"The most popular version, according to my granny, has the bad king setting a time limit. Three thousand years—one millennium for each daughter. If the keys aren't found and the box unlocked within that time, he alone rules, both the god-world and the mortal."

"I never understand why anyone wants to rule the world. Seems like one big headache to me." She pursed her lips when the dish of crиme brulee was set between them. Flynn was right, she decided. She wasn't going to be able to hold out against it. "What happened to the lovers?"

"A couple of versions of that, too." He dipped his spoon in at one end of the dish while Malory dipped into the other. "My grandmother's pick is the one that has the grieving king sentencing the lovers to death, but his wife intervened, asking for mercy. Instead of execution, banishment. They were cast out through the Curtain of Dreams, forbidden to return until they found the three mortal women who would unlock the box of souls. And so they wander the earth, gods living as mortals, in search of the triad who will release not only the souls of the daughters but their own as well."

"Rowena and Pitte think they're the teacher and the warrior?"

It pleased him that their conclusions meshed. "That would be my take. You've got a couple of weirdos on your hands, Malory. It's a nice faerie tale. Romantic, colorful. But when people start casting themselves and others in the roles, you're edging into psychoville."

"You're forgetting the money."

"No, I'm not. The money worries me. Seventy-five thousand means it's not a game to them, not a little role-playing entertainment. They're serious. Either they actually believe the myth or they're seeding the ground for a con."

She toyed with another spoonful of the crиme brulee. "With the twenty-five thousand, I now have approximately twenty-five thousand, two hundred and five dollars, which includes the twenty I found in a jacket pocket this morning. My parents are fairly average middle-class people. They're not rich or influential. I don't have any rich or influential friends or lovers. I've got nothing worth conning."

"Maybe they're looking for something else, something you haven't thought of. But back to those lovers for a minute. Do you have any poor ones?"

She sipped her coffee, measuring him over the rim. The sun had set while they'd had dinner. Now it was candlelight that flickered between them. "Not at the moment."

"Here's a coincidence. Neither do I."

"I'm in the market for a key, Flynn, not a lover."

"You're assuming the key exists."

"Yes, I am. If I didn't assume that, I wouldn't bother to look for it. And I gave my word I would."

"I'll help you find it."

She set her cup down again. "Why?"

"A lot of reasons. One, I'm just a naturally curious guy, and however this thing works out, it's an interesting story." He skimmed a fingertip over the back of her hand, and the little thrill danced straight up her arm. "Two, my sister's involved. Three, I'll get to be around you. The way I figure it, you won't be able to hold out against me any more than you could hold out against the crиme brulee."

"Is that confidence or conceit?"

"Just fate, sweetie. Look, why don't we go back to my place and… Well, hell, I wasn't thinking about kissing you again until you gave me that snotty look. Now I've lost my train of thought."

"I'm not having any trouble following that train."

"Okay, that wasn't my track, but I'm willing to jump on board. What I was going to say was we could go back and do some research. I can show you what I've got so far, which is basically nothing. I can't dig up any data on your benefactors, at least not under the names they used to buy the Peak, or any variations of those names."

"I'll leave the research to you and Dana for now." She shrugged. "I've got some other trails to follow."

"Such as?"

"Logic. Goddesses. There are a couple of New Age shops in the area. I'm going to check them out. Then there's the painting. I'm going to find out who painted that portrait, see what else he or she has done, and where those paintings might be. Who owns them, how they acquired them. I need to take another trip up to Warrior's Peak, have another talk with Pitte and Rowena, and get another look at that painting. A better look."

"I'll go with you. There's a story here, Malory. This could be a huge scam, which would make it big news and my duty to report it."

She stiffened up. "You don't have any proof that Rowena and Pitte aren't legitimate—possibly loony, yes, but not crooks."

"Easy." He held up a hand for peace. "I'm not writing anything until I have all the facts. I can't get all the facts until I meet all the players. I need an entree to that house. You're it. In exchange you get the benefit of my keen investigative skills and dogged reporter's determination. I go with you, or I talk Dana into taking me up there."

She tapped a finger on the table while she considered her options. "They might not talk to you. In fact, they may not like it that we've brought you into this, even on a peripheral level."

"Leave that part to me. Getting into places where I'm not wanted is part of my job description."

"Is that how you got into my apartment last night?" "Ouch. Why don't we run up there tomorrow morning? I can pick you up at ten."

"All right." What harm could it do to have him along?

"There’s no need to walk me all the way to the door," Malory said as they approached her apartment building.

"Sure there is. I'm just an old-fashioned guy."

"No, you're not." She muttered it as she opened her purse for her key. "I'm not asking you in."

"Okay."

She slanted him a look as they stepped up to the door. "You say that like you're an affable, easygoing man. You're not that, either. It's a ploy."

He grinned. "It is?"

"Yes. You're stubborn and pushy and more than a little arrogant. You get away with it because you put on that big, charming smile and that I-wouldn't-hurt-a-fly demeanor. But they're just tools to help you get what you want."

"God, you see right through me." Watching her, he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. "Now I either have to kill you or marry you."

"And being appealing on some screwy level doesn't make you less annoying. Therein lies the flaw."

At those words he caught her face in his hands and crushed his lips enthusiastically to hers. The heat shot straight up from her belly and seemed to burst out the top of her head.

"Neither does that," she managed. She shoved her key in the lock, pushed the door open. Then shut it in his face. Half a beat later, she yanked it open. "Thanks for dinner."

He rocked gently on his heels when the door shut in his face a second time. When he strolled away, he was whistling, and thinking Malory Price was the kind of woman who made a man's life really interesting.

Chapter Six

Dana gulped down her first cup of coffee while standing naked in her tiny kitchen, eyes closed, brain dead. She drained it, hot, black, and strong, before letting out a soft whimper of relief.

She downed half the second cup on the way to the shower.

She didn't mind mornings, mainly because she was never awake enough to object to them. Her routine rarely varied. Her alarm buzzed, she slapped it off, then rolled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, where the automatic coffeemaker already had the first pot ready.

One and a half cups later, her vision was clear enough for a shower.

By the time she was done, her circuits were up and running, and she was too awake to sulk about being awake. She drank the second half of the second cup and listened to the morning news report while she dressed for the day.

With a toasted bagel and her third cup of coffee, she settled down with her current breakfast book.

She'd turned only the second page when the knock on her door interrupted her most sacred of rituals.

"Damn it."

She marked her place. Her annoyance faded, a little, when she opened the door to Malory.

"Aren't you the bright-and-early girl?"

"Sorry. You said you were working this morning, so I thought you'd be up and around by now."

"Up, anyway." She leaned on the jamb a moment and studied the minute green checks of the soft cotton shirt that precisely matched the color of Malory's pleated trousers. Just as the dovegray slides she wore exactly matched the tone and texture of her shoulder bag.

"Do you always dress like that?" Dana wondered.

"Like what?"

"Perfect."

With a little laugh, Malory looked down at herself. "I'm afraid so. It's a compulsion."

"Looks good on you, too. I'll probably end up hating you for it. Come on in anyway."

The room was a compact, informal library. Books stood or were stacked on the shelves that ran along two walls from floor to ceiling, sat on the tables like knick-knacks, trooped around the room like soldiers. They struck Malory as more than knowledge or entertainment, even more than stories and information. They were color and texture, in a haphazard yet somehow intricate decorating scheme.

The short leg of the L-shaped room boasted still more books, as well as a small table that held the remains of Dana's breakfast.

With her hands on her hips, Dana watched Malory's perusal of her space. She'd seen the reaction before. "No, I haven't read them all, but I will. And no, I don't know how many I have. Want coffee?"

"Let me just ask this. Do you ever actually use the services of the library?"