Midnight Jewels (32 page)

He smiled and nodded his head in pleasant agreement. "Anything you say, sweet Mercy. I am yours to command."

"Remember that." She guided him off the path and into the depths of the garden. She drew him to a halt under a huge palm. "All right, Croft. Here's the first command. Sit here and don't move until I get back with the book. If anyone conies out on the platform, he won't be able to see you. Just sit perfectly still and don't move. Pretend you're meditating. Think you can do that?"

"No sweat." He sank down immediately into a neat, cross-legged position and looked up at her for approval. "Slick, huh?"

"Amazing," she muttered.

"I don't suppose you want to try making love in this position again?" he asked hopefully. "You know, the way we did in that meadow? You could sort of sit on my lap and wrap your legs around my waist. Then I could—"

Mercy began to feel desperate. "Hush! I'm going after that book now. Remember, don't move until I get back."

A flicker of more sober intelligence briefly appeared again in his eyes. "You're going to get the book?"

"Yes."

"Good. Hurry."

"Believe me," she said as she turned and started through the garden, "I will."

Maybe Croft was wrong. Maybe he hadn't left the vault unlocked. If she couldn't get inside to retrieve
Valley
, she would simply lie to him and tell him she had it hidden in the folds of her skirt. In the shadows of the garden he might not be able to tell, and in his present mood he might not be inclined to demand proof.

The room in which the vault was housed was dark. Mercy thought about turning on a light and decided that 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. Holding the book, the towel and her wet skirts in a tangled
mass helped minimize the odd shape under the large, thick terrycloth. "Let's keep moving, honey. We don't want you disgracing yourself in the middle of the party."

Croft gave his new acquaintances a knowing grin. "She's trying to get me upstairs so I can seduce her."

"Croft!"

"Okay, okay, honey. I'm on my way. Don't want to keep you waiting."

He had one wet boot on the first step that led up to the second level of the house when Isobel Ascanius appeared in the hall. She stared at the couple on the stairs, her eyes sharp and questioning.

"Mercy? What's wrong? You're both soaking wet. Are you all right?"

"Hi, Izzy," Croft said good-naturedly, his words sounding slightly more slurred. "Is that a new pilot suit? Looks great. Oughta set a whole new trend."

"Ignore him," Mercy said with a sigh. "He's bombed out of his skull. Decided to take a midnight swim and nearly drowned in the process. I'm going to take him upstairs and put him to bed."

Isobel looked at Mercy. "Do you need any help with him?"

"No," said Croft before Mercy could decline. "She doesn't need any help with me. Just a little practice, is all. I'm gonna see she gets plenty of practice." He leaned forward confidentially and nearly fell over. "Mercy's a little shy, you know. Kind of inhibited 'bout some things, if you know what I mean. But she's teaming."

Mercy clamped a hand over his mouth. "That's enough out of you," she hissed. "You're embarrassing me." He gazed at her over the edge of her palm, a ludicrously hurt expression in his eyes as Mercy turned to Isobel.

"Please excuse us, Isobel. This is so humiliating. I'm
going to take him straight upstairs to bed and let him sleep it off."

"I didn't realize he had had that much to drink."

"He doesn't hold his liquor well."

There was a "humph" of protest from behind Mercy's hand. She felt Croft's tongue on her palm and hastily removed her fingers. He smiled in triumph, satisfied with the small victory.

"Behave yourself," Mercy snapped. She turned back to Isobel, still clutching the hidden book against her wet skirt. She tried to stand at an angle, using Croft's body to shield the woman's gaze from the towel. "If you'll make our apologies to Erasmus?"

"Of course. You're sure you don't need any help?"

"No, thanks. I can manage." She started up the stairs and Croft followed obediently, his body still hiding most of her slender frame. He waved at Isobel until she was out of sight.

"Hell of a pilot," he said as Mercy pushed him down the hall and into the suite.

"If you're so enthralled with her, why did you get drunk at her party and make a fool of yourself?" Mercy began unbuttoning his shirt.

"I'm not enthralled. Just making an observation. She's a good pilot. I think I'm enthralled with you, though." He looked down at Mercy as she shoved the wet shirt off his shoulders and went to work on the buckle of his belt. "It works better if you take the boots off first."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Thoroughly irritated, but even more thoroughly scared, Mercy shoved him down to a sitting position on the bed and knelt in front of him. She set
Valley
down beside him.

Croft ignored the book. "You gonna undress me and throw yourself on my body?"

"No, I'm going to throw you in the shower."

"I'm already wet."

"We're both cold. We need a quick, hot shower and fresh clothes. And we need to hurry." She finally got his boots off and hastily rose. "Take off your pants and get into the shower."

He frowned and fumbled with his zipper. "Need help."

"Oh, Lord, I can't believe this." Her own fingers were trembling, partly with cold, partly with her frantic concern as she unzipped his trousers and helped him step out of them. It was not an easy task. Croft kept having trouble with his balance. For some reason that genuinely alarmed him.

"I'm not drunk," he muttered as he lurched, naked, through the bathroom doorway. "Can't be drunk. Never get drunk.
Never
. Can't risk it. Might turn out like my dad. Might hurt someone I don't want to hurt.
I never drink too much
."

Mercy stared at him, listening to his mumbled protest. It occurred to her again
that he was probably right. He couldn't be drunk. Croft had had a mission tonight. The last thing he would have done was have too much to drink before tackling the vault.

She caught his arm just as he was about to step into the shower. "Croft, if you haven't had too much to drink,
what's wrong with you
?"

"Goddamn it, don't know." He put a hand to his head. "Feel dizzy."

Mercy waited no longer. She reached for one of the paper cups that was housed in a dispenser beside the sink, filled it with water and handed it to him. "Here, start drinking."

"Not thirsty." But he took the cup and drank.

When he was finished, she filled it again and made him consume the liquid. He started to protest when she refilled it a third time.

"No more," he muttered. "Feel sick."

"Good, that's exactly how I want you to feel. But first I want to dilute whatever was used to poison you. Then you
can be sick to your heart's content. We'll try to get out whatever's left in your stomach. Drink the water, Croft."

He stared at her over the rim of the cup. "Poison?"

"If you really aren't drunk, then you must have been poisoned or drugged.
Hurry
."

He finished the third glass of water and made a face. "Now what?"

"Now I get to stick my finger down your throat and make you gag."

Croft swung suddenly toward the porcelain bowl. "I don't think you're gonna have to use your finger," he said.

Mercy steadied him while he was thoroughly and violently ill.

Isobel went in search of Gladstone. When she found him she drew him off to one side. She knew he wasn't going to be pleased.

"She got him out of the pool before he drowned, but he's pretty far gone," Isobel said quickly. "She thinks he's drunk and she's taking him upstairs to put him to bed."

Gladstone's eyes burned for a moment. "He should be dead by now. It was supposed to look like a simple drowning accident. A drunk guest slips and falls into the pool. Nothing to worry about at an autopsy."

"I know. Something went wrong."

"I do not like incompetence."

"Dallas or Lance failed. Whichever one of them slipped away for a moment to knock Falconer unconscious and toss him into the pool bungled the job."

"He should have made certain Falconer was dead!"

"He couldn't hang around the pool for more than a minute or two," Isobel reminded him. "That was the plan, remember? If the authorities were to ask embarrassing questions somebody here at the party might have noticed
that one of the hired hands was missing for a critical few minutes. It
had to happen very quickly. Besides, Falconer should have been unconscious when he went into the pool. He should have drowned without any further assistance!"

"I do not tolerate failure."

"This failure can be remedied," Isobel assured him.

"It had better be remedied. I do not like the way things are going. Falconer should not have escaped the trap. The drug should have given him all the symptoms of drunkenness."

"It did. He seems very obviously inebriated. The problem was that Pennington pulled him out of the pool before he drowned."

"Keep an eye on Falconer and Pennington."

Isobel nodded. "Of course, but it's doubtful they're going anywhere. Falconer can barely stand. Soon he won't be able to do even that. In any event they can't get away without us knowing it. If they try, they will only make things easier for us. A drunk, a car and a mountain road. All the ingredients needed for an unfortunate accident. It might, in the end, be the simplest way. It will take care of both of them at once."