Running Hot

else to the ground. Standard procedure when dealing with a formula lab.”
    “And no one involved with Nightshade will run screaming to the cops because no one wants an investigation that would turn up proof that some kind of illegal drug lab had been operating,” Luther concluded.
    “Yeah, that’s pretty much how it works,” Fallon agreed.
    “That’s going to be a big blow to Nightshade,” Grace said.
    “The problem is, we don’t know how many labs are currently operating. You’re right, though, between losing their founder and five of their labs, they’re going to be in disarray for a while. The goal now is to identify as many operatives as possible. We still don’t know who sits on that damn board.”
    “Can’t Damaris Kemble tell you?” Luther asked.
    “She said Craigmore didn’t consider her ready to receive that information. The debriefing people believe her. I’ve got people tearing apart Craigmore’s mansion, his office, his computer and his entire past. We’re getting information but we’ve got a long way to go. He was very good at keeping secrets.”
    “Lot of work ahead for J&J,” Luther said.
    “Tell me about it,” Fallon muttered. “I’m going twenty-four/seven here.”
    “That’s not good, Mr. Jones,” Grace said. “Sooner or later you’re going to burn out. That would be a disaster. The Society needs you at your best in the months ahead.”
    Fallon snorted. “Not like there are a lot of options here.”
    “Yes, there are,” Grace said. “You just need to focus on the problem for a couple of minutes the way you focus on other issues. Start by getting yourself an assistant.”
    “Forget it. I work alone.”
    Grace smiled. “That’s what Luther used to say, too. At least until you assigned me to work with him. You’ve got to admit that we made a pretty good team.”
    “There’s a reason I work alone,” Fallon said bleakly. “No one can stand working with me for longer than about five minutes.”
    “That’s not true. I’ve been your research assistant in Genealogy for several months. I didn’t have a problem working with you.”
    Across the room Luther grinned but kept quiet.
    “You’re different,” Fallon grumbled.
    “So? Find someone else who is also different. You need an assistant, Mr. Jones. Make hiring one a priority. Think of it as a puzzle that needs to be solved as soon as possible.”
    “It would have to be someone I could trust with the Society’s secrets,” Fallon said, unconvinced.
    “Of course. But it won’t be the first time. Keep in mind that the founder of J&J, Caleb Jones, eventually acquired a partner who became his wife. She was the second Jones in Jones & Jones, remember?”
    “You don’t need to tell me my own family history. I’m sure as hell not looking for a wife.”
    “We’re talking about you getting an assistant, not a wife,” she said soothingly.
    There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I’ll think about it. Oh, by the way, I need you to set up a new identity for Damaris Kemble. She says Craigmore never told the Nightshade board that she existed but I don’t want to take any chances. Bury her deep in the Society’s genealogy files for me, will you?”
    “Uh.” Grace stopped. “I thought J&J had people on staff whose job was to invent new IDs.”
    “Well, sure, for routine things like giving an agent a temporary cover for a case. But I’m talking about a whole new personal history here. I want it solid all the way back for several generations. Far as I know you’re the best there is at that kind of thing, at least when it comes to creating a phony past within the Society.”
    Grace’s mouth went dry. “Excuse me?”
    “Hell, the one you did for yourself after you got rid of that son of a bitch Martin Crocker was damn near perfect. If I hadn’t been keeping an eye on Crocker at the time because I had a hunch he was into some illegal business activity, I never would have looked twice at the circumstances of his death, let alone started to wonder about his butler. Have a good trip home.”
    The phone went dead in Grace’s ear. She closed it slowly and looked at Luther.
    “That’s Fallon for you,” he said. “Mr. Personality.”
    “He knows everything,” she whispered. “He has all along. He even knew about the Burnside Clinic.”
    “Yeah, that’s also pure Fallon. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m more than ready to get out of here.” He looked down at the computer sitting