Midnight Crystal (29 page)

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Authors: Jayne Castle

BOOK: Midnight Crystal

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“See you in twenty.”

“Wait, before you hang up, I’m pretty sure I know who stole the fake lamp.”

“Inside job like you thought?”

She exhaled slowly. “You could say that.”

“Tell me about it when you get home. And Marlowe?”

“Yes.”

“Drive really, really carefully.”

Chapter 33

THE RUINS IN THE HEART OF THE QUARTER WERE FULLY illuminated by the time Marlowe pulled into the garage beneath her condo building. She eased Dream into the parking space next to her little Float, cut the engine, and kicked down the stand.

She dismounted, removed her helmet, and tucked it under one arm. Gibson bustled out of the saddlebag and up onto her shoulder.

She started toward the elevator. “One would think that I’d had enough excitement for one day,” she said to Gibson. “But, no. Now I get to go to a Guild reception and make nice with a bunch of people, one of whom may have tried to turn me into roadkill today. You know, by the time I get to bed tonight I’m going to be exhausted.”

Gibson growled. In a flash, he went from fluffy to full-rez predator mode, all four eyes wide.

Marlowe stilled, her senses instinctively heightening along with another surge of adrenaline. She looked at the floor of the garage. Dark waves of dreamlight seethed and burned there, indications of both a strong talent and desperation.

She tracked the hot dreamlight to the stairwell. The door was partially open.

“I know you’re there inside the stairwell, Tucker,” she said. Her voice echoed against the concrete walls. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you? Why don’t you come out? We’ll talk.”

A few seconds of tense silence passed. The door to the stairwell squeaked as it was pulled inward. Tucker Deene moved out into the garage. He held a mag-rez in a two-handed grip.

“I’m sorry about this,” Tucker said.

There was a quaver in his voice and his hands trembled. It was the latter observation that worried Marlowe. Tucker was a professional con artist, not a professional shooter. She suspected that he knew very little about guns. In addition, he was clearly at the edge of his control.

Gibson growled again.

“It’s okay, Gibson,” Marlowe said. “You know Tucker. He won’t hurt me.”

“You have to come with me,” Tucker said. “We’ll use your car. You’ll drive.”

“Someone you know is in trouble, right?”

“My brother.”

“You stole the lamp because you thought you could use it to help him, but you discovered that the artifact was a fake. Now you’re hoping I can fix your brother.”

“You’re a dreamlight reader. You once told me that you can help people whose parapsych profiles are all messed up.”

“Only sometimes, Tucker. It depends on the nature of the underlying trauma.”

“You have to help my brother.”

“What’s wrong with your him?”

“Keith is dying,” Tucker’s voice rose. “Those damned crystals he forged are killing him.”

Adam emerged from the stairwell behind Tucker. It was obvious that he had come straight from the office. He had removed his black jacket, but otherwise he was in full Guild exec black. His polished leather boots made no sound on the floor of the garage as he moved up behind Tucker.

“You can put the gun down now, Tucker,” Marlowe said. “I’m here. I’m listening.”

Tucker ignored her, his eyes feverish. “My sister is a dreamlight talent. We all knew about the lamp because of Keith’s work with crystals, you see.”

“I understand,” Marlowe said.

“When Keith’s psi patterns started to go bad, Charlotte thought she might be able to work the energy of the lamp to reestablish the normal resonance patterns, but the damn artifact was a fake, and now you’re the only option we’ve got left. You have to help Keith.”

Adam reached around Tucker and snapped the mag-rez out of his hand.

“She’s not going anywhere with you, Deene,” Adam said.

Tucker’s handsome face crumpled. He started to cry, making no sound.

Marlowe glanced at her watch. “Three hours until the Guild reception starts. We’d better hurry.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Adam said.

Chapter 34

THEY TOOK HER FLOAT. ADAM DROVE. UNDER HIS guidance the normally sedate, unobtrusive little compact cut through the early evening traffic like a shark through a school of small quartzfish. Marlowe rode on the passenger side, Gibson perched behind her on the back of the seat. Tucker huddled forlornly in the back.

“Tell me about the crystals,” Adam ordered.

“What do you want to know?” Tucker asked.

“You said your brother forged them.”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“How?” Tucker shrugged. “He’s a crystal talent. He used a furnace. Some raw crystals. A lot of his own psi.”

“Creating crystals that can enhance a person’s talent isn’t the kind of thing you learn how to do in chemistry class or on the Internet,” Adam said. “It’s alchemy, an Old Earth science. Your brother must have found the instructions somewhere.”

“Yeah. He got hold of a copy of some old journal.”

“What old journal?” Adam asked evenly.

There was a long silence from the backseat.

“Keith told us that he found some notes supposedly copied from one of the early journals of Nicholas Winters,” Tucker said finally.

Marlowe felt energy heat the atmosphere. Adam was not a happy Guild boss.

“How many of those crystals did your brother make?” Adam asked, slicing through a narrow alley.

“A dozen,” Tucker replied.

“How many did you sell?”

“All of them.”

“I want the names of the buyers.”

“There was only one,” Tucker said tightly. “He took every one that Keith made. Said he’d buy all that we could produce. And before you ask, yes, he was a Guild Councilman. At least we think so.”

Adam glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “What makes you think he was a Councilman?”

“The deal was done through a go-between, a broker who handles those kinds of arrangements. Guy named Joey. He made it pretty obvious that the client was not only a strong talent but very well connected at the top of the Guild. No offense, but we thought you might have been the buyer. If it wasn’t you, must have been a Councilman.”

Marlowe turned in her seat to study Tucker. “How do you know the buyer wasn’t from the criminal world?”

He gave her a wry smile, the smile that had first attracted her weeks ago.

“Not much of a difference between the criminal world and the Guild here in Frequency, is there?” he asked.

Out of nowhere, anger flashed through her. No one could seriously defend the badly tarnished reputation of the Frequency Guild. But for some obscure reason, she reacted to the slur on the organization as if it had been aimed directly at Adam.

“Things will change now that Adam Winters is in charge,” she said coldly. “He’s going to clean up the Frequency Guild.”

Adam’s mouth kicked up a little, but he said nothing.

“Good luck with that,” Tucker said, monumentally unconvinced.

“It’s not like you’re exactly a shining beacon of integrity, now is it, Tucker?” Marlowe snapped.

Adam whipped the Float down a narrow, tree-lined street. “You two might want to save the sparkling repartee for some other time. We’ve got other issues on the agenda at the moment.”

Marlowe winced. “Good point.” She turned back to Tucker. “But I am a PI, if you will recall. I like answers. I want to know exactly why you are so sure that the person who bought the crystals wasn’t a politician or a businessman or a serial killer or some lunatic trying to fire up a cult?”

Tucker slumped deeper into his seat and stared glumly out the window. “We’ve worked with Joey before. We know him, and we trust him.”

“You’re talking about a guy who brokers deals on the black market,” Adam pointed out.

“Joey is a professional in his own way,” Tucker said. “He’s been in business for a long time. The good brokers survive for the simple reason that everyone involved, buyers and sellers alike, know they can be trusted.”

“Does this Joey the broker have a last name?” Adam asked.

Tucker hesitated. “Why?”

“Because I want to talk to him,” Adam said. “Give me a name, Deene.”

Marlowe narrowed her eyes. “We need a name, Tucker.”

Tucker crumpled again. “I can’t give you one. He’s just Joey the broker.”

“How do you find him when you need him?” Adam asked.

“Hangs out at a bar called the Green Hole,” Tucker replied.

Adam took a phone out of his pocket. He spoke briefly to whoever answered.

“Guy named Joey,” he said. “Works the black market as a go-between. His office is at the Green Hole. Pick him up.”

He closed the phone and glanced at Marlowe. Her surprise must have been plain on her face, because his brows rose a little.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m just wondering how you got the authority to send someone after a known criminal, let alone have him picked up for questioning. You’re not a police detective.”

“You know the code, the Guild polices its own.”

“Yes, but Joey the broker isn’t Guild.”

“If he’s selling illegal weapons to someone in the Guild, he has to deal with Guild law.”

A SHORT TIME LATER, ADAM BROUGHT THE FLOAT TO a halt in front of a modest house. He de-rezzed the engine and surveyed the quiet neighborhood.

“For the record,” he said, “I’d just like to mention one last time that this is probably not a good idea.”

“What do you mean?” Marlowe unfastened her seat belt. “According to Tucker, this involves the crystals. We’ve been trying to get a handle on them. This is the perfect opportunity.”

“There are other ways to do that.” Adam glanced at Tucker, who already had the rear door open. “I don’t trust this guy.”

“Well, he is a chameleon and a professional con artist,” Marlowe allowed. “Of course, you can’t trust him completely.”

Tucker looked crushed. “I never meant to hurt you, Marlowe.”

“Skip it,” Marlowe said. She scooped up Gibson. “Adam’s right; you can’t be trusted far. But there is one exception.”

“What’s that?” Adam asked.

She looked at him over the roof of the Float. “Tucker cares about his brother. It’s in his dreamprints. This is about family, not about pulling off another score.”

Tucker drew a deep breath. “Thank you, Marlowe.”

Adam glanced at Tucker, shrugged, and closed the car door.

Marlowe considered Tucker. “It’s too bad, you know.”

“Too bad that we got off on the wrong foot?” Tucker said quietly. “I agree. It was my fault.”

“True.”

“You and I, we had something special going for us, Marlowe.”

“Ghost shit,” Adam said, coming up behind Marlowe.

“I wasn’t talking about us,” Marlowe said to Tucker. “I meant it’s too bad you can’t be trusted, because J&J could use someone with your kind of talent.”

Tucker was dumbfounded. “Me? An agent for J&J?”

“Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”

“Marlowe—” He extended a hand toward her, as though to take her arm in the familiar, intimate way that he once had.

Gibson growled. Marlowe took a quick step back out of reach and came up hard against Adam. His hands closed around her shoulders, intimate and possessive.

“Let’s get on with this project,” Adam said. “Time’s running out.”

Tucker dropped his hand. He led the way up the walk.

“How did you know I was the one who took the lamp?” he asked Marlowe.

“You imitated Dr. Lewis’s dreamprints when you went into the vault to steal the relic,” she said.

“Yes.” Tucker exhaled heavily. “But how did you figure it out?”

“Good question,” Adam said. He looked at Marlowe. “How did you discover that Deene was the thief?”