“Calculated Deceptions: A History of Scientific Frauds, Swindles, and Hoaxes was much more popular,” Harry said, striving for modesty. Calculated Deceptions had been his first stab at writing for the lay market. It had done surprisingly well.
“I read that one, too.”
“I see.” Harry got to his feet, embarrassed. He went to stand at the window. “Well. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I was doing research on you.”
“Research?”
“I was trying to decide whether or not to hire you as my fraud detective.”
Harry winced. He gazed out into the night and tried to reassemble his fragmented bits of logic. So Molly was not quite what he had expected. So there were some unplumbed depths in her. Some surprises. So what? He was thirty-six years old, but his Trevelyan reflexes were still very good. He could handle an affair with Molly, he decided.
“Go on,” she prompted.
“What?”
“You were about to tell me why you’re taken with the idea of funding inventions that don’t offer any obvious payback.”
Harry contemplated the night on the other side of the wall of windows. “I told you, I’ve made a career of studying the history of invention and discovery. In the course of that study I often find myself asking certain questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Questions such as what would have happened if Charles Babbage had gotten funding to build his analytical engine in 1833, for example.”
“The history of the computer would have to be rewritten?” Molly suggested.
“Undoubtedly. If he had been able to create his vision, the world might have headed into the computer age a hundred years earlier. Just think how much farther along we’d be by now.” Harry turned away from the window, suddenly caught up in the passion he felt for his subject. “There are a thousand other examples of brilliant concepts that languished for lack of money and encouragement. I could name—”
He broke off as the front door opened.
“What in the world?” Molly glanced toward the glass-block barrier that divided the front hall from the living area. “I think someone’s coming in, Harry.”
Harry started forward. “Ginny must have forgotten to lock the door on her way out.”
The intruder suddenly appeared. He was a tall, lanky young man dressed in jeans and a blue workshirt. He stopped when he saw Harry, braced his feet apart, and raised his arm. Light gleamed on the steel blade in his right hand.
“This is the end, Trevelyan,” the newcomer snarled. “I’ve finally tracked you down. You won’t escape this time.”
“My God.” Molly leaped off the sofa. “He’s got a knife.”
“So he does.” Harry paused.
The intruder drew back his hand with a lethal, practiced movement.
“Look out.” Molly grabbed the teapot.
“Hell,” Harry muttered. “Some people have no sense of timing.” The intruder hurled the blade.
Molly shrieked and threw the teapot in the general direction of the glass blocks.
First things first, Harry thought. He grabbed the teapot as it went sailing past.
“Do something,” Molly yelled.
Harry smiled wryly. He cradled the teapot in one hand and opened his other hand to show her the knife he held.
Molly stared at him, open-mouthed. Her gaze went from the knife to the intruder’s empty hands.
“You snatched that knife right out of thin air,” Molly whispered.
Harry glanced down at the gleaming blade. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
2
“Nice, Cousin Harry.” The stranger clapped appreciatively. “Very nice. Your timing is as great as ever.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about yours.” Harry set the teapot and the knife down on a nearby table. “I’m trying to conduct a business meeting here.”
Stunned by the quick shift of events, Molly stared at Harry. “What’s going on? Who is this?”
“Allow me to introduce my cousin, Josh Trevelyan.” Harry eyed his relative with resigned disapproval. “He has a flair for the dramatic entrance. It runs in the family. Josh, this is Molly Abberwick.”
“Hi,” Josh said cheerfully.
Molly found her voice. “Hello.”
Josh was young, Molly realized, perhaps two years older than her sister, Kelsey. That made him twenty at the most. He bore more than a passing resemblance to Harry. Same midnight black hair, although Josh’s was not yet showing the hint of silver that marked Harry’s. Same lean, elegant build. True, Josh had not yet developed Harry’s look of sleek, controlled strength, but Molly had a hunch that would come with time.
The chief difference between the two men, other than their ages, was in their faces. It was a significant discrepancy. Josh Trevelyan was undeniably handsome in the traditional sense established by Hollywood. With his long black lashes, dark, romantic eyes, and finely chiseled nose and mouth, he could have walked straight off the silver screen.
Harry’s features, on the other hand, were unabashedly, gloriously fierce. He had the face of a hardened ascetic, a man who had spent years gazing into the depths of an alchemist’s seething flask in search of arcane truths.
Harry looked like a man who had practiced self-control and self-denial for so long that those qualities had been absorbed into his very flesh and bone. It seemed to Molly that some very old fires burned in Harry’s amber eyes. His powerful, long-fingered hands promised the possibilities of both great art and great despair.
“Next time, try knocking,” Molly suggested. She sank down onto the arm of the leather sofa. She could not have remained standing a moment longer. Adrenaline still surged unpleasantly through her veins.
“I’m sorry about this, Molly.” Harry looked at his young cousin. “Ms. Abberwick is a client of mine. She’s got a point. Next time, knock first.”
Josh chuckled, apparently oblivious to Harry’s irritation. “Didn’t mean to scare the daylights out of you.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” Molly grumbled.
Still shaken by what she had just witnessed, she looked at Harry for an explanation. His ferociously intelligent eyes met hers with an expression of rueful chagrin. She got the distinct impression that he was not quite sure what to do next.
Molly was briefly intrigued by that insight. At no time during the past month had she ever seen him betray so much as a hint of uncertainty. Until tonight he had exhibited an almost Zen-like self-assurance. It was a little unnerving.
His unshakable control and bird-of-prey patience together with his undeniable brainpower had combined to make Molly wary. And deeply, inexplicably curious. A moth and flame sort of thing, she had concluded. Very dangerous. Especially for a woman who had always been too burdened with responsibilities to take risks.
She had been flabbergasted to discover that she was attracted to Harry. As soon as the realization had hit her, a momentous event that had occurred the day she met him, she had made a valiant effort to conceal it. She had needed time to decide how to handle it. She was still working on the problem.
Harry Stratton Trevelyan could have been a swordsman, an artist, a monk, or a vampire. With such a range of career options, Molly found it intensely interesting that he had chosen a scholarly vocation.
At first she had rationalized Harry’s impact on her senses as a function of the fact that she was just not getting out enough these days. Aunt Venicia, her sister, Kelsey, and her counter assistant, Tessa, were forever telling her that she ought to get a life.
Easy for them to say, Molly thought. What with raising Kelsey, running her business, sorting out the complex legal tangle of her father’s affairs, and establishing the Abberwick Foundation, there was not a lot of room for a private life. There never had been.
Molly dated occasio
nally when she had the time and the opportunity. A year ago she had thought she might finally settle down into a contented relationship with Gordon Brooke, the owner of an espresso shop located near Abberwick Tea & Spice. She and Gordon had a lot in common, and Gordon was an attractive man. But that possibility had evaporated months ago.
For quite a while now, Molly had found herself far more consumed by her busy routine than she was by thoughts of passion. Lately even her quarterly business tax forms seemed more interesting than the men she met. She had begun to wonder if her female hormones had gone into permanent hibernation.
That particular concern had vanished the day she had looked straight into Harry’s amber eyes. All of her hormones had sat bolt upright and immediately launched into a stirring rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus.
Her common sense did not join in the refrain, however. It had several pithy things to say on the subject of Harry Trevelyan. They all boiled down to a loud warning to stand clear. Unfortunately, while she had not inherited the family genius for invention, she had gotten a full measure of the other infamous Abberwick family characteristic: curiosity.
And Molly had never been more curious about anything in her life than she was about Harry.
She scowled at him. “Do you Trevelyans always greet each other in such a heartwarming fashion?”
Harry looked pained.
Josh laughed as he sauntered forward. “That bit with the knife is part of an old carnival act that Harry and I run through once in a while just to stay in practice.”
“Carnival act?” Molly took several deep breaths to finish metabolizing the remainder of the adrenaline in her bloodstream. She looked at Harry. “What you just did was impossible.”
“Not for Cousin Harry,” Josh assured her. “Fastest hands in the family.”
“What on earth does that mean?” Molly asked.
“Pay no attention to him.” Harry put down the teapot. “Snatching a knife out of midair is nothing more than an illusion. My father taught me the routine. I taught it to Josh. Which, upon reflection, may have been a mistake.”
“My grandfather says Harry’s dad had one of the best working knife acts in the business,” Josh said. “Harry knows all of his secrets.”
Molly glanced at Harry. “It’s just a trick?”
“Yes,” Harry said.
Josh gave him a reproachful look. “It’s a lot more than a trick.” He glanced at Molly. “Hasn’t Harry told you about his great gift?”
“No, actually, he hasn’t.” Molly raised one brow. “I have a feeling that there’s a lot Harry hasn’t told me.”
“Cousin Harry has the Trevelyan Second Sight,” Josh confided. His eyes gleamed with laughter at Harry’s expression.
“Second sight?” Molly turned back to Harry.
“Josh has a distorted sense of humor,” Harry said. “Take my word for it, the knife-catching trick is an illusion, pure and simple.”
“Hah. That’s just where you’re wrong, Harry.” Josh smiled wickedly. “It’s definitely not simple. You gotta be fast. And you’re very, very fast.” He winked at Molly. “He’s also got the Trevelyan reflexes, y’know.”
“Fascinating,” Molly murmured. Coming from a family of inventors, as she did, she was accustomed to odd pranks and unusual practical jokes, but this one was definitely unique.
Harry gave Josh a disgusted look. “Show Molly the knife that she thought she saw you throw.”
Josh was genuinely horrified. “I can’t do that. It’s against the rules.”
“I make the rules around here,” Harry said. “Show her the knife.”
“Only if you promise that you won’t tell Cousin Raleigh or Aunt Evie.”
“Believe me, you have my word on it,” Harry said.
“Right.” With a theatrical flourish Josh plucked a gleaming blade from beneath his shirtsleeve. He grinned at Molly. “Now you see it.” The blade disappeared under his cuff. “Now you don’t.”
“Amazing.” Molly was impressed. “I could have sworn I saw you throw it.”
“That’s the whole idea,” Josh said.
Molly turned to Harry. “Where did you get the knife that you pretended to catch in midair?”
“From an ankle sheath that he wears,” Josh explained.
Molly stared at Harry. “Good grief. You carry a knife?”
“Family tradition on his side of the clan,” Josh said easily. “Show her, Harry.”
“This is not how I had intended to spend the evening,” Harry muttered.
Molly watched, fascinated, as he crouched in one of those incredibly fluid movements she had come to associate with him. He calmly slipped the knife into a small leather sheath strapped to his ankle and brushed the cuff of his trousers over it.
Molly shook her head in wonder. “I never even saw you remove it.”
Harry shrugged. “You were distracted by Josh’s grand entrance.”
Molly studied him intently. “Are you two ex-stuntmen, by any chance?”
“Not exactly.” Josh slid Harry a sly glance. “Sounds as though my cousin hasn’t told you much about us Trevelyans.”
“No, as a matter of fact, he hasn’t.”
“Harry’s father, my Uncle Sean, used to own an amusement show,” Josh explained.
“Those days,” Harry said softly, “are long gone.”
“Don’t let Aunt Evie hear you say that,” Josh cautioned. “She’s already pissed off enough as it is because of the way you turned your back on your heritage.”
“What heritage?” Molly asked, enthralled.
“Good question,” Harry said.
“Come on, now, Harry, I’m shocked at your lack of respect for the Trevelyan traditions.” Josh turned to Molly. “Trevelyans have been doing carnival psychic acts and motorcycle stunts, telling fortunes, throwing knives, and racing cars for generations.”
Molly was dumbfounded. The notion of Harry Stratton Trevelyan, Ph.D. and all-around know-it-all as a descendant of a long line of carnies, stuntmen, and race-car drivers was mind-boggling. “This is a joke, right?”
“It’s no joke,” Josh assured her. “Look at me. I’m carrying on the proud tradition, myself. At least until the end of summer. I go back to the University of Washington in the fall.”
“What’s your summer job?” Molly asked.
“I set up and operate rides in the Smoke & Mirrors Amusement Company,” Josh said. “Aunt Evangeline owns the business. Several members of my family work in it. My grandfather travels with the show, too.”
“Your grandfather?”
“Right. Grandpa’s been involved in racing all of his life.” Josh glanced briefly at Harry. “Smoke and Mirrors is doing a fair in Hidden Springs at the moment. There’s stock car racing in the evenings. Grandpa is one of the best mechanics around. He works in the pits.”
“I see,” Molly said. “Where’s Hidden Springs? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”
“That’s because it’s so well hidden,” Josh said smoothly. “It’s about an hour’s drive from here. North and slightly east toward the Cascades. Farm country. Smoke & Mirrors always does well there. The poor townies haven’t had any real excitement since we played their local fair last summer.”
“Speaking of which,” Harry interrupted. “What are you doing here tonight? You’re supposed to be working.”
“Aunt Evangeline said I could sneak over to Seattle to see you, Harry.” The good-natured amusement faded in Josh’s eyes. “I wanted to talk to you about some stuff. Sorry I interrupted your evening.”
“You should have called,” Harry said.
“I tried.” Josh shrugged. “I got the answering machine.”
Harry’s mouth twisted slightly. “I turned off the phones.”
Josh looked surprised. “Yeah? You always take calls from family when you’r
e home.”
“I made an exception tonight, okay?” Harry said coolly. “Why didn’t the doorman use the intercom to tell me you were on the way up?”
“I told Chris that I wanted to surprise you,” Josh said.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Molly said quickly before Harry could continue to grill his cousin. “I was about to leave, anyway.”
Harry’s amber eyes gleamed with impatience. “There’s no need for you to leave. We haven’t finished our business.”
Molly winced. “No problem. We can discuss it tomorrow.”
She’d hoped that in the excitement of Josh’s arrival Harry had forgotten that she’d lost her temper and fired him. What in the world had gotten into her? she wondered. Firing Harry meant never having an excuse to see him again.
That thought sent a chill through her bones. She got to her feet.
“Don’t leave on my account.” Josh backed hastily toward the front door. “I’ll just go down to the lobby and read or something. Chris won’t mind. He likes the company.”
“Nonsense.” Molly briskly straightened her jacket. “It’s nearly eleven. You two obviously have personal things to discuss, and I need my sleep. I’ve got a business to run. Harry, will you call a cab?”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “I’ll drive you home.”
“There’s no need. A cab will be fine.”
“I said, I’ll see you home,” Harry repeated evenly.
Molly met his implacable eyes and thought better of debating the subject. “If you insist.”
“I insist.”
Maybe he had decided to let her fire him, after all, Molly thought. She wracked her brain for a way to forestall that possibility.
He was irritating, arrogant, and downright stubborn, but for some reason the last thing she wanted to do was fire Harry.