Gift of Fire

leather shoulder bag, letting them jan ­ gle as she did so. The small action was deliberate. She just knew that he would never jangle a set of keys. They would slide silently into his pocket.
    “What I would like to know,” Mercy announced with a touch of aggression as she set a brisk pace down the street, “is why that bell didn’t make any noise when you were entering or leaving.”
    “I told you,” he said, moving silently along beside her, “I don’t like the sound it makes.”
    Mercy glanced at him sharply but he wasn’t paying any attention. He was examining the deliberately quaint, tree-lined, unmistakably prosperous street. Most of the boutiques and shops were closed for the day. The storefronts were elegantly rustic, the goods in the win ­ dows discreet and expensive. The few cars that were still parked at the curb tended to fall into the BMW-Volvo- ­ Mercedes category. The people on the sidewalk were casually dressed in polo shirts with little animals em ­ broidered on them, designer shorts and name brand sport shoes. They looked sleek and healthy.
    “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” Mercy pointed out.
    “My name is Croft Falconer.”
    “Where are you from, Mr. Falconer?”
    “Call me Croft or Falconer if you prefer, but skip the mister. I’m from Oregon.”
    “I see. Then you really haven’t come such a long way for Valley after all, have you? Oregon is just a three- or four-hour drive.”
    “Not all distances are measured in terms of miles.”
    She couldn’t quite decide how to respond to such a cryptic comment so Mercy decided to change the sub ­ ject. She was aware that she was no longer afraid of him, but she was very definitely feeling wary of the man. He didn’t fit into any category of male she could identify and label. That fact was as intriguing as it was unsettling. “What about your car? Are you sure you want to leave it here on the street?”
    “It should be reasonably safe for a while, don’t you think? Ignatius Cove doesn’t look like the sort of place where gangs start stripping cars on the main street five minutes after the sun sets.”
    “Well, no, but—”
    “Don’t worry about the car, Mercy.”
    “I won’t,” she assured him tartly. “After all, it’s yours, not mine.”
    Mercy led the way for two blocks, past the small plaza and fountain at the end of the street, and then turned left, away from the view of the cove, to climb the hill toward her apartment. By the time she reached the end of the rather steep street, she was breathing a little heavily, as usual. The walk home was definitely some ­ thing of a workout. As she stopped in front of her apart ­ ment building she was well aware that Croft’s breathing hadn’t altered. The knowledge irritated her. The man must have some weakness, she rationalized.
    “What is your field of interest, Croft?” she asked as she dug the keys back out of her purse.
    He gave her a quizzical look. “My field of interest?”
    “Your book collection,” she said impatiently as she walked up the single flight of stairs that led to her second-story apartment. “You’ve come all this way to see Valley, so you must be a collector. What’s your chief area of interest?”
    He smiled for the first time. It wasn’t much of a smile, just a faint lifting of the corners of his firm mouth. Mercy got the impression he didn’t have a lot of experience in smiling. But it was a genuine smile and she was rather pleased with herself for having drawn it from him.
    “You mean you want to know why I’m trying to ob ­ tain Valley of Secret Jewels?” he asked in mild amusement.
    Mercy gave a small cough to clear her throat and opened her front door. “Well, it is a rather unusual spec ­ imen.”
    “It’s erotica, pure and simple,” he stated flatly. “Some of the best ever written.”
    “Yes.” Mercy wasn’t quite certain what else to say. Uneasily she remembered her earlier image of meeting Croft in a darkened bedroom. Talk about erotica. De ­ liberately she made herself ask the logical question. “Is that what you collect? Erotica?”
    “No, Mercy. My interests lie in another direction.”
    “Which direction?” She turned just inside her door ­ way to face him, aware that she was feeling nervous again. She quickly tried to analyze her reactions and came to the conclusion that, while she wasn’t physically afraid of him, she simply couldn’t shake the dangerous frisson of sensual