In Too Deep

“Let’s go back a step. How did you discover that you were being set up by Julian Garrett?”

“I walked into my cubicle one morning and saw a whole bunch of really ugly energy around my desk and computer. It was not there the day before when I left work. The trail led straight back to Julian Garrett’s office.”

“What did you do?”

“I realized Julian had been in my cubicle, but I couldn’t imagine why. I started going through my drawers. I didn’t find anything, so I went to work running all sorts of virus checks and searches on my computer.”

“You found something?”

“A hidden file,” Isabella said. “It contained a record of the sale of a number of antiquities. At first glance there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about it, but I couldn’t understand why Julian put the file on my computer. So I started researching the individual artifacts.”

“What did you find?”

“I soon discovered that all the objects had a few things in common. In addition to having the usual paranormal provenance, every single one of them should have been classified as weapons-grade artifacts according to the company guidelines.”

“Anything else?”

“All of the transactions had been handled off the books. None of the sales were recorded in the company archives. What’s more, they had all been obtained from a single source, a broker named Orville Sloan. He’s a major player in the black market.”

“Did you confront Julian Garrett?”

“For Pete’s sake, of course not,” Isabella said. She looked horrified. “It was obvious he was setting me up. It would have been my word against Julian’s. Julian has worked for Lucan for several years. Lucan trusts him. What’s more, Lucan would have been ruthless. He would have made certain that I wound up in prison or worse.”

“So you ran.”

“Yes. But I also called my grandmother and told her what was going on. She’s the one who said that if Julian Garrett found me, he would very likely kill me.”

Isabella was not inventing any of this, Fallon thought. Her interpretation of events might be skewed, but she was giving him the facts as she knew them. What the hell was going on here?

Fallon sat forward, reached for the computer keyboard and typed in a quick series of searches. He got a ping immediately.

“What did you find?” Isabella asked.

“A report of the death of an arms dealer named Orville Sloan.” Fallon studied the data on the screen. “He was shot a month ago. No suspects.”

Isabella’s mouth tightened. “I’ll bet Julian killed him to cover up more tracks.”

“Arms dealers have a lot of enemies,” Fallon said mildly.

He reminded himself that Isabella was the granddaughter of the Sentinel. Conspiracy theories were second nature to her. But he couldn’t restrain his instinctive response. He slid deeper into the hot zone of his talent. The vast web was starting to brighten with a cold light. A pattern was forming. There was something here, something important.

“I don’t suppose you have anything resembling proof of what you think is going on inside Department A, do you?” he asked.

Isabella hesitated. “It’s sort of hard to prove that kind of stuff.”

“Yes, it is.”

“That’s why Grandma thought that I should turn the problem over to Arcane. She said that policing the psychic bad guys was part of the Society’s job.”

He exhaled wearily. “We do what we can, but it’s not our job. It’s just that when you get guys like that crazy bastard at the Zander house yesterday, there isn’t a lot regular law enforcement can do.”

“Exactly.”

“Isabella—”

She closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them, he could see nothing but stoic resignation.

“I was afraid of this,” she said quietly. “You don’t believe a word I’ve said, do you? You think I’m crazy, like the Sentinel.”

“Damn it, Isabella.”

“I thought maybe if I gave you time to get to know me, you would realize that I’m not a nutcase. That’s why I delayed telling you the truth about myself. Maybe I should have waited a little longer before I tried to explain, but I needed to tell someone. Not knowing if my grandmother is dead or alive is just so hard to deal with. She’s the only one I’ve got left and if she’s gone—”

“Isabella.” He got to his feet, rounded his desk, reached down and closed his hands over her shoulders. He hauled her to her feet for the second time. “I don’t have enough information to make an informed decision on the subject of Julian Garrett’s involvement in para-weapons dealing, let alone decide if your grandmother actually was murdered.”

“I understand.”

“But what I do know,” he said, “is that you believe every word of what you’re telling me. And as long as you believe it, I’ll do whatever it takes to get your answers for you. If your grandmother was murdered, I’ll find the killer.”

“Fallon,” she whispered. Her eyes glistened again. She reached up to touch his jaw. “I don’t know what to say, except thank you.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly.

It was a damn gratitude kiss, he thought. The last thing he wanted from Isabella was gratitude.

16

They gathered in the Scar that evening. Everyone who had lived in the Cove during the heyday of the Seekers’ community showed up. Isabella made a mental note of the handful of longtime residents who had a long history in the town. Henry and Vera were there. So were her landlord, Ralph Toomey, and Marge from the Sunshine. The proprietors of the inn, Violet and Patty, were also present. The two women sat at a table with Bud Yeager, the owner of the gas station and garage. Harriet and Ben Stokes from the grocery store lounged at another table. Even Walker showed up. He hovered, jittering a little, near the door.

Oliver and Fran Hitchcock, owners of the Scar, took up positions behind the bar, solemnly pouring beers. Everyone except Walker had one.

Isabella perched on a red vinyl bar stool. Fallon occupied the stool beside her, one booted foot propped on the brass rung, his laptop in its leather case on the counter beside him.

Isabella watched the faces of the small crowd as Henry gave a brief summary of the day’s events. By now the news had spread throughout the Cove. When Henry told those present that Gordon Lasher’s skeleton had been discovered in the old bomb shelter, no one showed any signs of shock.

Bud Yeager snorted in disgust. “Figures he came back to steal whatever is down there. Lasher was nothing but a low-rent con man. After all this time, I still can’t believe we fell for his scam.”

“He was good.” Marge sighed. “Real good. And we were a lot younger back in those days. We wanted to think that we were special and that there was a magic path to enlightenment that only we could experience. Lasher made it easy for us to believe.”

“Only for a short period of time,” Vera said grimly. “The guru magic wore off very quickly, if you will recall.”

“As soon as it became obvious that the son of a bitch was going to go after every young girl who wandered into town,” Patty said bitterly.

Bud Yeager drank some beer and lowered the bottle. “Wonder who killed him?”