Worth every penny, Sierra thought.

A door opened midway down the hall. The rock music got a little louder but it was still muffled. Jones walked out of his office. Sierra noticed that the lights inside the office had been turned down low. She smiled. Mr. Jones was entertaining a lady friend this evening. She was pretty sure she knew the identity of the woman.

Jones had opened the Vault a couple of years ago. No one seemed to know much about him. He was somewhere in his early forties. His dark hair was turning silver at the temples but he kept himself in excellent condition. He looked very good in the sleek, tailored trousers, black turtleneck and slouchy black linen jacket that seemed to be his uniform. He had the face and the profile to go with the buff body—strong, and even handsome, if you liked the cold-eyed, gunfighter type.

Sierra found him intriguing, but that was as far as it went. He would probably make an interesting date but her intuition told her there would be no future with him. And since Jones never dated his own agents, even the possibility of an interesting date was out of the question.

Generally speaking, she was about ready to give up on dating altogether. It had become a depressing business. She longed to meet someone with whom a future at least looked possible, just as she wanted a career that centered her and gave her a sense of satisfaction. She was good at authenticating and transporting hot artifacts but it didn’t feel like something she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

Jones looked at her. “What went wrong?”

“Keegan tried to kill me,” Sierra said.

“Obviously he didn’t succeed. Congratulations on that, by the way. I wonder what made him think he could get away with murdering a Vault agent?”

“He’s a collector.” Sierra shrugged. “They’re not known for being an especially stable bunch. He’s got just enough talent to think he’s the smartest man in the room.”

“I will terminate his membership in the club immediately.” Jones examined her with a critical eye. “You look like you need a drink. On the house tonight.”

“Thanks, I do need a drink, but I’d rather go home and have one there.”

“I understand.” Jones picked up the black bag. “I’ll find another buyer for the artifact.”

He went back into his office. Just before the door closed, Sierra heard a sultry, feminine voice. She smiled, recognizing it. Molly Rosser was a high-end artifacts dealer.

“Something go wrong with a delivery?” Molly asked.

“One of my best agents was nearly murdered tonight,” Jones said. “As a result I have a few things to take care of. I’m afraid I’m going to have to say good night.”

“I understand,” Molly said.

Molly was an excellent match for Jones, Sierra thought. She handled his unusual business, his powerful talent and his dangerous edge with cool ease. But then, she was a strong talent herself.