"I'm sorry, Mr. Paddon. I don't work that way. That sort of arrangement would be very damaging to my professional reputation."

"You call yourself a professional? You're nothing but a two-bit private investigator who happens to dabble in the antiquities market. If I'd known that you were so un-knowledgeable I would never have agreed to let you examine the piece. Furthermore, you can bet I'll never hire you to consult for me."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, of course, but maybe you should consider one thing."

"What's that?" he called after her.

She paused in the doorway and looked back at him. "If you ever did hire me you could rest a.s.sured that you would be getting an honest appraisal. You would know for certain that I could not be bought."

She did not wait for a response. She walked out of the gallery and went down the hall to the foyer of the large house. A woman in a housekeeper's uniform handed her the still-damp trench coat and floppy brimmed hat.

Chloe put on the coat. The trench was a gift from her aunt Phyllis. Phyllis had spent her working years in Hol lywood. She claimed she knew how private investigators were supposed to dress because she'd known so many stars who played those kinds of roles. Chloe wasn't so sure about the style statement but she liked the convenience of the numerous pockets in the coat.

Outside on the front steps she paused to pull the hat down low over her eyes. It was raining again and although it was only a quarter to five, it was almost full dark. This was the Pacific Northwest and it was early December. Darkness and rain came with the territory at this time of year. Some people considered it atmospheric. They didn't mind the short days because they knew that a kind of karmic balance would kick in come summer when there would be daylight until nearly ten o'clock at night.

Those who weren't into the yin-yang thing went out and bought special light boxes designed to treat the depressive condition known as SAD, seasonal affective disorder.

She was okay with darkness and rain. But maybe that was because of her talent for reading dreamlight. Dreams and darkness went together.

She went down the steps and crossed the vast, circular drive to where her small, nondescript car was parked. The dog sitting patiently in the pa.s.senger seat watched her intently as she came toward him. She knew that he had been fixated on the front door of the house, waiting for her to reappear, since she had vanished inside forty minutes ago. The dog's name was Hector and he had abandonment issues.

When she opened the car door he got excited, just as if she had been gone for a week. She rubbed his ears and let him lick her hand.

"Mr. Paddon is not a happy man, Hector." The greeting ritual finished, she got behind the wheel. "I don't think we'll be seeing him as a client of Harper Investigations anytime soon."

Hector was not interested in clients. Satisfied that she was back, he resumed his customary position, riding shotgun in the pa.s.senger seat.

She fired up the engine. She had told Paddon the truth about the little Egyptian queen. It was a fake and it had been floating around in the private market since the Victorian period. She was certain of that for three reasons, none of which she could explain to Paddon. The first reason was that her talent allowed her to date objects quite accurately. Reason number two was that she came from a long line of art and antiquities experts. She had been raised in the business.

Reason number three was also straightforward. She had recognized the workmans.h.i.+p and the telltale dreamlight the moment she saw the statue.

"You can't rat out your own several times great-grandfather, Hector, even if he has been dead since the first quarter of the twentieth century. Family is family."

Norwood Harper had been a master. His work was on display in some of the finest museums in the Western world, albeit not under his own name. And now one of his most charmingly brilliant fakes was sitting in Paddon's private collection.

It wasn't the first time she had stumbled onto a Harper fake. Her extensive family tree boasted a number of branches that specialized in fakes, forgeries and a.s.sorted art frauds. Other limbs featured individuals with a remarkable talent for deception, illusion and sleight of hand. Her relatives all had what could only be described as a true talent for less-than-legal activities.

Her own paranormal ability had taken a different and far less marketable form. She had inherited the ability to read dreamlight from Aunt Phyllis's side of the tree. There were few practical applications-although Phyllis had managed to make it pay very well-and one really huge downside. Because of that downside, the odds were overwhelming that she would never marry.

s.e.x wasn't the problem. But over the course of the past year or two she had begun to lose interest in it. Perhaps that was because she had finally accepted that she would never have a relations.h.i.+p that lasted longer than a few months. Somehow, that realization had removed what little pleasure was left in short-term affairs. In the wake of the fiasco with Fletcher Monroe a few months ago, she had settled into celibacy with a sense of enormous relief.

"There is a kind of freedom in the celibate lifestyle," she explained to Hector.

Hector twitched his ears but otherwise showed no interest in the subject.

She left the street of elegant homes on Queen Anne Hill and drove back downtown through the rain, heading toward her office and apartment in Pioneer Square.

t.i.tles by Jayne Ann Krentz writing as Jayne Castle.

OBSIDIAN PREY.

DARK LIGHT.

SILVER MASTER.

GHOST HUNTER.

AFTER GLOW.

HARMONY.

AFTER DARK.

AMARYLLIS.

ZINNIA.

ORCHID.

t.i.tles by Jayne Ann Krentz writing as Amanda Quick.

THE PERFECT POISON.

THE THIRD CIRCLE.

THE RIVER KNOWS.

SECOND SIGHT.

LIE BY MOONLIGHT.

THE PAID COMPANION.

WAIT UNTIL MIDNIGHT.

LATE FOR THE WEDDING.

DON'T LOOK BACK

SLIGHTLY SHADY.

WICKED WIDOW.

I THEE WED.

WITH THIS RING.

AFFAIR.

MISCHIEF.