“She’s not an investigator—she’s just a finder-talent,” Julian muttered. “A technician.”
“Who is now a full-fledged investigator at J&J,” Fallon concluded.
Isabella picked up a flashlight and aimed the beam at Julian’s battered face. “What’s this all about Julian? What kind of operation were you running? And what really happened to Caitlin Phillips?”
Julian said nothing.
Fallon turned thoughtful. “I think you were right, Isabella. There was something going on inside Department A. Garrett and Caitlin Phillips were running a small, private arms-dealing operation. They had a buyer for the mirror, but I doubt that it was one of Lucan’s black-ops clients. They set up the deal with the broker, Sloan, who chose the mansion as the drop point. But things fell apart when Sloan got shot before he could tell Garrett and Phillips where he had hidden the mirror. So they went looking for you.”
“At that point you knew that you would need the resources of Lucan’s company to find me, didn’t you, Julian? And once you did grab me, you knew you would need my full cooperation. That wasn’t likely as long as Lucan and everyone else thought I was guilty of arms dealing. So you changed your story to point the finger of blame at poor Caitlin Phillips. You killed her, didn’t you? You planted evidence in her house to make Lucan believe that she was the guilty party.”
“Have fun weaving your little conspiracy fantasy,” Julian said. “You can’t prove a damn thing. The worst you can do is get me fired.”
“No,” Fallon said. “That’s not actually the worst thing I can do.”
“We both know you’re not going to murder me in cold blood and dump my body.” Julian managed a hoarse chuckle. “Give me a break—J&J doesn’t work that way.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Isabella warned.
Fallon raised his brows. “We’re supposed to be the good guys, remember?”
“Well, yes,” she grumbled. “But we decided that there are exceptions to every rule, remember? And Julian constitutes a really big exception if you ask me.”
“He is, but as it happens, Garrett isn’t our problem. Max Lucan hired him. He can terminate his own employees. No reason we should do his job for him.”
Julian went very still. “It will be your word against mine.”
Fallon’s smile widened. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you? Go on, get out of here.”
Julian looked flummoxed. “What the hell are you trying to pull, Jones?”
“You’re right. I can’t prove a thing, so get lost while I’m still in a good mood.”
Julian scrambled to his feet. “What happens to the mirror?”
“It goes back to its rightful owner.”
Julian grimaced. “Guess I should have seen that coming.”
He half loped, half limped down the hall and disappeared around a corner. Isabella drummed her fingers on the side of the door frame.
“I really hate to see him go free like that,” she said. “It’s not right.”
“Maybe not,” Fallon said. With one hand he pulled a pristine handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his cheek. He used his other hand to take out his phone. “But letting him run might give us the answer to one lingering question.”
Isabella speared the flashlight at Fallon. Blood glistened on his jaw and dripped down the front of his jacket.
“You’re bleeding,” she wailed.
He looked down at the handkerchief. “Yeah.”
She rushed to him, took the handkerchief from his hand and gently blotted up more of the blood.
“You need to sit down,” she ordered. “You could go into shock.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
He started to bend down to pick up the mirror but stopped midway, groaning a little, and gingerly reached inside his jacket.
“I’ll get it,” Isabella said quickly.
“Thanks.” Fallon spoke into the phone. “He’s running. Don’t lose him. He’s injured and will probably seek medical help. Don’t interfere. Just keep an eye on him until one of Lucan’s people takes over.”
He ended the call and punched in another number. “Max? Jones here. Isabella was right about everything. Looks like Caitlin Phillips is most likely dead. She was Garrett’s partner, but he needed another fall guy after he realized he required Isabella’s help to locate the artifact. What is it? The Quicksilver Mirror. Yeah. Worth a fortune in some quarters. We’ve got it and Garrett is running. I’ve got a hunter following him until you can get someone on it. I’ll give you the whole story tomorrow. What? Of course we’ll send you our bill.”
He closed the phone.
Isabella picked up the mirror and took Fallon’s arm to steady him, although he did not seem to be wobbly. She drew him carefully down the staircase.
“What’s the one lingering question?” she asked.
“The name of the person who commissioned the Quicksilver Mirror.”
“You let Julian run because you want to know the identity of his buyer.”
“Well, that plus the fact that there wasn’t anything else I could do with him except try to convince the local cops that he’s guilty of breaking and entering and something tells me that wouldn’t fly.”
“But Garrett doesn’t have the mirror to sell now. Why would he contact the buyer?”
“He might not,” Fallon said. “But I’m thinking there’s a high probability that the buyer will contact him.”
“Why?”
“Because we are not going to let it be known that Arcane recovered the mirror,” Fallon said patiently. “That will be our little secret.”
A cold thrill of comprehension swept through Isabella. “You think that the buyer will believe he’s been double-crossed. That Julian has sold the mirror to someone else.”
“It’s been my experience that not only is there no honor among thieves, but there’s also not a hell of a lot of trust or mutual affection, either. What’s more, that type tends to be vindictive.”
“One more thing. You said the mirror is going back to the rightful owner.”
“Yes.”
“Who is that?”
“The Arcane Society. The Quicksilver Mirror was stolen from one of the museums.”
“Oh, geez. That raises some troubling questions doesn’t it?”
“Sure does,” Fallon said.
29
Caitlin Phillips’s body was found buried in her own backyard,” Max Lucan said. “Looks like she was drugged and then strangled. Garrett has gone to ground in a third-rate motel outside of Sacramento. I’ve got a team on him. I’ll let you know if he contacts anyone or if someone attempts to contact him.”
“Don’t let the disgruntled customer get to them first,” Fallon warned.
“In spite of recent evidence to the contrary,” Max said, “my people do know what they’re doing.”
“Too bad youdidn’t know what they were doing,” Isabella said.
Fallon looked at her. “Play nice, Isabella. We need Max’s help at the moment.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, all right.”
Max raised his brows at Fallon. “Vindictive, isn’t she?”
“Not usually,” Fallon said. “But this particular situation is a little different.”
It was the day after the events at the mansion. The three of them were sitting in the executive suite of Lucan Protection Services. It occurred to Isabella that although she had worked for Lucan for nearly six months, she had never been in Max Lucan’s office. Her career path was clearly trending upward. When you worked for J&J, you got some respect.
She had not been keen on the idea of coming face-to-face with her former boss on his own turf, but Fallon had said that it was important for her to be seen in the company of the president and CEO. It was, he claimed, the quickest and most efficient way of dispelling any lingering gossip about her. She knew he was right, but it made her uneasy. A lot of people were now aware of her real name, she thought. Her life was getting complicated. Then, again, maybe that was what happened when you finally got a life of your very own.