“I can’t wait to receive the pearls of feminine wisdom that roll off your sweet tongue, my love.” He thrust upward just as she parted her lips to tell him again about the importance of verbal discussion. “Ah, that’s better.” He sighed blissfully as her warm mouth closed around him. “Much better. You communicate beautifully with your mouth, honey.”
His last coherent thought was that he could live without the part of him that tuned him in to the past. But he would go out of his mind if he ever lost Verity.
She was his future.
“Verity?”
She stirred, drowsy and sated. “Yes, Jonas?”
“I was scared for a while. Really scared. It was like a part of me had vanished. Like I’d lost a leg or an arm.”
Verity came fully awake, listening to his stark confession of fear. “I know, Jonas. I knew it must be like that for you, but you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know how to get you to talk about it.”
“I couldn’t talk about it. In my mind I linked losing my talent with the possibility of losing you. I couldn’t deal with both losses. But everything is okay now.”
She smiled with quiet relief and leaned over to kiss him gently. “Everything’s going to be fine now. Jonas, I would love you no matter what you were missing.”
“You know what my biggest fear was? Losing you to someone like Oliver Crump.”
“There was never any need to be afraid I’d run off with Oliver. I like him very much, but I don’t love him.”
He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her, his golden eyes sober and intent. “You found something with him. Something similar to what you found with me.”
“No,” she said firmly. “What I found with Oliver was nothing at all like what I’ve found with you. Oliver and I became friends. Nothing more.”
“What about your ability with the crystals?”
Verity smiled. “Whatever ability I had with the crystals didn’t lead me to feel anything more than friendship for Oliver. The link, or whatever it was we shared, wasn’t…seductive the way it is with you. It wasn’t personal. There was no sense of being emotionally linked to him. It’s hard to explain, Jonas. But it was different, trust me. Besides, that’s all gone now.”
“Gone?” Jonas repeated quizzically.
“Whatever ability I had with crystals seems to have been directly related to what I shared with you, not Oliver. I’ve felt nothing around crystals since you woke up without your psychic talent.”
“You and Oliver worked the crystal to bring me out of the unconscious state I was in after that scene in the chamber.”
Verity shook her head. “Oliver worked it. I concentrated on yelling at you until you finally woke up and paid attention.”
He smiled faintly. “I could hear you chewing me out and I knew it was time to come back. You’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, my love.”
“I’m glad you appreciate it,” she murmured sweetly.
“I appreciate it all right.” His grin turned wicked with remembered satisfaction. He touched her lips with his fingertips. “I consider your mouth a very valuable portion of your anatomy. I’m thinking of having it insured.”
Chapter Twenty
They’re going to call him Nicholas Emerson Quarrel!” The halls of the small maternity ward of Sequence Springs Community Hospital rang with Emerson’s announcement. If there was anyone left in the waiting room who did not yet know that Nicholas Emerson had arrived, he was now aware of it.
Inside her room Verity held the tiny bundle to her breast and smiled. She knew her father had been pacing the waiting room floor since she had gone into labor last night. When Jonas had finally gone out to tell him that he had a grandson, Emerson’s roar of approval had shaken the building.
Verity raised her head and looked up at her husband. Jonas was watching his son nurse. There was deep pride in those eyes of Florentine gold. There was also a fascination in them as Jonas studied little Nicholas.
“Look at those tiny little hands,” Jonas marveled.
“I think he’s going to have your eyes,” said Verity.
Jonas grinned. “You think so? The nurse said it was too soon to tell.”
“Trust me,” Verity said with smug certainty. “I’d know those eyes anywhere.”
Jonas’s grin widened. He had been grinning a lot for the past couple of hours. He had not been grinning last night, however, when, in the middle of serving dinner to a light crowd at the cafe, Verity had announced that her time had come.
Jonas had taken over instantly. He had chased out the last of the diners and ordered Emerson to get the Jeep. At the hospital he had issued a steady stream of instructions to Verity and her nurses, consulted with Verity’s doctor, and generally assumed command of a situation that was entirely outside his field of expertise. That had not stopped him for a moment. Jonas had prepared well for the big event.
He had studied every book on pregnancy and childbirth he had been able to find during the past few months. He had supervised Verity’s vitamin supplements and exercises. He had gone shopping for diapers and baby supplies. Together with Emerson he had planned an educational curriculum for the child that would have stunned the average public-school teacher. It was a lot like the one Emerson had once devised for his daughter.
Jonas had considered himself an expert on childbirth right up to the moment when Verity had gone into the delivery room and started swearing. She had gritted her teeth and shouted words Jonas had never heard her use before. At that point he had realized he was a little out of his depth. Jonas had compensated by giving more orders and holding Verity’s hand so tightly that he was afraid he might crack a few of the delicate bones.
But she had clung to him even more tightly. Her nails had left marks in his palm.
Somehow they had all come through the ordeal with flying colors. Nicholas Emerson Quarrel had arrived with an ear-splitting squall, prompting Jonas to remark proudly that his son obviously had inherited his mother’s verbal skills.
“Is Dad still causing a scene out there in the waiting room?” Verity inquired.
“You could say that. He bought a case of beer for the hospital staff.” Jonas leaned over to get a closer look at his son. Are you sure you feel all right, honey?”
“I’m fine. A little tired, but that’s all.”
“I can’t believe it. We’ve actually made ourselves a kid. A real live baby.”
Verity smiled, amused by Jonas’s wonder. “Yes,” she said, a little amazed herself. “We did.”
The past few months had been good, she thought with satisfaction. The time she and Jonas had had together before the baby arrived had assured them both that the bonds between them were strong enough to last a lifetime. Verity’s nagging, Jonas’s teasing, the laughter and the loving were all back to normal. Better than normal, Verity had decided. This time she could be sure that the emotional foundation was for real, not just a byproduct of the psychic link.
The hospital room door burst open just as Jonas leaned down to place his son back in the cradle. Emerson stood on the threshold, loaded down with flowers and packages.
“Behold, I come bearing gifts and the U.S. mail. How’s little Nicholas Emerson?”
“Sleepy,” Jonas said. “Keep your voice down, Emerson.”
“Kid might as well get used to the fact that he’s got a mouthy mother, a loud grandfather, and a daddy who’s good with a knife. Here you go, Jonas. A letter from some magazine. Looks like a check.”
“Wonderful,” Verity exclaimed. “I told you they’d love your piece on Digby Hazelhurst’s contributions to Renaissance scholarship.”
Jonas raised beseeching eyes toward the ceiling. “Done in by success. Now I suppose I won’t get any peace until I write that follow-up article for the editor who got me into that mess to begin with.” But he was smiling with satisfaction as he rippe
d open the envelope and removed the check inside.
Verity knew the source of that satisfaction. During the past few months Jonas had come to the realization that his knowledge of Renaissance history and his feel for the period had not vanished along with his talent. The things he had learned in the academic world and in the time corridor were his for a lifetime.
“And more baby presents,” Emerson continued as he placed gaily wrapped packages on the bed. The kid is really raking it in. A package from the Griswalds, one from that Crump fellow, and one from Sam Lehigh.”
Verity pulled off ribbons and tore paper with enthusiasm. Rick and Laura Griswald’s gift was an adorable little yellow playsuit. She held it up with delight. “Isn’t it cute? It’s perfect for him.”
“Looks a few sizes too big, if you ask me,” Jonas said, examining the outfit with a critical eye.
“Don’t worry,” Emerson advised. “Babies grow. Fast.”
“Let’s see what Oliver sent,” Verity said. She shredded more paper, lifted off the top of a white box, and revealed a beautiful chunk of amethyst crystal. “It’s lovely,” she said, turning the glittering crystal in her hands.
“What the hell’s the kid going to do with that?” Emerson demanded.
“It’s not for Nicholas,” Verity announced, belatedly reading the small card. “It’s for me. To help me get my strength back quickly.”
“How the heck is a hunk of crystal going to do that?” Emerson growled.
“Who knows?” Jonas gave his wife a secret grin. “Look at it this way—it can’t do any harm.”
“Let’s see what Lehigh sent,” Emerson said encouragingly.
Verity obediently tore the paper off the last package. When she raised the lid on the long thin box her eyes widened in amazement. Inside lay a dagger with a jeweled handle. “Lehigh certainly has an odd notion of what to give a newborn.”
Emerson chuckled and came around the side of the bed to get a closer look. “Probably expects the kid to take after his dad. Hell of a dagger though, isn’t it? Look at that handle. Knowing Lehigh, those stones are real. Take a look, Jonas.” Emerson stood back.
Jonas frowned as he glanced at the dagger. “Looks genuine, all right. Fifteenth- or sixteenth-century Italian.”
“Probably from his collection,” Emerson remarked. Jonas reached into the box. His fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger.
Verity sucked in her breath as the walls of the hospital room began to curve around her.
“Jonas.”
“Right here, honey.”
She turned in the psychic corridor, searching for him. He smiled at her from the other side of the mysterious tunnel. His golden eyes were gleaming. He held the jeweled dagger in his hand.
“Your talent,” she whispered. “It’s back.”
“Strong as ever,” he said with laughing satisfaction. “Guess it just needed a little time to heal.”
He tossed the jeweled dagger into the air. It spun end over end, the stones in the handle flashing brilliantly. The corridor wavered and vanished.
Jonas caught the dagger with easy grace and quickly dropped it back into its box.
“Hey, you two okay?” Emerson demanded. “You’ve both got funny expressions on your faces.”
“Everything’s just fine,” Jonas said as he leaned down to kiss his wife. “Isn’t it, my love?”
“Perfect,” Verity agreed with a smile that was more beautiful than the crystal and the gems around her. It was a smile as brilliant as the gold in her husband’s eyes.
The End
Excerpt from Midnight Jewels
by Jayne Ann Krentz
Chapter 1
The advertisement on the last page of the bookseller’s catalog was small and discreet. Only a knowledgeable collector of rare books would know that the volume offered for sale was a unique example of eighteenth-century erotica.
FOR SALE: Burleigh’s Valley of Secret Jewels. First edition, 1795. Plates. Exc. cond. Contact Mercy Pennington, Pennington’s Second Chance Bookshop, Ignatius Cove, Washington. (206) 555-1297.
Croft Falconer had already spent a great deal of time studying those tiny lines but he read the ad once more as if he might somehow find a clue to the remarkable fact of the book’s appearance after so many years.
Croft ignored the phone number offered. He didn’t have a phone at his house on the coast, just as he didn’t have a television, radio or microwave. And, while he could have driven into town to use a pay phone, he knew that effort would be futile.
He would have to see the book himself to be sure if it was the right one and he wanted to see this Mercy Pennington in person. He had to find out who she was, how much she knew and how she had acquired the volume.
The only thing he was certain of at this point was the most disturbing fact of all: The book should not exist.
Valley should have been destroyed along with everything else in the fire that had swept through Egan Graves’s island fortress three years before. Croft had witnessed that fire firsthand. He had felt its hellish heat, seen the all-consuming flames and heard the shattering screams of its victims.
How could something that should have been eaten by those flames resurface in an insignificant bookseller’s catalog? The existence of the book opened a gaping hole in a case Croft thought he had closed for all time. If the book had survived the fire, then Croft had to face another possibility: Its owner, Egan Graves, might have also escaped and survived.
And that meant Croft had failed.
The ad for Valley raised questions that had to be answered. It indicated a trail that had to be followed.
And that trail began with a Miss Mercy Pennington of Ignatius Cove, Washington.
Croft gazed at the dawn-lit Pacific outside his study window and wondered about Miss Mercy Pennington. Before he could come to any conclusions the Rottweiler whined softly behind him. Croft glanced at the heavily built dog. The animal gazed back expectantly.
“You’re right, it’s time to run” Croft said. “Let’s go down to the beach. It’s a cinch I’m not going to get any meditation done this morning.”
The dog silently accepted the response and padded to the door.
If anyone were to ask him about his affinity for the Rottweiler, Croft would have said simply that he was one of those people who got along well with dogs. In truth, he had much in common with the creature who paced at his heels. The ancient, wild, hunting instincts still ran in the veins of the Rottweiler, even though the animal generally behaved with the good manners acceptable to the civilized world. But under the right provocation, the facade of politeness in both man and dog could vanish in an instant, leaving bare the predator underneath.
Croft slid aside the shoji screen panel and stepped out into the hall. The room on the opposite side of the tiled corridor beckoned. He looked into it, feeling the pull of its stark simplicity: The bleached wood floor, the woven mat and the elegantly austere flower arrangement in the low black ceramic bowl all promised a haven. Croft’s period of quiet morning contemplation was as much a part of his daily life as running and the demanding workouts that kept his exceptional martial arts skills well honed.
Croft’s rituals were important to him. All of them, from his morning meditation to the cup of perfectly brewed tea he would enjoy later, were part and parcel of his carefully organized, neatly self-contained world. He did not like to forego even the slightest of his chosen routines.
But he had little hope this morning of stilling his mind to the point where he could slip into a meditative trance. Too many questions were swirling in his head; too many dangerous possibilities were materializing.
The morning run would have to do, he decided. He went out through the back door of his beachfront cottage, the Rottweiler at his heels.
Croft was wearing only a pair of jeans, and if there
had been a woman watching she would have found the subtle shift and glide of his shoulder muscles fascinating. A healthy, trained and controlled power radiated from the man. But there was no one to see the easy masculine grace with which Croft moved. Croft had never brought a woman to his isolated home on the Oregon coast.
Five minutes later man and dog were loping easily across the glistening sand at the water’s edge. The light and energy of a new day filled the air and Croft and the dog drank in the essence of both as they covered the ground toward the distant point of land at the end of the beach.
As his body fell into a strong, easy rhythm, Croft found his mind wandering to the one totally unknown and unpredictable piece in this new puzzle—Miss Mercy Pennington.
Mercy eyed the huge stack of romance novels and mysteries that had just been plunked down on the counter near the cash register. She tried to keep all hint of mercenary satisfaction out of her eyes as she smiled at the woman on the other side of the counter. Christina Seaton was an excellent customer. She could be counted on for a minimum purchase of twenty paperbacks a month. Mercy experienced a pleasant tingle of anticipation whenever Christina came through the door of Pennington’s Second Chance. She told herself that only another small business person could fully understand the nature of her fondness for this particular client.
“Will that be all today, Christina?”
Christina grinned. At thirty she was a couple of years older than Mercy and had a freshly scrubbed attractiveness that perfectly suited her designer jeans, loose knit sweater and expensive loafers. “Are you kidding? My kids will have to go without shoes this month as it is.”
Mercy laughed. Very few children in Ignatius Cove were in danger of going without shoes or anything else their little hearts desired. The small town north of Seattle was an enclave of prosperous, upwardly mobile types, most of whom worked in the city but preferred to raise their families in a small town environment. Ignatius Cove had the best of both worlds. They were close enough to Seattle to enjoy its urban benefits, but they had all the fun and advantages of living in a self-consciously quaint village at the water’s edge.