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  She blinked and then frowned a little. "Okay, I can see that."

  "Given your opinions of the organization, I'm sure your colleagues won't be the least bit amazed that you kept quiet about dating me, as well."

  She contemplated that for a moment and then shook her head. "I'll do my best, but I'd better warn you that I doubt very much that I'll be able to fool my editor. Ivor Runtley has great instincts when it comes to sensing a story."

  "If you have to tell Runtley the truth, try to make him see the importance of keeping quiet."

  "Okay, I'll give it a shot. He'll do just about anything if the story is worth it." She got to her feet and slung her purse over one shoulder. "I hope you know what we're both doing." She glanced at Elvis. "Time to go, pal."

  Elvis hopped down from the windowsill. He drifted across the floor and vaulted up onto the back of the chair. Sierra held out her wrist to him. He leaped aboard and bounded up to perch on her shoulder.

  "I'll meet you at the registrar's office at a quarter to five," Fontana said. "Did you drive?"

  "No, I took a cab."

  He opened the door and looked at the anxious young man seated at the smaller of the two desks. Dray Levine was the new second assistant to the new chief executive assistant, Harlan Ostendorf. A week ago Dray had been a clerk in the records department. He was still adjusting to the rarified atmosphere of the executive suite.

  "Dray, please see my fiancee downstairs and into a Guild limo."

  Dray stared, clearly dumbfounded. His throat worked.

  "Fiancee, sir?" he finally managed.

  "That's right." Fontana smiled. "Miss McIntyre and I are getting married today."

  "Uh, congratulations, sir."

  "Thank you," Fontana said.

  "A limo isn't necessary, really," Sierra said.

  Fontana smiled. "Sure it is. I'm not sending my future bride home in a taxi when there's a fleet of perfectly good limos sitting downstairs in the garage."

  Dray's stunned expression finally smoothed out into his more customary anxious-to-please look. He jumped to his feet.

  "I'll be happy to escort Miss McIntyre downstairs, sir," he said. "Will there be anything else?"

  "Yes." Fontana looked at the empty desk. "When does Harlan get back?"

  Dray glanced at the clock. "Mr. Ostendorf took an early lunch. He's due back in about ten minutes."

  "Good. When he returns, please tell him I want to see him immediately."

  "Yes, sir."

  Fontana studied Dray's ill-concealed astonishment. Rumors and gossip flowed rapidly through the Guild. The news of his marriage would be common knowledge within the organization in less than an hour. He smiled, satisfied.

  "My work here is done," he said.

  He closed the door, went back to his desk, and sat down. Dray wasn't the only one who was still a little stunned.

  He had never intended to suggest a marriage contract to Sierra. The original plan had been to offer her a full-time bodyguard and around-the-clock protection until he had cleaned up the mess.

  But he had revised the strategy in a heartbeat when she walked through his door. The result was that at five o'clock today, he would have himself a bride.

  He'd never had one of those before. There had never been time for anything other than brief affairs. He'd been too busy. Surviving his career at the Bureau and the lightning-fast climb up through the ranks of the Crystal Guild that had followed had required his full attention.

  Tonight he would go to bed a married man. True, it was only a Marriage of Convenience, which was, admittedly, barely a step up from having an affair. He also knew that his new bride viewed the move as purely a business arrangement.

  Nevertheless, it felt real.

  Chapter 3

  "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, SIERRA?" IVOR RUNTLEY, better known to his staff, behind his back, as the Runt, flattened his big hands on Sierra's desk and loomed over her. "And don't try to tell me that you've been dating Fontana in secret for months, because I'm not buying it."

  Sierra glanced quickly around. Fortunately, it was lunchtime. They had the newsroom to themselves.

  Runtley was anything but a runt. Sixty-one years old and as bald as a golf ball, he was built like a two-ton boulder. His sheer mass often caused people to make the mistake of thinking that he was as dumb as a rock. It was a serious misconception.

  Once upon a time Runtley had been an investigative journalist. He had worked for a mainstream paper, the Crystal Herald. But somewhere along the line he had become obsessed with the mysteries left behind by the aliens. Rumor had it that he had gotten badly fried by a ghost while investigating a story. He had blamed the Guild, claiming it had tried to silence him. Whatever the truth of the matter, the experience had left him with an illogical fixation that had led him to file increasingly bizarre and unsubstantiated stories at the Herald. He had eventually been fired.

  His response had been to scrape together enough money to buy the Curtain, a nearly moribund little weekly that had been about to go out of business altogether. Within months he had transformed it into a sensational, moneymaking tabloid that now published daily. Sierra knew he didn't give a damn about the celebrity gossip or the scandals that were the lifeblood of the paper. All he cared about was having the opportunity to print what he considered the truth about alien and Guild secrets.

  Like everyone else at the Curtain, Sierra was pretty sure Runtley was crazy when it came to the subject of the long-vanished aliens, but she liked him, anyway. He had given her a job, after all, even though she'd come to him with absolutely no journalism credentials whatsoever. All she'd had six months ago was a growing conviction that something was very wrong on the streets of the city's Old Quarter and that the Guild was involved. Runtley had hired her instantly. When it came to the subject of the Guild, they shared a mutual distrust that some felt bordered on paranoia.

  Her boss wasn't the only person she liked here at the paper. After a depressingly checkered career in a variety of jobs, she was finally in a position that felt right; maybe not perfect but, then, what job was perfect? Perhaps she felt at home here because her colleagues in the newsroom, from Runtley on down, were also misfits in their own way. Certainly none of them had started out looking forward to careers as tabloid reporters. They had all landed at the Curtain after erratic and eccentric paths.

  Together they faced the disdain of their colleagues in the mainstream media and shared stories about their perennially embarrassed families. Where does your daughter work? Oh, she's a journalist? What newspaper? The Curtain ? Isn't that one of those sleazy tabloids?

  She sat back in her chair. "I warned Fontana that I wouldn't be able to fool you, sir."

  Runtley leaned farther over the desk. Even though there was no one around to hear him, he lowered his usually booming voice to a low rumble. "This sudden decision to sign an MC with Fontana is connected to your investigation of the Guild's cover-up of the alien lab, isn't it?"

  "Yes, sir. He wants my help in the investigation. I'm asking you to trust me."

  "Not a problem." Runtley's eyes guttered with the familiar feverish excitement that always came over him when the prospect of a real scoop involving the Guilds or alien relics arose. "Are you sure you can trust Fontana?"

  She thought about that, checking in again with her intuition. "Not exactly. He's keeping secrets. But he agrees that there is some sort of conspiracy within the Guild and that it is linked to the juice dealing and maybe to the disappearances. I believe him when he says he wants to get to the bottom of whatever is going on."

  "Huh." Runtley did not bother to conceal his skepticism.

  She looked at Elvis. He was sitting on the corner of her desk, munching on the peanut butter and banana sandwich she had made him. The coffee mug the newsroom staff had presented to him a few weeks ago was nearby. It featured a photo of an ancient Earth singing icon. The name Elvis was spelled out in glow-in-the-dark letters.

  "Elvis liked Fontana," she said. "He's a pre
tty good judge of character."

  "Forget the bunny. I don't give diddly-squat about what he thinks. What about you? You're the one with the mega-rez intuition. What was your take on Fontana?"

  She hesitated. Runtley was one of the very few people who knew about her odd talent and actually believed in it. Like the others in her family who possessed various unusual paranormal abilities that did not depend on amber, she had learned long ago not to confide in others. When she did try to talk about her intuition, she usually got one of two unpleasant reactions. Most people simply didn't believe her and laughed off the claim. Such cases could prove socially awkward but not particularly devastating.

  It was those in the second group—the people who actually believed her—whom she had to watch out for. They frequently concluded that she could be useful. What business executive, stockbroker, or gambler couldn't use an assistant or, better yet, a wife endowed with extremely accurate intuitive talents? She had learned her lesson with Jonathan Pemberley. She had no intention of repeating it.

  She had never actually told Runtley that her intuitive powers were off the charts or that she didn't need amber to access them, but he had guessed the truth during her interview. She strongly suspected that his own intuition was well above normal.

  "I didn't get any bad vibes from Fontana," she said. "I wouldn't have even considered this MC if I had."

  "But he's a Guild boss. What's more, judging by what you just told me, he took out Jenner."

  "I didn't say Fontana wouldn't be dangerous under some circumstances; I just said I think I'll be safe with him. At least for the moment." She moved one hand in a small gesture. "He needs me."

  The door of the newsroom slammed open. Kay Alcantara stood in the opening. Phil Trager and Matt Delaney were directly behind her.

  Kay planted a hand over her heart and gave Sierra an anguished glare.

  "Say it isn't so," Kay pleaded. "Say you aren't actually planning to marry the new head of the Crystal Guild and that you forgot to tell your very best friend in the entire world that you had been dating him in secret for lord knows how long."

  Kay was Sierra's age, a tall, vivacious woman with a long mane of discreetly enhanced red hair and an Amazonian body.

  Sierra felt herself turning pink. "Well, it isn't quite like that."

  Kay grinned. "Of course it isn't. As if you would actually marry anyone connected to the Guild. The rumor will make a great scoop for the Curtain tomorrow, though."

  "Hot damn," Matt said. He rubbed his hands together and looked hopefully at Runtley. "Can I write the story, boss? Please. I'll do you proud, I promise."

  "Hey, I've got the perfect headline," Phil announced. "'Guild Boss Weds Mystery Woman in Secret Ceremony.»

  Sierra glowered. "There's nothing secret about it. We're due at the registrar's office at five this afternoon, and by the way, this is my story."

  "You can't write it," Runtley said, unequivocal. "You're the subject."

  "Not fair." Sierra shot to her feet "I'm the one who is sacrificing her, uh, whatever, for this story. I deserve to write it."

  "Kay writes up the wedding," Runtley said. "And that's final."

  "Thanks, boss," Kay said, face alight with anticipation. "Can't wait to get back to my computer."

  "You can't write the story yet," Sierra said. She glanced at her watch. "I'm not going to get married for another two hours."

  Kay laughed. "Since when has a little detail like a timeline ever stopped an intrepid reporter for the Curtain? After all, I'm going to get the background directly from you, right? Of course, I'll want a detailed account of the wedding night, too, but that can wait until tomorrow, I guess."

  It could wait forever, Sierra thought, because there wasn't going to be a wedding night.

  "Holy dust bunny," Phil said, patting Elvis. "This is going to be the biggest story since we broke the news that you somehow made it through the Curtain, King."

  Elvis chortled happily and ate another bite of his sandwich.

  Kay sat down on a corner of Sierra's desk and crossed her long legs. "Tell me everything. How long have you been secretly dating Fontana?"

  "Not very long," Sierra said quickly.

  "How the hell did you two meet?" Matt demanded.

  "In the course of my investigation," Sierra said with what she thought was commendable cool. "He was a powerful member of the Council, as you know, and I wanted some answers from him."

  "Well?" Phil wiggled his brows. "Get any?"

  Everyone glowered at him.

  "Answers, I mean," Phil said hastily.

  Sierra folded her hands on the desk. "Let's just say that I am convinced that Fontana is no Brock Jenner. He will run a very different Guild."

  There was a short, startled silence. Phil, Matt, and Kay looked at each other. Then they turned to Runtley, who merely shrugged his heavy shoulders.

  Kay stared at Sierra with an expression of dawning wonder.

  "Damn, you're serious, aren't you?" she said. "This isn't some kind of joke. You're actually going to marry Fontana?"

  "Yes," Sierra said.

  Matt whistled softly. "Somebody catch me. I think I'm going to swoon."

  Kay frowned. "No offense, but why would Fontana marry you, Sierra? You've been a thorn in the side of the Guild for the past six months."

  "Maybe he thinks he can keep her quiet," Phil offered, sounding more than a little concerned. "After all, once she's a Guild wife, she'll be expected to keep Guild secrets."

  Matt nodded uneasily. "Yeah, I can see why he might want her locked into an MC while he gets control of things. Besides, Guild bosses are almost always married. Something to do with one of their traditions."

  Sierra felt her temper flare. "Let's get one thing clear. Fontana is not marrying me because he thinks he can silence me that way."

  "Okay, okay." Matt held up both hands, palms out. "Just a working theory."

  "Try another hypothesis."

  Phil gave her a quick, head-to-toe inspection. "Well, one thing's for sure."

  "What?" Sierra snapped.

  "Evidently you're going to be on the cover of tomorrow's edition of the Curtain. That means you need to go home and change."

  She glanced down at her businesslike skirted suit and pumps. "What's wrong with these clothes?"

  "They're too boring for a secret mistress who is about to become the wife of the new chief of the Guild," Kay explained.

  "She's right," Runtley decreed. "Go back to your apartment and put on something sexy. We can sell a lot of copies if we get a good shot."

  "Make sure whatever you wear is real short and low-cut," Phil said. "We need cleavage."

  "I'll go home and change," Sierra said. "But forget the cleavage thing. I love the Curtain, but I refuse to humiliate myself on the front cover."

  "Spoilsport," Kay said.

  Chapter 4

  "WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT SIERRA MCINTYRE?" COOPER Boone asked on the other end of the phone.

  Fontana walked to the window, phone to his ear, and looked out over the ruins while he thought about the question.

  Cooper, the head of the Aurora Springs Guild, was one of his few close friends. The bond between them had been established years earlier when, because of their unusual talents, they had found themselves doing some highly unorthodox jobs for the Bureau.

  They were both technically hunters, meaning they could manipulate dissonance energy, but neither of them worked traditional green ghost light. The teams that went underground tended to be traditionalists. Hunters who worked light from other places on the spectrum were not welcome on the exploration ventures. Exotic hunters tended to follow one of two career paths. They either became criminals or they got hired by the Bureau. Once in a while, however, like Cooper and himself, they wound up at the top of one of the organizations.

  "What do I know about Sierra?" Fontana repeated. "Well, I think it's safe to say that I'm marrying up."

  "What does that mean?"

  "She's the daughte
r of Jason McIntyre."

  There was a short pause on the other end of the line.

  "Any connection to McIntyre Industries in Resonance?" Cooper finally asked.

  "She's Jason McIntyre's youngest daughter."

  "You're joking."

  "I'm getting married in two hours. Trust me, I'm not in a joking mood."

  "What the hell is a McIntyre doing working for a low-rent tabloid like the Curtain? Women like her sit on the boards of charitable foundations and eat lunch at their clubs."

  "I did a little checking. She comes from a long line of women who do things in addition to the usual charitable foundation and luncheon gigs."

  "Such as?" Cooper asked.

  "Her mother teaches philosophy at Resonance College. One of her grandmothers is a doctor. The other one ran a successful architectural design business for several years before she retired. There's an aunt who paints and another aunt who writes. And then there's the male side of the family tree."

  "I know something about them. Father is CEO of McIntyre Industries. Two of her brothers work in the business. The other teaches, I think."

  "Mathematics."

  Cooper roared with laughter. "Sounds like you're marrying into a family of overachievers. Serves you right, seeing as how you qualify as one yourself. Congratulations."

  "You can save the congratulations. I doubt that the marriage will last very long after Sierra's relatives discover that she's married to a Guild chief who also happens to be a genuine bastard."

  "Don't jump to conclusions," Cooper advised. "From what I've heard, the McIntyres as a clan resonate to a different frequency."

  "I don't care how independent-minded they are. People that rich and that influential don't let their daughters marry outside their social circles, let alone marry bastards."

  There was no need for either of them to comment further, Fontana thought. Although the laws theoretically protected children born out of wedlock and were designed to try to ensure that both parents took equal responsibility for their illegitimate offspring, there was no avoiding the fact that being born a bastard still carried a stigma. In a society that placed a massive emphasis on marriage and family ties, there was little room for someone like him.