All the Colors of Night (Fogg Lake #2)(3)

Once the gun had vanished into the lake, she uncovered the SUV’s license plates and got back on the road.

Satisfied that she did not have a tail, she motored sedately across the 520 Bridge, heading toward the bright lights of downtown Seattle. It was after midnight and there was very little traffic. Seattle was a boomtown these days thanks to the tech industry, but it was still a relatively quiet place in the wee hours of the morning. That worked out well for her because a lot of her business was conducted during those hours.

She drove straight to an alley in Pioneer Square, the old, historic section of the city. The narrow lane between two brick buildings was lit only by a weak yellow bulb over an unmarked door. It was the sort of location sensible people intuitively avoided, especially at night.

She parked directly in front of the unmarked door. A burly figure dressed in a dark jacket and a knit cap detached itself from the shadows of the vestibule and ambled around to the driver’s side of the car. He opened the door.

“Valet parking, Ms. Raines?” he asked in a voice that had been dug out of a rock quarry.

“No thanks, Brick. I won’t be here long tonight.” Sierra grabbed her pack and the leather bag and jumped down to the pavement. “I just need to drop off a return and then I’m going home to get some sleep. It’s been a long night.”

She handed over her keys and a few bucks.

“No problem,” Brick said. “The car can sit right here until you get back.” He glanced at the black bag. “A return, huh? Mr. Jones won’t be happy.”

“Neither am I.”

She followed Brick up the three steps to the entrance. The door was clad in wood and covered in peeling paint. Looking at it, you would never know that under the veneer was a solid steel plate. Of course, looking at Brick, you wouldn’t know he was wearing a holstered gun under his jacket.

Okay, maybe you would have a hunch about the gun.

“How did the date with Deandra go?” she asked as she watched Brick open the door.

Brick lit up like an LED sign. “It went great. Did the old-fashioned thing like you suggested. Dinner and a show, and afterward we went somewhere and talked about the movie. Deandra knows a lot about films. Got another date lined up this weekend after we get off work here at the Vault.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad things went well.”

“Thanks to you pushing me to ask her out,” Brick said. “It took all the nerve I had. When she said yes, I could hardly believe it.”

“I had a hunch the two of you would get along together. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Brick ushered her into the shadowed hall. The two men running the security scanner were lounging in a couple of folding chairs. One was middle-aged and bald. The other was much younger and on the twitchy side. They got to their feet and grinned in welcome.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said.

“Why do I have the feeling the delivery didn’t go well?” the bald guard asked.

“You must be psychic, Clyde,” Sierra said.

“Do you know how many times a night I have to listen to that joke?” Clyde snorted. Energy shifted in the atmosphere around him. He was a very high-level intuitive talent. It made him an ideal security guard. His brows rose when he saw the leather bag. “Well, well, well. Looks like the buyer is returning the purchase.”

“Unsatisfied customer?” Twitch asked with a knowing look.

“More like an unsatisfied go-between,” Sierra said. She put the leather bag and her backpack on the scanner belt. Next she stripped off her leather jacket, sat down on a handy stool and pulled off her leather boots.

Most go-betweens wore a lot of leather. It had become the unofficial uniform of the profession, but it wasn’t a fashion statement. Go-betweens wore leather for the same reason bikers did—protection. When you worked in a business that involved a lot of paranormal artifacts, you had to be prepared for the occasional supercharged surprise. Brushing up against the most innocent-looking relic could send a staggering shock across the senses. Leather muted the jolt.

She added the jacket and the boots to the other items on the belt and then she walked through the metal detector. “Among other things, the funds were never transferred to my account here at the Vault. I didn’t get paid.”

“If you didn’t get paid, then Mr. Jones doesn’t get his commission,” Clyde said. “The boss is not going to be happy.”

“He is not the only unhappy individual involved in this business tonight,” Sierra said.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Jones will eighty-six the deadbeat,” Twitch said.

“I certainly hope so.” Sierra collected the leather bag, her pack, her jacket and her boots from the other end of the scanner. “I will take some satisfaction from knowing Keegan won’t be doing any more business through the Vault. One thing Mr. Jones won’t tolerate is a customer who doesn’t pay his bills. Also, the creep pulled a gun on me.”

Clyde whistled softly. “That settles it, then. Mr. Jones really doesn’t like it when a client threatens an agent.”

“When word gets around that Jones kicked him out of the Vault, Keegan won’t be able to get any of the reliable go-between agencies to work with him,” Twitch said.

Clyde grunted. “Serves him right.”