He closed the phone.

Isabella cleared her throat.

“What?” he said.

“Sometimes you have a tendency to be a tad brusque with people,” she said.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Brusque?”

He said it as if he had never heard the word.

“Short,” she said. “Crisp. Rude.”

“Huh. I like to be efficient on the phone. People tend to waste a lot of time chatting at me.”

“Chatting at you? Chatting is generally considered an occupation that two or more people engage in together.”

“I’m not a chatty type.”

“Of course you are. We’re chatting right now.”

“No,” he said, very certain. “We’re having a conversation.”

“Oddly enough, people sometimes resent being ordered around, especially by a person who is not even their official boss.”

“You think I was brusque with Rafanelli?” Fallon sounded offended now. “I was doing him a favor. He’s been fascinated by Bridewell’s work for years. Taking charge of a cache of her inventions will be a huge thrill for him, not to mention a major career boost. He’ll write the definitive paper for the Journal of Paranormal and Psychical Research and become a legend in the Society’s research circles.”

“I understand,” Isabella said.

They walked a little farther.

“Well?” Fallon said. “What the hell should I have said to Rafanelli?”

“It’s often helpful to insert a few friendly comments into a business conversation. Asking about a person’s health or their children is always good.”

“Are you kidding? Get people started on their health and their kids and you never get them back on track.”

“Okay,” Isabella said.

They walked a few more steps. Fallon muttered something under his breath and reached back into the inside pocket of his jacket. He snapped the phone open and punched in some numbers.

“Rafanelli? Jones here again. Fallon Jones. Please bring a team to Scargill Cove tomorrow to pick up the Bridewell artifacts. You’re the leading expert on para-weaponry, and I wouldn’t trust those gadgets to anyone else but you. How’s the wife? See you tomorrow.”

He snapped the phone closed.

“What did he say?” Isabella asked.

“Nothing. Not one word.”

“Probably stunned.”

“I outchatted him,” Fallon said proudly.

“I think so, yes.”

“Told you that personal nattering is a waste of time.” He flipped the phone open again. “That reminds me, I’d better call Zack. He’ll want to know about those curiosities.”

He punched in a code.

“Zack, it’s Fallon. Found a bunch of Bridewell’s inventions here in Scargill Cove. Rafanelli is bringing a team here tomorrow to dismantle them and transport them back to the L.A. lab. Thought you’d like to know. Give my best to Raine. I heard she was expecting. Congratulations. Bye.”

He closed the phone and waited for the verdict with an air of expectation.

“Better,” Isabella said. “But it strikes me that it might be a good idea if I handled more of J&J’s routine business communications. That would leave you free to concentrate on your investigative work.”

“Is that a polite way of saying I don’t have people skills?”

“Not everyone is management material, Fallon.”

“You’re right,” he said decisively. “In future, I’ll let you do the personal chitchat.”

She smiled. “Who says you can’t delegate?”

They reached Toomey’s Treasures and went up the outside stairs to her apartment above the shop. She was intensely aware of Fallon watching her take her key out of her pocket. He was in what she had come to think of as his brooding zone. In the dim light of the bare, low-watt bulb that lit the doorway, his hard face was cast in the light-and-shadow of film noir. The dark passions that burned deep inside him would have made it possible for him to play either the hero or the villain, but whichever role he chose, he would follow his own code.

She got the door open, moved into the apartment and flipped the light switch. She turned to face him.

“What you did tonight,” she said. “Proposing that we dump that skeleton into the ocean.”

He watched her with a shuttered expression. “What about it?”

“You knew that if you gave the body to the authorities, it’s possible that there would be a murder investigation.”

“Unlikely. No one in this county will care about what happened here in the Cove twenty-two years ago. Nobody outside of town gives a damn about this place. Few people even know it exists.”

“I’m aware of that. Nevertheless, if there ever was an inquiry into Lasher’s death, everyone who attended the meeting at the tavern tonight would be a suspect.”

He shrugged. “Sounds like they all had motive.”

“So you didn’t suggest a convenient burial at sea because you’re afraid that some secret CIA black-ops agency will take over the Cove. You did it to protect the people of this community.”

He did not respond.

She put her hands on his shoulders and brushed her mouth against his. “You’re a good man, Fallon Jones.”

“Just being pragmatic.”

She smiled and stepped back. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap, Mr. Pragmatic?”

He loomed on the threshold, filling the doorway. His face was set in the stalwart expression of a knight preparing to go into battle.

“You probably want to talk about last night,” he said.

She smiled. “Nope.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Nope?”

“Last night was the most romantic night of my entire life. Why spoil it by trying to explain it?”

“I wasn’t planning on explaining it. Seemed pretty straightforward to me. But I thought you might want to talk about it. Women always want to do that. Afterward, I mean.”

“And you know this, how?”

He frowned. “Everyone knows that.”

She almost laughed. “The one thing I know for sure about last night is that it does not involve a conspiracy.”

“Definitely no conspiracy,” he agreed.

“That’s good enough for me.”

“It is?”

She took his hand and tugged gently. “Come inside and have a drink with me, Fallon Jones.”

He moved into the room, closed the door and locked it with great care. When he turned back to her she could see the heat in his eyes.

“The most romantic night of your entire life?” he said very carefully.

“Definitely. Was it good for you, too?”

The energy in the room got a little hotter.

“Yes,” he said. “The best.”

“Then I don’t see that further discussion is necessary.”

“No,” he said. “No more talking.”

He swooped down upon her, scooped her up and started toward the bedroom.

Isabella put her arms around his neck.

“Guess we’ll skip the nightcap,” she said.

SOMETIME LATER She awoke to the knowledge that she was alone in the bed. She opened her eyes and sat up against the pillows. The clock on the night table read two-twenty.

A familiar otherworldly glow illuminated the bedroom doorway. Not psi fog, she thought. It was the light from a computer screen. Fallon had gone back to work.

She pushed the covers aside and got to her feet. She was nude and the room was chilly. She stepped into her slippers and pulled on her robe.

She tied the sash of the robe as she went down the short hallway, past the bathroom into the main room. Fallon was seated gazing into his laptop. In the glow from the screen, his face had the ruthless cast of a man obsessed. She could well believe that he was descended from a legendary alchemist.

“Fallon?”

He looked up. His hard expression relaxed at the sight of her. Energy swirled in the atmosphere. She knew that he was remembering the searing passion they had shared.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are you working on?” she asked. She moved to stand beside him. “The Nightshade case?”