In Too Deep (Looking Glass Trilogy #1)(46)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

"Isabella Valdez," she said. "I’m an investigator with J&J. I work at headquarters. Also, I manage the office for Mr. Jones."

"Ah, so you’re the new assistant. I’m Adrian Spangler." Adrian stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You, too." Isabella brushed crumbs off her palms and shook his hand.

No one else moved. No one else said a word. It was as if everyone in the vicinity except Adrian and Isabella had been flash-frozen.

"So, why would firing Fallon Jones and dumping J&J be a dumbass thing to do?" Adrian asked. There was no challenge in his tone, just curiosity.

"Because with J&J and Fallon Jones, the Society has the best psychic investigation agency on the planet," Isabella said briskly, "at least for the kind of investigative work that Arcane needs. The agency is uniquely qualified to handle Arcane business because it has a grasp of the history of the organization as well as access to all of the private files pertaining to the old cases."

"Good point," Adrian said. "It would be hard for another agency to step in and take over."

Hal frowned. "It might take some time for a new agency to get up to speed, but the trade-off would be a higher level of professional stability at the top."

"Oh, for pity’s sake," Isabella said. "Stop trying to imply that Fallon Jones is unstable and crazy. I doubt that you would know a real conspiracy nutcase if you tripped over one."

Adrian grinned. "And you would?"

He was enjoying himself, Isabella realized. She noticed that Raine had quietly joined the small crowd at the buffet table. Raine, too, looked amused. But everyone else appeared to be teetering on the fine line between shock and fascination.

"Absolutely," Isabella said. "I happen to be an expert on the subject of conspiracy theorists. I can spot ’em a mile away. That’s one of the assets I bring to the firm, by the way. Trust me, Fallon Jones is no conspiracy freak. Polar opposite, in fact."

Hal scowled, but Liz and Adrian and several others were starting to look intrigued.

"All right," Adrian said. "I give up. What is the polar opposite of a conspiracy freak?"

Isabella smiled. "A real detective, of course."

This time a few whispers rippled across the gathering crowd.

Isabella reached for another canape. "Don’t you get it? Fallon Jones thinks like a detective, not a conspiracy kook. He uses his talent to link facts and make connections, but he doesn’t invent those facts and connections and he doesn’t manipulate them the way true conspiracy nuts do. He’s a psychic Sherlock Holmes. Holmes and Jones would be the last people on earth to be sucked into a conspiracy fantasy."

It dawned on her that the crowd was no longer staring at her. Everyone’s attention was focused on a point behind her.

She turned around and saw Fallon watching her with an inscrutable expression. There was a little heat in his eyes.

"What do you say we go outside and get some fresh air, Watson?" he said.

"Watson got to carry a gun."

"Forget the gun."

"You never let me have any fun on the job."

"Not true. I let you find a serial killer and some dead bodies, didn’t I?"

"Well, there is that." She plucked two more hors d’oeuvres off the tray. "You’ve got to try one of these little puff pastry thingies. They’re yummy."

"Thanks," Fallon said.

He took a canape in one hand, nodded briefly at the small crowd watching the scene and wrapped his other hand around Isabella’s arm. He ate the puff pastry as he steered her toward the glass doors that opened onto the terrace.

"Good, aren’t they?" Isabella said.

"Not as good as Marge’s muffins."

"No," she agreed. "Nothing else is that good."

"Except your grandmother’s ginger soup."

"Except for that."

23

They stood at the terrace railing and looked out at the night. The towering red rocks that gave Sedona so much character were transformed into dark, looming monoliths beneath the crystal-sharp moon. Isabella shivered a little with a bone-deep awareness.

"It’s true what they say about this place," she said. "You really can feel the energy."

"It’s not a nexus because it lacks ocean currents, but it definitely has its own kind of power," Fallon agreed. "There are several vortexes in the region."

"I can see why the Society likes to hold some of its meetings here."

"Trust me, Zack and the Council didn’t choose this location just because it sits on a vortex site."

"No?" She glanced at him. "Why, then?"

"Because it’s got a certain reputation. Notice all those brochures in the lobby advertising vortex tours, crystal healing and spiritual guides?"

"I see what you mean. You can hold a convention of psychics here and no one will think it’s weird."

"It’s called hiding in plain sight," Fallon said.

She shivered again, this time because of the chill in the air. "It’s a lot colder than I thought it would be. This is supposed to be a desert."

"It’s January and the altitude here is forty-five hundred feet," Fallon said. "We’re lucky it’s not snowing."

"Leave it to you to know exactly why I’m freezing my rear off out here." She folded her arms around herself. "I should have thought to check the weather report when I packed for this trip. Guess I was a little too focused on the dress and shoes. I was so worried they wouldn’t arrive in time."

Fallon looked at the dress. "The dress is nice."

"Glad you approve, but don’t thank me until you get the bill."

"No problem. It’s a business expense."

"Right."

Nothing personal, she thought. It wasn’t as if he had bought the dress for her as a gift. Just a business expense.

"The dress was pretty pricey," she warned.

He shrugged.

"But not as expensive as using one of the Arcane corporate jets to get here," she added.

"Doesn’t matter."

"I had to spend some bucks on the dress because it’s hard to fake quality in a fancy evening gown, you see. But the shoes are a knockoff."

"Don’t worry about it, Isabella. Like you said, the jet cost a hell of a lot more."

"Okay."

He took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. It carried the warmth and scent of his body. She suddenly felt much warmer.

"Thanks," she said.

He nodded once, dismissing the small act of gallantry and propped one foot on the low rock barrier that rimmed the terrace. He leaned forward, one arm braced on his thigh.