Obsidian Prey

Chapter 19

JEFF DROVE HER BACK TO HER APARTMENT SHORTLY before two so that she could change clothes for the auction preview appointment with Wilson Revere. They used a small, nondescript Float provided by Amber Inc. Security. The little vehicle did not call attention to itself in any way. If Jeff hadn't explained that beneath the boring gray paint job the car was discreetly armored with heavy-duty mag-steel, Lyra would never have known.

"Gets lousy mileage because of all the steel," Jeff said. "And it's sort of embarrassing to drive. But it has one big advantage. No one looks twice at it."

"Does Amber Inc. Security maintain a fleet of armored vehicles?" Lyra asked.

"The company garage always has a few on hand."

"To protect the executives? Not that I can envision Cruz Sweetwater buzzing around in a Float, mind you."

Jeff laughed. "If you're in any of the executive suites at AI, it means you can take care of yourself. You drive whatever you want. Mostly we use the armored cars for clients."

"So now I'm an AI client?" She wrinkled her nose. "I hope no one plans on sending me a bill because, thanks to a recent lawsuit against a certain unnamed company, I can't afford a high-rez private security firm."

"Don't worry, there won't be any bill." Jeff slid the little compact into a parking space at the curb. "The boss is picking up the tab on this case personally." He glanced at the rearview mirror as he powered up the engine. "Speaking of the boss, looks like he's ready to take his shift."

"What?" Alarmed, Lyra twisted around in the front seat just in time to see a familiar black Slider glide into the parking space behind the Float. "Oh, no, no, this is a really, really bad idea."

Even as the sense of impending doom settled on her like a dark cloud, Vincent, perched on the back of the seat, started bouncing and chortling with anticipation. His red beret flapped wildly.

Lyra watched Cruz get out of the Slider and walk toward the Float. He wore another sleekly tailored black jacket, black trousers, and black bolo tie trimmed with a gleaming amber stone. The well-dressed assassin on his way to an upscale auction.

She grabbed Vincent and her tote, opened the door, and jumped out.

"No," she said. "Absolutely not, Cruz. You cannot go with me to the auction preview."

He halted in front of her. "Sure I can." He batted one of Vincent's paws a couple of times in greeting and kissed Lyra in a quick, outrageously proprietary way. Before she could protest, he straightened, braced one hand on the roof of the Float, and leaned in to speak to Jeff through the open window. "I'll take it from here. I'll give you a call when we need you back."

"Yes, sir. Bye, Miss Dore," Jeff said as he drove off down the street.

Lyra glared at Cruz. "Wilson Revere is an important client."

Somehow Cruz managed to look politely innocent, even a little confused.

"So?" he said.

"Look, you and Revere obviously have a history. If I walk into that auction with you, he might decide he doesn't need my consulting services after all."

"Revere reads the papers like everyone else. He knows that you and I are seeing each other again. He wouldn't have hired you if that was a problem. I told you, I think it's actually the reason he did hire you. He's going to try to use you somehow."

She ignored the last sentence and focused on the main point she wanted to make. "One night doesn't mean that you and I are involved," she warned.

"It does as far as the media is concerned."

"But it will look unprofessional if I arrive at that auction with you."

Cruz smiled. "Think of me as just another client."

SHE WAS STILL FUMING AN HOUR LATER WHEN SHE walked into the hushed, elegant atmosphere of the Fairstead Gallery with Cruz at her side. She consoled herself with the knowledge that at least she looked thoroughly professional in a skirted suit and pumps. Her hair was up in a businesslike twist. She wore her charm bracelet on her wrist. The usual pair of small, discreet amber earrings gleamed in her ears.

Vincent had been left at home. High-end auction houses did not welcome dust bunnies or any other species that possessed more than two legs. They were also highly selective when it came to the two-legged types. The only way a low-rent amber tuner turned part-time antiquities consultant could cross the threshold of the Fairstead was because she had been invited by one of the gallery's high-rent clients.

A number of well-dressed people circulated among the display cases, making notes about the various items that were slated to go on the block. Several uniformed guards stood watch. Lyra spotted two other amber consultants. Both moved routinely in these rarified circles. She knew they had noticed her, also. They gave her veiled what-the-hell-is-she-doing-here looks and then did double takes when they recognized Cruz. She returned the acknowledgments with a dazzling screw-you smile.

She heightened her senses and felt the familiar frisson that told her there was a lot of good amber in the room. She glanced at Cruz and knew he felt it, too. An affinity for amber was one thing they did have in common.

A suave, distinguished-looking man with discreetly enhanced patrician features and a wealth of unnaturally bright silver hair appeared as if by magic. Ignoring Lyra, he beamed at Cruz, displaying a lot of perfect teeth.

"Mr. Sweetwater," he gushed smoothly. "An unexpected pleasure. I'm Valentine Fairstead. I do not recall seeing your name on the guest list, but I am, of course, delighted that you decided to attend the auction."

"Thought I'd take a quick look," Cruz said, glancing casually around at the cases. "But I won't be bidding unless Miss Dore spots something of special interest. I rely on her for all my appraisals."

Horrified shock flashed in Fairstead's eyes. He looked at Lyra as if she were one of the multifooted species not welcome in the gallery.

"Miss Dore?" he repeated somewhat blankly.

"I wouldn't consider buying amber antiquities without her," Cruz said.

To his credit, Fairstead recovered quickly. He bestowed his gleaming smile on Lyra.

"Yes, of course, Miss Dore," he said. "Welcome to the Fairstead Gallery."

"Thank you," she said. It took effort to keep her voice cool and polite, but she managed. "Actually, Mr. Sweetwater is here only because he very kindly offered to escort me today. One of your other guests has engaged my services this afternoon."

"I see." Fairstead was clearly thunderstruck. "Isn't that a little, ah, unusual?"

"I understand that you are going to be auctioning off some extremely unusual amber today," she said just as smoothly. "Rare amber is my specialty."

"Yes, of course," Fairstead said weakly.

Another man in an elegantly tailored business suit and a black and amber tie came toward them. He was tall and well-built with the refined masculine features that Lyra associated with rez-screen anchormen. There was nothing soft or genteel about his eyes, however. They were glacier blue. He gave Cruz a speculative glance and then smiled wryly at Lyra. She recognized him instantly. Wilson Revere was in the news a lot.

"I trust you're not going to tell me that I've already lost my new consultant to my competition, Miss Dore," he said. "I'll be crushed."

"No, absolutely not," she assured him swiftly. "I'm here to consult for you, as arranged, Mr. Revere. I mean, Wilson. Mr. Sweetwater offered to give me a ride, that's all."

Cruz looked amused at being relegated to the role of chauffeur.

"Not like I had anything better to do this afternoon," he said. He inclined his head with cool civility. "Got something special in mind here today, Revere?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I do." Revere smiled. "I'm looking forward to getting Miss Dore's opinion before I bid on it, however. I wouldn't want to make an expensive mistake."

"No," Cruz said, "you don't want to make any big mistakes."

He was using what Lyra thought of as his professional hit man voice, cold and laced with the promise of doom.

Infuriated, she swung around to face him. She should have worn higher heels, she thought. In her conservative two-and-a-half-inch pumps she was only a couple of inches above his shoulder. The lack of height was not an asset when one was trying to intimidate a man like Cruz.

"If you'll excuse me, I have work to do, Mr. Sweetwater," she said, infusing the words with as much authority as she could muster. Damn it, she was a professional, and she would not let him ruin things.

To her overwhelming relief, Cruz responded politely to the unsubtle hint. "Take your time," he said. "I'll have a look around on my own."

"You do that." Lyra bestowed a warm smile on Revere. "Why don't you show me the item that is of particular interest to you, Wilson?"

"Certainly." He gave Cruz a slyly amused smile and took Lyra's arm.

Together they walked off toward a distant display case. Lyra knew Cruz was watching their backs. She could feel his gaze the entire length of the room.

The Fairstead Gallery specialized in spectacular rare amber jewelry of all descriptions. Rings, watches, cuff links, necklaces, and earrings glowed and glittered in the locked glass cases.

The gallery was also known for the gemstone quality of its raw, uncut, and untuned amber, the most valuable of which were the specimens of rare and exotic varieties.

"I assume the media was right for once?" Revere said in a conversational tone. "You and Sweetwater have resolved your legal issues?"

"There was nothing to resolve. Amber Inc. crushed my lawsuit."

"I trust Sweetwater made it worth your while to rescue that team that got trapped in the ruin?"

"We're still negotiating my fee," she said easily. "Now, why don't you show me the amber that caught your eye?"

"Right over here."

He guided her toward the row of cases set against the back wall. She experienced more than just a frisson of awareness when they got close to the specimens. All of her senses were fully rezzed by the unusual latent energies of the stones on display. The collection was, indeed, impressive. Chunks of rare emerald, ruby, and sapphire amber were arrayed on black velvet in the artistically lit cases. She also spotted some remarkable crystal, jade, and chalcedony amber, all of excellent quality.

"I'm interested in the amethyst piece in the last case," Revere said. "What do you think?"

She walked to the display case and studied the rough, uncut stone inside with all of her senses. The amethyst amber was attractive, showing good color and clarity. But when she probed for the latent energy of the stone, feeling her way into the untuned currents, disappointment whispered through her.

"It's a nice piece," she said. "It would make beautiful jewelry, but its resonating power is weak. Not that most people would notice, of course."

He watched her with a speculative expression. "Only someone who could rez amethyst would care one way or the other."

"Yes.

Revere studied the amber in the case. "You're sure about the latent energy in that stone?"

"Positive."

"Well, so much for that." But he did not look disappointed. Instead, he appeared satisfied, as if she had passed a test. "I'm not interested in making earrings out of that chunk of amethyst."

"I'm sorry, but you know how it is with amber. Not every piece is powerful." She cleared her throat. "Do you mind me asking how you planned to use it?"

"I'm looking for lab-quality stones. Your discovery of the ruin and those relics has fired up a lot of interest in amethyst."

"I see."

Revere glanced back toward the front of the room where Cruz was examining the contents of a case. "Can't let the competition get too far ahead of us. My people are convinced that the existence of the ruin is proof that there's a lot more power in amethyst than the experts have realized. Since we can't get our hands on any of the relics that Amber Inc. seized from you, I'm looking for some raw stones to use for research purposes in the RezStone lab."

"Oh, geez. Sounds like an arms race."

"Amber is power," Wilson said. "In more ways than one." He did not take his eyes off Cruz. "As long as you're here, there is one other specimen that I'd like you to examine."

"Of course." She surveyed the rough stones. "The emerald is a nice specimen."

"I've got some good emeralds in the lab. The stone I want you to see is in Fairstead's private viewing room."

"This gallery isn't it?" she asked, looking around.

"No," Wilson said very softly.

Valentine Fairstead materialized again, white teeth shining.

"If you will follow me, Mr. Revere," he murmured.

He led the way past a guard and rezzed the lock of a door that Lyra had not noticed in the dim light. Revere ushered her into a small, windowless room. Fairstead followed, closing the door behind him.

"I keep this particular specimen in the vault," Fairstead said.

He crossed the small space and pulled aside a midnight blue velvet curtain, revealing a gleaming mag-steel bank vault-style door. Keeping his back to Lyra and Revere, he rezzed the lock.

The heavy door opened slowly. More steel glinted in the shadowy interior.

Energy pulsed from within the vault, lifting the hair on the back of Lyra's neck, thrilling and chilling her senses. She shivered with awareness and a sudden wave of fear. She knew those currents.

She watched Wilson out of the corner of her eye. She was sure she felt energy pulse around him, but there was no indication on his handsome face of any reaction. She reminded herself that men in his position were consummate actors.

Fairstead moved into the vault. "I'll bring out the piece," he said.

The door opened again, startling all three of them. Cruz walked into the room.

Fairstead rushed back out of the vault, empty-handed. He was clearly agitated and alarmed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sweetwater," he said. He slid an uneasy glance at Revere. "This is a private showing."

"Don't mind me," Cruz said. He gave Revere a truly dangerous smile. "I'm old-school. That means that Lyra leaves with the one she came with. That would be me."

"It was my understanding that Miss Dore was here in her professional capacity," Revere said. "Not as your date."

"Stop this," Lyra said tightly. "Stop it right now."

All three men looked at her.

"How dare you, Cruz Sweetwater?" She stormed toward him. "You asked me to give you another chance, but look what you've done to me."

He frowned. "I haven't done anything."

"Oh, yes, you have. You have humiliated me in front of my most important client and the proprietor of the most respected amber gallery in the entire city. You've made me look like one of your bimbo girlfriends instead of a real professional consultant. How could you, after all the promises you made?"

She slapped his face hard, much harder than she had intended. The sharp crack of the blow resonated in the small space. For an instant she froze, shocked by her own small act of violence. She had been going for a theatrical touch, not a real blow. She had never before deliberately struck anyone in her entire adult life.

Cruz did not move. He just stood there, his jaw reddening from the blow. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

She burst into tears and rushed toward the door.

"I will never forgive you," she wailed. "This was going to be my big chance to recover from that mountain of debt I've been under, thanks to losing that lawsuit against Amber Inc. I was going to consult for Wilson Revere. You've ruined everything. Just like last time. I don't know why I let you talk me into trusting you again."

She yanked open the door and fled, sobbing. The clients, attendants, and guards in the outer room froze, transfixed by the sight of a hysterical woman running through the elegant establishment.

When she reached the front of the room, someone hurried to push open one of the thick glass doors for her. Dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand, she rushed out onto the sidewalk.

She started walking briskly. As soon as she had put some distance between herself and the gallery, she stopped crying and started watching for a cab. It was typical of her luck, she thought, that there wasn't one anywhere in sight. She spotted a bus stop at the end of the block and hurried toward it.

Cruz appeared before the bus did. No surprise there, she thought. She watched as he eased the Slider against the curb.

He leaned across the seat to open the door.

"Get in," he said.

She thought about it for a few seconds, but there really was no point pretending he wasn't there. Cruz would not go away like one of her hallucinations.

She slid into the front seat, closed the door, and buckled her seat belt.

Cruz checked the rearview mirror and pulled away from the curb.

"What the hell was that about?" he asked.

"I slapped your face." She was still stunned by the anger that had momentarily turned everything red.

"Yeah, I noticed." He took one hand off the wheel and touched his jaw somewhat gingerly. "It was a little over-the-top, don't you think?"

"I thought it looked very realistic."

"Probably because it was realistic. Trust me, I felt it."

"I didn't mean to hit you that hard. I'm sorry. I got a little carried away."

"Forget it. What about the fake tears and the female hysteria?"

"I thought that all looked good," she said, not without some satisfaction. "Convincing."

"It was. I'm sure that everyone, including Fairstead, Revere, and half the top-tier amber collectors in the city, not to mention your competitors in the consulting world, bought it."

She struggled and failed to suppress a wry smile. "Everyone but you?"

"I know you better than they do. In a crisis you don't get hysterical. You file a lawsuit."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do." And maybe there were a few things about herself that she had been unaware of, too, until now. So much for having worked through all her anger with Harmonic Meditation. "In any case, I doubt that there's time for a lawsuit in this situation. Probably wouldn't do me any more good than it did the last time."

"Talk to me."

"There's an amethyst relic in Fairstead's vault," she said quietly. "I think it came from the ruin."

"Son of a ghost." He glanced at her. "You found the artifact that disappeared from the AI lab?"

"Maybe."

"What the hell does that mean? Aren't you sure?"

"I said I sensed an amethyst relic. The only question is, whose artifact is it?"

"There's no question about ownership," he said flatly. "It belongs to Amber Inc."

"We don't know for certain, yet, that the one in Fairstead's vault came from your lab." She cleared her throat. "There is another possibility."

He exhaled slowly. "Why do I have a feeling I'm not going to like this?"

"Probably because you know me so well."

"About this other possibility," Cruz said. "Just how many of the relics did you remove from that chamber before Amber Inc. took control?"

"Three. Figured you'd never miss them. And you didn't. Fortunately, the aliens didn't leave a detailed inventory of the artifacts they stored in the chamber."

"Please don't tell me you hid those three stones somewhere in your apartment."

"Do I look that dumb? I stashed them down in the tunnels, of course. As soon as we get back to my place, I'll change and go underground to see if any of them are missing. If all three are still there, I think it's safe to say that the relic in Fairstead's vault is the one from the Amber Inc. lab."

"You do realize I'm not going to let you go down to your secret hiding place alone, don't you?"

"If you go with me, it will no longer be a secret."

"No," Cruz said. "It won't be a secret. Looks like you're going to have to trust me."