Page 38 of The Shop on Hidden Lane

Luke glanced into the guardhouse. “Not seriously enough.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They are not using Wells, Inc. products.”

She almost smiled. “Does it worry you that the guard is armed? I mean, this is supposed to be an art colony, not a secret military base.”

“We’re in Arizona,” Luke said. “You can assume everyone is armed.”

“Including you?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“I don’t like guns,” he said. “They are loud, heavy, and dangerous. Also, I’m not a good shot.”

She processed that while she watched the big gates slide open.

“Huh,” she said.

“What?”

“I guess I just assumed that, what with you being in the security business and all, you probably carried a gun.”

Luke drove through the gates. “You may be under a misconception about my career path. I’m what you might call a data analyst.”

“A data analyst who is set to take control of one of the most powerful private security companies in the country.”

“Maybe.”

Startled, she turned to look at him. He certainly did not sound thrilled with the prospect of becoming the CEO of Wells, Inc. Interesting. Maybe he preferred his career as an assassin and wasn’t looking forward to a desk job.

She did not ask any more questions, because she was riveted by the glowing, sparkling fairy-tale wonderland inside the compound.

“This is incredible,” she said.

“Looks like a cross between the Las Vegas Strip and a theme park.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “A bit.”

The art colony was a small, picture-perfect community constructed around a large sculpture garden. The individual pieces ofartwork in the garden glowed, glittered, dazzled, and blazed in the night. Much of it was abstract in style. All of it was illuminated with dramatic lighting effects.

Several casitas bordered the garden. There was a large house behind them. All of the structures were done in the contemporary Southwestern architectural style known as adobe revival. It was an elegantly rustic look that combined stucco walls with a lot of glass, wood trim, and courtyards.

At the far end of the compound an architectural anomaly loomed. It was a sprawling, single-story structure that looked much older than the other buildings in the compound. The style reminded Sophy of a Frank Lloyd Wright design, but it lacked Wright’s sense of balance and proportion. Light from outside fixtures sparked on darkened windows, giving the impression that the interior was filled with night.

“That house at the other end of the garden looks more like a prison than a home,” Sophy said. “All it needs is a barbed wire fence.”

“Interesting.” Luke turned right on the narrow lane and drove toward the brightly lit inn. “Must be a holdover from the days of the first art colony.”

The Vortex Inn was an attractive, two-story affair in the same contemporary adobe style as most of the other buildings. Balconies marked the rooms on the upper floor. Small patios fronted the ground-floor rooms.

Luke stopped at the entrance. A smiling attendant who looked about eighteen greeted them.

“Welcome to Vortex Inn,” he said. “I’ll take care of the luggage and park your car in the garage while you check in at the front desk. Hey, you’ve got a dog. That’s great. Let me know if you need someone to walk him while you’re here. I love dogs.”

Sophy could have sworn that Bruce understood. He practicallysmiled at the attendant and did a canine version of fluffing up. His fangs glinted in the light.

The attendant blinked. “Does he bite?”

“No,” Sophy said very firmly. “He’s a very friendly dog.”