“Scargill Cove feels like home,” she said. “Interesting job. Nice neighbors. I think I was cut out for small-town living.”
“You’re sure you like the job?”
“I was born for it,” she said.
“That’s good because I need you to help me do this work.”
“I agree.”
“Marry me, Isabella.”
She did not respond.
The unquenchable fires of chaos froze. Time stopped. Maybe his heart stopped, as well. He discovered he could not breathe, did not want to breathe, if he did not get the right answer.
“You don’t have to marry me to keep me at my desk at J&J,” Isabella said eventually. “I’ll stay with you.”
“I’m a Jones. In my family we get married. Ceremony, license, the whole works.”
“Interesting customs in your family. We don’t do the license thing in mine.”
“I’m hoping you’ll adopt my family traditions, but if you don’t want to do that, I’ll take you any way I can get you.”
“I think I could adopt your customs if you think you can go along with one of my family traditions.”
“I’ll do anything for you,” he said simply. “Name it.”
“In my family we fall in love. Can you love me? Because I love you, Fallon Jones, with all of my heart.”
The glorious fires of chaos flared high once more. Time went forward. His pulse restarted. He could breathe again.
“Isabella.” He pulled her into his arms, crushing her to him. “I will love you for the rest of my life and whatever comes after.”
“In that case,” she said, “I will be happy to break a few old family traditions and marry you. In fact, to prove how much I love you, I’ll even use my real name on the wedding license.”
He laughed, the energy of joy pouring through him in a torrent. And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him and the night was on fire.
THE NEWS of the death was in the Willow Creek paper the following morning. Fallon read it to Isabella over coffee.
The unidentified body of a man was found shot to death in a concealed marijuana plantation early this morning. Authorities believe the man either wandered into the plantation by accident or went there deliberately to steal some of the plants. It is believed that he was killed by guards hired to protect the crop.
A representative of the sheriff’s department said that the marijuana will be destroyed. The growers have been declared persons of interest. Anyone having any information about those responsible for the plantation is asked to contact the authorities.
“I told him to get lost,” Isabella said. “He blundered into someone’s hidden marijuana plantation and got shot.”
“If it’s any consolation, he probably wouldn’t have lasted long, anyway,” Fallon said. “Not if he was on the drug. The latest information we have indicates that those who take it must take a dose twice a day, every day. Miss even a single dose and the senses start to deteriorate. Insanity and death usually follow within forty-eight hours.”
“Yes, I know,” Isabella said.
“But it doesn’t make you feel any better.”
“No,” she said.
38
It had been a very bad week.
Victoria Knight took her glass of wine out onto the balcony of her condo to drink. The lights of Seattle glittered in the rain.
A very bad week.
Two well-conceived projects had floundered. It was true that the one involving Carolyn Austin had been chancy from the start. The odds had been stacked against success, Victoria thought, but when her new associate within Arcane had suggested the idea, she had thought it worth a shot. The opportunity to weaken J&J and, perhaps, loosen the grip of the Jones family on the Society had been irresistible. They had sought to harness the raw energy of a grieving mother driven by an obsessive desire for revenge and it had almost worked. Almost.
The second project had been far more elaborately designed and carried out. It definitely should have been successful. Victoria’s fingers tightened on the delicate stem of the glass. The concept of developing a para-weapons lab based on Bridewell’s inventions had been brilliant. It should have worked.
Both projects had floundered because of Isabella Valdez and, it seemed, the very town of Scargill Cove. Something about Isabella’s energy made her formidable. It was a shame that Sylvia Tremont had been unsuccessful in the attempt to introduce the poison into Isabella’s kitchen. But that had been another long shot.
As for the Cove, it was as if the small community was guarded by some kind of protective force field.