Dangerous Talents Read online

  DANGEROUS TALENTS

  FRANKIE ROBERTSON

  Also by Frankie Robertson:

  DANGEROUS TALENTS

  "Grabs you from the start with excellent pacing, fascinating characters and culture, and a satisfying romance. I want more!"

  ~ Jennifer Roberson, bestselling author of Karavans, the Sword Dancer series, The Chroncles of the Cheysuli, and Lady of the Glen.

  "Romance, peril, and magic: what more could anyone ask? I note as well, this Frankie Robertson—she, too, has dangerous talents."

  ~Dennis L. McKiernan, author of the Mithgar series, the Faery series, and other works.

  "Frankie Robertson creates detailed worlds, vivid characters, and intricate, well plotted stories. The mixture of fantasy and romance is perfectly balanced and an utter joy to read."

  ~ Jill Knowles, author of Concubine, and A Pirate's Primer.

  VEILED MIRROR

  "Quick supple writing—an unusual and gripping tale—and did I mention sexy?"

  ~ Melanie Rawn, bestselling author of Touchstone, The Dragon Prince, and The Diviner.

  "Kept me guessing until the very end."

  ~ Jordan Summers, author of The Phantom Warriors series, and the Atlantean's Quest.

  LIGHTBRINGER

  "You won't want to put it down."

  ~ Roxy Rogers, author of Gabriel's Release, and Be Careful What You Wish For.

  "Riveting! I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a book so much. Ms. Robertson has written a compelling story with engaging characters and a well paced plot."

  ~ Caroline Mickelson, author of From Mangia to Murder: a Sophia Mancini Mystery.

  "I stayed up way past my bedtime because I couldn't put it down."

  ~ Casey Wyatt, author of Mystic Ink.

  WITH HEART TO HEAR

  "Ms. Robertson combines a lush prose style with a sharp eye for characterization and detail. You will not be disappointed."

  ~ Jody Wallace, author of Pack and Coven, A Mage By Any Other Name, and other works.

  DANGEROUS TALENTS

  FRANKIE ROBERTSON

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2012 Frances R. Gross

  Cover design by Kim Killion of Hot Damn Designs

  Castle Rock Publishing

  Tucson, Arizona

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions of this book, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, products, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Castle Rock Publishing.

  http://www.CastleRockPublishing.com

  ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

  This book is better due to the generous advice of the Working Title critique group: Brian Gross, Dave Felts, Larry Hammer, Jill Knowles, Roxy Rogers, and Janni Lee Simner, and has benefitted from the attention of the Tanque Wordies critique group: Dennis L. McKiernan, Diane Turner, and John Vornholt. A special thank you to Martha Lee McKiernan for plying us with delicious desserts.

  My editor Rochelle French at Edits That Rock http://www.editsthatrock.com helped put the final polish on DANGEROUS TALENTS, and Kim Killion of Hot Damn Designs http://hotdamndesigns.com demonstrated tremendous patience and professionalism as we designed a great cover for it.

  The Saguaro Romance Writers chapter of the Romance Writers of America is an amazing group of people. They've been extraordinarily supportive, and have given me a safe environment to learn and grow as a writer.

  Most especially I want to thank my husband Brian for his unending encouragement and support.

  For Les Reese, a talented writer, gone too soon.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You can pay me the rest now.”

  Cele Montrose pointedly looked around. There was nothing but steep rock, scraggly brush, prickly pear, and saguaro cactus in sight. Then she cast a sharp look at her guide, Berto. He’d stopped beside two ancient stone cairns that rose shoulder high on either side of the pitiful excuse for a trail. “I don’t see any petroglyphs.”

  Berto’s dark brown eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “They are close. Just a little way farther on. You get there easy.”

  “So take me there.”

  “No. No. This is as far as I go.”

  “You promised to take me to the glyphs. That’s our deal.” Cele had met Berto at Udall Park before dawn so he could take her to see the Fifth World petroglyphs. Most experts doubted they existed, but a few sources claimed they were unlike any others. Cele couldn’t resist and had sent out feelers for more information. Berto had responded to her queries.

  “This is a sacred place,” he said. “I cannot go. I wait for you.”

  “Sacred?” Crap. She wanted very much to photograph those petroglyphs, but she didn’t want to get in trouble with the Tribal government. “But we’re not on the rez.”

  Berto met her eyes. “No. They do not come here. Not for many years.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Her guide’s gaze slid away from hers again, and she started to wonder if she’d made a mistake coming here alone with him. She’d checked Berto out. He’d worked for couple of her archeologist friends, all of whom had spoken well of him, so this morning she’d followed his battered pickup north and east of Tucson, down a little-used dirt road and past a sagging, metal gate. From there the old track rose steeply into the foothills, twisting and turning into the Catalina Mountains. It was much too rough for her vehicle, so she’d parked her Civic and climbed into Berto’s ancient Ford.

  Eventually, the road grew too rutted even for the truck, and they’d started to hike through the scrub. Berto had said it would only be a short walk, but if she’d known they’d be bushwhacking, she’d have worn jeans instead of hiking shorts, no matter how hot it was. He’d followed a trail that looked like little more than an animal track until they’d reached this place marked with drystacked rocks fitted neatly together to form two five sided towers that rose shoulder high. There he’d stopped and shifted nervously from one foot to other.

  “Berto, what’s the problem?” she repeated. Are there smugglers in the area?

  His eyes darted all around before they returned to hers. “The spirits walk here.”

  Cele relaxed. He wasn’t worried about somebody shooting him. “The spirits?”

  “Sí. This is the place where the Old Ones disappeared. Sometimes the spirits who took them come looking for more.”

  Cele grinned. “That’s a cool story. I’d like to hear the rest of it. You can tell me while you take me to the petroglyphs.”

  “No. I will not go beyond la señal de madrina.”

  The sign of the godmother? Was he using this nonsense to jack up the price? “No glyphs, no more money.”

  “Pay me what you agreed!” Berto took a step forward, and Cele retreated beyond the towers, lifting her hands, ready to use her self-defense skills if necessary. The guide, however, didn’t follow.

  She’d paid him half, and she already had a spot picked out on her wall for these photos. Her mother had
taken an impressive collection of photos of Southwest Indian artifacts and petroglyphs, and Cele wasn’t going to let superstition prevent her from adding to her mother’s legacy. “Look, if your story is a good one, I can sweeten our deal. How does another forty sound?”

  “No!” Berto’s posture grew even more rigid, but he didn’t come any closer.

  Cele frowned, confused by his flat refusal. “There’s no way I’m going to pay you before I see the glyphs.” And I’m sure as hell not going to pay him before I’m back in his truck.

  “This was a mistake. I should not have brought you here. Forget the money. We go now.” Berto wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

  Shit! He was really scared, not just greedy. Cele stepped forward, one hand outstretched. “Wait a minute! I’ll tell you what. How far is it? I’ll go, take my pictures, and then you can take me back to town. Then I’ll pay you the rest. Okay?”

  Berto hesitated, and then nodded. “Okay. I wait. One hour.”

  “Two.”

  The guide shook his head. “They are close, the glyphs. An hour. No more.”

  Resigned, Cele sighed. Now that she knew how to get here, she could come back and stay longer on her own. “Okay. One hour.”

  Berto gave her directions, and she left him pacing on the other side of the stone markers.

  Less than twenty minutes later, Cele was peering over the edge of a narrow defile. Distinctive, light gray petroglyphs decorated virtually every surface of the dark gray rock face, like some prehistoric message board. Her mother would have loved photographing this site.

  I have to get closer. She was going to get the first pictures of the Fifth World petroglyphs. She’d share them with the archeologists at the university, but just as Tenen and Tufts had kept the location of Kartchner Caverns secret for twenty years, she wouldn’t tell where she’d found these glyphs. From Berto’s behavior, she didn’t think he would either. Which was a good thing. She didn’t want these beauties defaced by souvenir hunters.

  She looked for a way down. It’s only about twenty feet. Even better, it looked like weathered handholds were cut into the descent.

  Cele carefully lowered herself over the edge and climbed down. When she reached the bottom and stepped away from the wall, she heard a low humming. She nervously looked around for a swarm of bees, but as her gaze swept the walls, she forgot her fear. The glyphs were so clear, more distinct than any she’d seen before, as though they’d been carved only yesterday.

  Is this a scam? Had Berto carved these glyphs himself?

  She moved closer to examine a spiral carving. Even though they were distinct and clear, the indentations of the pattern were weathered, just like the surface of the rock. She’d bet that these petroglyphs were just as old as Berto claimed.

  Amazing. She stepped back to take in the panorama.

  Decorated by long dead hands, the rock face was alive with images in motion. Stick figure gods danced with a huge boar over the walls, and the spiral of the universe swirled before her gaze. A man and a woman slithered up a rainbow spanning the handholds she’d descended.

  Not trusting her eyes, Cele blinked and looked again. The images were quiet.

  Of course they’re quiet. They’re stone. She dug her camera out of her fanny pack.

  The humming grew louder. It had a rhythm now, like a drumbeat. Where’s it coming from? She scanned the area, but saw only a raven sitting on the crest of the wall. Where did he come from? She hadn’t seen him fly in.

  The raven regarded her with a sharp eye, then cawed. She raised her camera to take his picture, but an odd urgency suddenly gripped her. She had to get out of there. Climb out! Now! The thought felt like a command. Cele glanced at her watch. She still had forty minutes left before she had to get back to Berto, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out. She had to leave. Cele slung the strap of her camera over her head.

  Grabbing the handholds, she pulled herself up. The throbbing hum quickened, and her fingertips tingled in time with it. She climbed faster, in time with the beat.

  Her arms ached with the effort, but she didn’t care. She was almost there, almost to the top. Just a few more feet, and she’d be safe. Then abruptly, she was jerked away from the stone.

  Cele clutched and scrabbled at the rock. She tried to cling to the cliff, but the ledge slipped from her outstretched fingers. Her stomach lurched as she fell, suddenly weightless.

  The granite walls disappeared. A rainbow arc rolled out beneath her. Surrounded by shimmering color, she slid down the bow into the dark.

  She fell in silence; even her scream made no sound.

  *

  Small rocks and sand bit sharply into Cele’s cheek. She opened her eyes on the desert ravine, viewed from the odd angle of being face down in the dirt.

  What happened?

  She pushed up to her hands and knees, and then sat and checked herself over. No blood, no broken bones, no dizziness. So far, so good. She licked her dry lips and took a long drag from her water bottle. Light glared over the edge of the ridge, making her squint.

  How long was I out? It must have been hours. The sun had traveled far to the west, casting most of the narrow cut in shadow. Berto would be long gone and Elaine would be frantic. Her roommate might even have called Search and Rescue.

  Cele winced. I hope not. I’d never live it down: a rescue operator being rescued.

  She dug out her cell phone. No signal. Of course. I’m in a narrow canyon. Duh. She’d have to hustle to keep things from getting out of hand.

  Cele picked up her hat, stood, then stared. What the…?

  No prickly pear cactus with their flat pads sporting inch long spines studded the hills. And interspersed with the prickly pear there should have been tall saguaros stretching their arms for the sky. But there wasn’t a cactus in sight. A chill crept over her, despite the heat.

  Cele turned, examining the rock walls rising on three sides of her. Etchings covered the shadowed rock faces all around her, from the ground up to the top. At least that’s the same.

  Then she realized it wasn’t.

  The cliffs were darker and the images were different. No figures crawled up either side of the cleft. There were no handholds, either.

  Instead of cactus, thorny bushes grew six feet tall and just as wide, dense with small leaves and long thorns. The other plants were different, too. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature shivered down her spine. This isn’t right. She drew in a steadying breath, but the spicy, intertwining scents were unfamiliar. This was all wrong.

  Cele groped for an explanation. She’d taken a tumble. Had she hit her head? Wandered off in a fog of confusion? But that wouldn’t explain the change in vegetation. And her memory was clear right up to the moment when she’d fallen.

  I didn’t fall! She hadn’t lost her balance, or slipped. Someone had yanked her off the rock face–but there’d been no one around. And that rainbow. She looked up at the clear blue sky. There’s no way I could have seen a rainbow.

  Nothing made sense. Her pulse pounded.

  Another raven–or was it the same one?–landed on the lip of the defile, sunlight flashing off his blue-black wings.

  “I have to get out of here,” she told the bird. “I’ll figure it out when I get home.” She started to climb.

  The raven watched as Cele tested each toehold carefully before trusting it not to crumble beneath her. Her arms quivered. Her muscles burned. The bird stepped aside as she pulled herself up to sit on the edge, but it didn’t go far. Her shoulders burned from exertion and she glared at the corvid. “Don’t look so smug. You have wings.” Then she looked behind her.

  The path was gone.

  The ground was unbroken desert–in both directions. The trail should be there. It had to be.

  But it wasn’t.

  Cele scrambled to her feet. The mountains rising behind her were wrong, too. Her heart lurched, skipping a beat. She turned and turned again, looking for some familiar thing, but
there was nothing.

  “No!” Her scream echoed off the cliffs.

  Everything was different. Everything. It couldn’t be. But it was.

  Her breath came in short gasps as her heart tried to pound its way out of her chest. This can’t be happening! The world doesn’t change in the blink of an eye!

  She scrambled up the hill. Maybe at the top she’d see something she recognized. Loose rock rolled from under her feet as she bent forward, half climbing, half crawling on all fours. At the top, she stared desperately across the valley. No glint of sun on windows, no buildings stood tall, no cars moving on long roads that ran straight for miles. No roads. Nothing.

  Icy fear raced down Cele’s back and she covered her face. This isn’t happening. It’s not real. I must have hit my head. I’m hallucinating. But her head didn’t hurt. She wasn’t dizzy. She dropped her hands and stared again.

  Where she’d hoped to see a sprawling city of a million people, she saw only desert scrub. No city glittered in the valley; it wasn’t even the same valley.

  Where the hell am I?

  Her legs wobbled and she sat down hard on a nearby rock. Her mouth ached, parched from fear and exertion. She gulped several swallows from her squeeze bottle. The container was light when she slipped it back into its holster. Then she froze. Her other bottle was already empty. She hadn’t planned on a long hike. She had almost no water left. Fear choked her as she remembered briefings at work about dehydration and desperate victims dying in the desert.

  She was in deep, deep trouble.

  Cele sucked in a shuddering breath, then another, trying to steady her frantic pulse. She was an emergency services dispatcher. She’d responded to difficult situations before. She knew how to function under stress. I need to stay calm and think. But her mind kept racing like a hamster on a wheel.