. But I turned out a little different.”

“I see.” More bad news. He came from a Guild family. Traditionally, Guild people married other Guild people. It was one of the many customs that, in her opinion, had kept the organizations from going truly mainstream.

How could she have been so wrong about him? So much for her psychic powers.

Sadly, all the lecturing in the world wasn't going to dampen her intuitive reaction to Davis Oakes. Something about him compelled her senses, riveted them. Probably a bug-to-liquid-amber kind of thing. Silly little bug gets attracted to the enticing, glowing resin, goes for a stroll, gets stuck and—
whappo
—the stuff hardens around her and she's trapped in amber forever.

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to give me that artifact.” Davis reached inside his jacket and took out a checkbook. “I'll reimburse you for the cost plus an extra thousand for your trouble.”

“An extra
thousand
?” She was stunned. “It's worth that much to the Guild?”

“Let's just say that my client is very eager to recover the relic. Fifteen hundred?”

The arrogance of the offer irritated her.

“What happens if I refuse to hand it over?” she asked.

He took out a pen, put the checkbook down on the desk, and began writing. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Gosh, I don't know.” She unfolded her arms and spread her hands. “Maybe because I bought it legally. Even got a receipt.”

“The relic was stolen. You are not the legal owner.”

“Maybe I just don't like the Guild thinking it has the right to have a private investigator barge into my office and take it away from me without an adequate explanation.”

He did not look up from writing the check. “This is Guild business, Miss Ingram.”

“I love it,” she said, not bothering to conceal her disgust.

He glanced up. “You love what?”

“You thinking that
Guild business
is an adequate explanation.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That is so very Guild-like.”

He straightened, put the pen back in his pocket, tore out the check, and handed it to her. “Maybe this will make up for the lack of a full explanation.”

She took the check from him and read it carefully.
Two thousand dollars
was clearly written out in a bold scrawl. She could do a lot with two thousand. Pay her rent, buy some badly needed new clothes, treat herself to some fancy restaurants…

She tore the check in half very deliberately and then put the halves together and ripped them into fourths.

He regarded her with polite inquiry.

“Not enough?” he asked.

“There is no amount of money that I would feel comfortable accepting from the Guild.” She shuddered. “In point of fact, I don't want anything from the organization.”

“You're going to make this difficult?”

“Not at all.” She gave him a tight little smile. “You can have the stupid artifact, because the last thing I want is to become involved in Guild business.”

“You're sure you won't accept the money?”

“Positive.”

“You do realize that this means that the Cadence Guild now owes you a favor,” Davis said neutrally.

“
No
, absolutely not.” She was appalled. “The Guild doesn't owe me a thing.”

“You know what they say, the Guild always pays its debts.”

“Sounds like a real nightmare scenario to me. Look, I'll make a deal with you. You can thank me for giving you the artifact by not mentioning my name to your client.”

He thought about that briefly and then nodded once, his expression somber. “If that's what you want. I don't see how keeping quiet about your role in this will violate my professional obligation to my client.”

“Terrific.” She went to the door, opened it abruptly, and held the relic out to him on the palm of her hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Oakes. I won't say it's been a pleasure, but it has been interesting.”

He picked up his briefcase and walked toward the door, halting directly in front of her. “Are you a good matchmaker, Miss Ingram?”

“The best.”

“I notice you're not wearing a wedding ring. I take it that means you haven't been able to find a match for yourself.”

She knew she was turning red, but she managed to keep her composure. “Very observant of you.”

He nodded. “Probably just as well. I got matched by a pro once.”

“I can tell by your tone of voice that it did not work out.”

“No,” he said. “Luckily for both of us, we found out shortly before the wedding that the match was a bad one.”

“I see,” she said coolly. “I'm sorry you had such an unfortunate experience. All I can tell you is that what happened to you was an anomaly. Statistically speaking, the odds of making a good match are significantly improved when you employ a knowledgeable, reputable marriage consultant.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Personally, I've pretty much decided to skip the whole happily-ever-after thing.”

She stared at him, startled. Very few people went around announcing that they planned to skip the
happily-ever-after thing
. Even if one were personally inclined to avoid marriage, family and social pressure proved too strong for most people. Folks who didn't get serious about marriage after a certain point in life found that their careers stalled, invitations from one's peers—all of whom were married—dried up, and people began to regard the unmarried individual as exceedingly odd.

In spite of her annoyance, her consultant instincts kicked in immediately.

“Never say never,” she said bracingly. “I'm sure the right person for you is out there somewhere.” She couldn't believe that for a while there she had actually thought that person was her.

“Yeah, sure.” He did not look convinced. “What about you?”

“Me?” Good grief, was that her voice? The word had come out sounding like a squeak.

“Are you involved with anyone at the moment?” he asked with an air of great patience.

This was getting awkward. She cleared her throat and tried to appear nonchalant. “No, not at the moment. Life has been very busy lately. New job, you know.”

“Care to go out to dinner and discuss something besides marriage and relics?”

She went blank. “Huh?”

He smiled a little. She could see the sexy heat in his eyes. Psi energy tingled in the atmosphere, hers as well as his. She was shocked to realize that her insides were starting to melt.

“Got a feeling a date with you might be interesting.” He paused a beat. “Or am I picking up the wrong signals here? If so, my apologies.”

He was daring her to take the leap with him, challenging her.

“I usually don't date—” she began.

“Hunters. Yes, I got that impression. Let me make it clear that, while I come from a Guild family, I don't make my living as a ghost hunter.”

“I was going to say that I usually don't date people I meet at work.”

“I'm not a client.”

She took a deep breath. In spite of his incredibly seductive psi patterns, they had nothing in common. Even if they got past that monumental hurdle, he had made it very clear that there was no long-term future for them together. Dating a man under these circumstances violated all the matchmaking rules, but she had never felt this way about any man in her entire life. She might never again meet someone who had this effect on her senses. Why shouldn't she take the opportunity to experience a romantic fling?

Once again she reached up to touch Araminta.

It would have to be a terribly discreet fling, of course. Professional marriage consultants had to be exceedingly careful about their reputations.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose that might be all right.”

“Are you free tonight?”