Page 5

She realized that the dust bunny had gone very still on the rear bench and was now gazing into the box with an intent air.

Oliver took another look at the pyramid. If anything, he looked more riveted than the dust bunny. “What do you think? Old World like the other crystals in the box?”

She had to stay cool and collected. The last thing she wanted to do was let him see that she was desperate to get her hands on the pyramid.

“Yes,” she said, leaning into her well-honed academic-expert persona. “Definitely Old World. Also, lab-engineered like the others.”

“Tuned?”

“Oh, yes.” She cleared her throat and stuck to her cool, professional-interest-only image. “Any idea of the purpose of the crystals in this box?”

“The archives are not entirely clear about that, but all things considered, it would be best to assume they are potentially dangerous.”

He was not lying, she decided, but he was definitely finessing his answer. He knew a lot more about the purpose of the six round crystals than he was saying.

“I agree,” she said.

“Can you unlock them?” he asked.

“Yes, but it would be stupid to do so outside of a properly equipped lab.” She gave Oliver a stern look. “This artifact should be turned over to the FBPI.”

“I’ll make a note of your thoughts on that subject.” Oliver checked the rearview mirror and pressed harder on the accelerator. “Meanwhile, we’ve got other problems.”

“What?” Startled, she twisted around on the bench. A sled was closing the distance between the two vehicles. There were two men on board. One was at the wheel. The other had a high-powered flamer, the type that law enforcement carried in the Underworld, where mag-rez weapons did not function. “Let me guess. Those are not some of your FBPI pals.”

“No. They aren’t.” Oliver slowed for a corner and then stomped hard on the accelerator. “Those are a couple of the Society’s private security goons. Ex-Guild, probably. How in green hell did they track us? I swept the sled for tracking devices. It’s clean.”

The dust bunny chortled excitedly. She lost interest in Pandora’s box and bounded forward and up onto the dashboard, evidently trying for a better view. She was clearly thrilled.

“What about the artifact?” Leona studied the box. “Maybe it was tagged with a locator code.”

“It was, but I neutralized it when I took it out of the display case. It’s clean, too.” Oliver sped around another turn and shot a speculative glance at the dust bunny. “It’s got to be something I didn’t have a chance to check.”

“Not the dust bunny,” Leona protested, overcome with a ridiculous need to defend the creature. “Don’t throw her off the sled. She’ll get hurt.”

“Not the dust bunny,” Oliver said grimly. “The crystal dildo.”

Leona set Pandora’s box on the floor of the sled behind the front bench and scrambled to dig the small sculpture out of her evening bag. She held it in her palm and opened her senses. “Oh, shit. You’re right.”

“Get rid of it,” Oliver said.

She flung the sculpture out of the sled. The dust bunny did not seem to mind that her souvenir gift had been discarded. She chortled exuberantly, evidently considering the chase a great game.

Leona watched the crystal bounce on the tunnel floor. The oncoming sled did not pause.

“They didn’t slow down to pick up the artifact,” she reported. “They’ve got visual contact, though.”

“As long as they can see us, they can follow us,” Oliver said. “We need a distraction, anything that will buy us a little time so that we can get out of visual range. According to the locator, there’s a rotunda up ahead. If we can get far enough ahead of those guys in the sled, we can turn in to one of the branching tunnels without them seeing us.”

The passenger in the pursuing sled raised the big flamer and fired twice. The jets of fire fell short, but just barely.

“They’re serious,” Oliver said. “Any chance you know how to use a flamer?”

“Sure. Griffin women can take care of themselves. But I had to leave mine behind tonight. It didn’t fit into my evening bag. Got one on board?”

Oliver smiled. “In the console.”

She opened the cabinet and retrieved the flamer.

The weapons were simple amber-based firearms that produced bolts of fire. They had an extremely limited range—power and accuracy diminished rapidly over distance in the Underworld because of the heavy paranormal atmosphere—but when set on the highest level and used at close range, they could be lethal.

“Buy me a little time,” Oliver said. “I just need a few minutes to get us out of this tunnel and out of visual range.”

“I understand.”

She hiked up her skirts and swung her legs around on the bench so that she was facing the pursuing sled. She checked the flamer charge, aimed, and rezzed the trigger. The jet of fire fell short of its target, but the other sled dropped back a little.

The dust bunny chortled.

“Right,” Oliver said approvingly. “Like that.”

The enforcer in the passenger seat of the other sled fired a couple more shots. She replied with two of her own.

“I can keep them at a distance as long as I’ve got a charge,” she said, “but this flamer is sort of dinky. It isn’t going to last long.”

“Dinky?” Oliver sounded offended. “That is a top-of-the-line, customized Igniter, Model 240 Compact.”

“Petite? Smallish? Like I said, dinky. Forget it—my point is, do you have another one?”

“No.”

“That’s unfortunate, because I’ve got a feeling the guys following us have a couple of backup pieces.”

“Next time, bring one of your own.”

“I’ll do that. Meanwhile, I’ve got an idea.”

She set the flamer down, reached behind her back, and unzipped the bloodstained gown.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked as she peeled off the long sleeves and lowered the bodice of the dress.

“We need more firepower. I’m going to create some. I hope.”

She stood and shimmied out of the gown, leaving herself clad in panties, bra, and heels. When she was free of the yards of fabric, she picked up the flamer and fired a short burst of flame at the hem of the gown.

The delicate material caught fire immediately. Driven by the thick currents of energy in the tunnels, the flames leaped high—a lot higher than she had anticipated.

Fire was one of the elemental forces. That meant it traveled across the normal spectrum and into the paranormal end. She was suddenly holding a torch.

“Shit,” she yelped.

Frantically she hurled the burning dress out of the sled, seized the flamer again, and fired two more shots into the blazing fabric as it fell to the ground.

The thick psi flowing through the tunnels did the rest. Fed by the intense energy, the flaming dress exploded into a full-blown firestorm between the two sleds. It would not last long, but while it burned, it was an impassable barrier.

There was a lot of yelling and some furious shouts from the pair in the pursuing sled. The driver stomped on the brakes to avoid plowing into the firestorm, but it was too late. Detecting fresh fuel, the ravenous flames surged around the vehicle.

Leona watched through the wall of fire as the two enforcers leaped off the back of the sled’s platform, barely escaping the conflagration. Screams that sounded a lot like Fuck you and similar farewells could be heard, but they were muffled and distorted by the atmosphere and the roaring flames.

The dust bunny chortled enthusiastically. She bounced down from the dashboard and bounded onto the rear seat to get a better view of the fire. She was obviously buzzed on dust bunny adrenaline.

She was not the only one flying high. Oliver slapped the steering wheel with one hand and whooped with laughter.

“That was brilliant ,” he said. “I gotta tell you, my evenings aren’t usually this exciting. We should do this more often.”

Leona was suddenly very aware of the breeze created by the moving sled. She was almost naked.

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You’re not the one who will have to walk home through the Dark Zone in her underwear.”

He glanced at her. Heat flashed in his eyes. He quickly returned his attention to his driving.

“Sorry about the dress,” he said.

“I would have burned it anyway. Not like I was ever going to wear it again. The bloodstains.”

“Right.” With an easy motion, he shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. “Here, take it. You’re not very tall. I think it will give you plenty of coverage.”

“Thanks.”

He paused, taking a closer look at her chest. Offended and disappointed—for some reason she had not expected him to be the leering type—she held his coat in front of her to shield her breasts.

Evidently aware of how she had interpreted the situation, he flushed and turned back to his driving. “Sorry. I just noticed that crystal you’re wearing. It looks like the same kind of stone as the yellow pyramid in the box.”

Oh. Right. The crystal .

Naturally he had noticed her pendant now that the bodice of the gown no longer concealed it. He hadn’t been interested in her breasts. That was a good thing, she told herself. So why was she feeling just a tad deflated?

She got a belated ping from her intuition alerting her that it was probably not good that he had leaped to the conclusion that her pendant was the same type of crystal as the pyramid. The situation would get even more complicated if he realized the two stones had resonated.

“Yellow is not a rare color when it comes to crystals,” she said, striving for a dismissive tone.

“That particular shade of deep golden yellow is uncommon. It makes me think of whiskey. What do you know about the stone you’re wearing?”

He sounded far too curious. The fine hair on the back of her neck stirred. She needed to tread cautiously.

“My sister, Molly, found a couple of them when she was a little girl. She grew up with a talent for tuning crystals, so eventually she tuned a stone for each of us. It’s a sisterhood thing.”

“Can you focus through them?”

“Well, yes, because Molly tuned them. But they’re no more accurate than standard nav amber.”

Okay, that was not the whole truth, but she was not about to spill the Griffin Family Secret to an antiquities thief. Yes, he had saved her from getting swept up in the raid, but that didn’t change the fact that he was a stranger—unknown and potentially dangerous. He had his own agenda.

She did not want to give him any reason to think that she might be standing in the way of his priorities, because she was pretty sure he was the kind who kept moving forward until he reached his objective. She knew the type. She had a similar streak of stubbornness.

Oliver was no longer looking at the yellow crystal, so she took the opportunity to slip into his jacket and pull it snugly around herself. The garment was warm from the heat of his body and it carried an intriguing hint of his very masculine scent. Her senses were already spiking because of the adrenaline overload and the Underworld buzz, but the coat added another layer of stimulation. She searched for a word to describe the unfamiliar sensation she was experiencing. She came up with thrilled .

Ridiculous.

They drove into the rotunda. Oliver whipped the sled down one of a dozen hallways and checked the dashboard locator.

“All good,” he said. “We didn’t even lose much time. It’s way past midnight, Amberella, but I’ll have you home before dawn.”

She blew out a sigh of relief and suddenly remembered the artifact. She glanced down and saw that Pandora’s box was right where she had put it, on the floor of the sled. The lid, evidently jarred from the motion of the vehicle, had fallen closed. Once the artifact disappeared back into a private collection, she was highly unlikely to come in contact with it again.

Oliver was her only link to the private museum that had hired him to recover the relic. She had to start talking. Fast.

“It occurs to me,” she said, “that your client has every reason to be grateful to me.”

Oliver’s mouth twitched at the corner. Definitely his tell, she decided. He knew she was about to bargain for something and he was willing to play the game—probably because it amused him.

She gave him a very bright smile. “Do you think you could convince the director of that private museum to allow me to examine the crystal at some point in the near future?”

“Maybe.” His mouth twitched again. “I’m the director.”

That stopped her cold for a beat. “I thought you said you were a recovery agent.”

“In my case, recovering artifacts for the museum is part of my job description.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I think you owe me a little more information about this so-called private museum.”

“Such as?”

She drummed the fingers of one hand on the bench. “Does it have a name?”

“Sure. The Rancourt Museum.”

“Never heard of it.” She frowned. “Rancourt is your name.”

“You could say the museum is one of the family businesses. A Rancourt has served as director since it was established on the Old World. In those days it was officially part of what was then called the Foundation, a front for a government entity named the Agency for the Study of Atypical Phenomena. But here on Harmony it went private and became the Foundation for the Study of Atypical Phenomena.”

“I’ve never heard of that, either.”

“The Rancourts and the Foundation prefer to keep a low profile.”

“Obviously.” She considered how to proceed. “So you’re in charge of the museum?”

“I am.”

“Will you do me the professional courtesy of allowing me to examine the pyramid at some point in the near future?”

“I think that can be arranged.” Oliver slid her a quick, searching look. “I get the impression your interest is not just academic. Sounds personal.”

She hesitated and then decided to go with a bit more of the truth. “You’re right. The pyramid does appear to be made out of the same type of crystal as the ones my sister and I wear. Neither of us has ever come across any similar stones. Naturally I’m curious to take a closer look at the one in Pandora’s box.”

“I’ll make arrangements.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“But it will be a while before that can happen.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why am I not surprised that there’s a but?”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not trying to wriggle out of our agreement. The problem is that I’ve got another priority at the moment. I’m not sure how long it will take to sort this other situation. A few days, with luck.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I give you my word I’ll get you into the Rancourt Museum so that you can examine the crystal.”

“Okay.”

“You aren’t a very trusting person, are you?”

“Depends on who I’m expected to trust. Let’s face it, I’ve only known you for a few hours.”

“You have my word on this.”

“Okay.”

Maybe he intended to vanish from her life five minutes after he left her in the Dark Zone, but there was not much she could do about it. She could only hope he would come through for her.

Oliver checked the locator again. “We’re in luck. Looks like there’s a hole-in-the-wall very close to your loft.”

She glanced at the coordinates. “I know it. It’s in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. You can just drop me off at the exit point.”

“I’ll see you home.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’ll be fine. I know the neighborhood.”

“I said I’ll see you home.”

It was clear he had made the decision and there was no point arguing about it. He was a man on a mission. For a time tonight she had become entangled in that mission, so he had made the decision to get her out of what was going to be a very messy situation—probably so that she would not blab to the press or the cops about his own involvement with the raid, the FBPI, and the missing artifact. In other words, he had whisked her away from the scene to keep her quiet.

That raised an interesting question, one that ought to worry her a lot more than whether or not Oliver Rancourt was going to disappear from her life.

“I wonder how Hollister’s public relations department will handle the media after the news of the raid breaks,” she said. “It’s bound to get a bit sticky when word gets out that the endowment fund was taking huge donations from an organization that was the target of a stolen antiquities raid.”

“Not your problem,” Oliver said. “The university authorities will want to do everything they can to keep their involvement with the Society hushed up.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Trust me, your boss and everyone else will do their best to make any evidence of a connection disappear. They definitely won’t want their star para-archaeologist linked to the story.”

“I told you, my status as a star is temporary, but you’re right. The last thing Morty will want to do is admit that a member of the staff participated in a ceremony intended to validate stolen antiquities.”

“Morty?”

She winced. “Dr. Morton Bullinger, head of the Department of Para-Archaeology.”

“Right. Morty. He will definitely have to protect you in order to protect himself and the university.”

She slanted him an assessing look. “What about you? Are you worried about your reputation as the director of the Rancourt Museum?”

“No one who can do any damage recognized me at the reception,” he said.

Absolute confidence resonated in his voice. He was very sure of his talent for going unnoticed, she realized.

“Except me,” she said dryly.

He gave that a moment’s thought, as if he had just now realized she knew some of his secrets and might be a liability.

“Except you,” he said. “Are you planning to tell Morty or the media that I was at the reception tonight?”

His cool tone sent a shiver across her nerves.

“Of course not,” she said quickly.

“Good,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

She was not sure how to take his words. Perhaps he had been lying to her all along. That would certainly explain why she had never heard of the Rancourt Museum or the Foundation. Maybe they didn’t exist. For all she knew, Oliver was precisely what she had assumed him to be at the start—a professional antiquities thief. That did not rule out the possibility that he occasionally did favors for the FBPI. Everyone knew that law enforcement often used shady characters for intelligence purposes.

Still, he had helped her escape what could have been a very unpleasant situation, one that had the potential to do a lot of damage to her own career. Getting arrested tonight would not have been a good look.

“Sounds like we have a deal,” she said.

Oliver smiled, evidently satisfied. “It does, doesn’t it?”