scamper across the room to where she kept a locked box of rez-brush paints and a canvas to entertain him during the long workdays.
“Miss Dore, please.”
The voice was male, smooth, authoritative, with just the right amount of upper-class power vibe. Not one of her regulars.
“Speaking,” she said.
“This is Wilson Revere. I understand you’re something of an expert on rare ambers.”
She froze, excitement pulsing through her. It was, of course, entirely possible that there was more than one Wilson Revere in Frequency City. But how many of them would be interested in a tuner who could handle rare ambers?
She cleared her throat and tried to assume an assured tone. “Would this be Wilson Revere of the RezStone corporation?”
He laughed. “One and the same. Sorry, I should have done a better job of introducing myself. Call me Wilson.”
“What can I do for you, uh, Wilson?”
“There’s an auction at the Fairstead Gallery tomorrow afternoon. I understand that there will be some interesting raw stones of rare amber up for sale. One of the specimens is amethyst. The consultant I usually employ for this sort of thing has no experience with that particular variety. I’d like you to attend the preview with me and give me your opinion before I bid. Are you free?”
She gripped the phone tighter. It was all she could do to maintain her cool, professional voice. “Let me check my appointment book.”
“Certainly.”
She forced herself to let a few seconds pass before she spoke to him again.
“Yes, Mr. Revere, it appears I’m free tomorrow afternoon. I’ll meet you at the Fairstead Gallery.”
“That will be fine. And, remember, it’s Wilson.”
“Right. Wilson.”
“Thank you, Miss Dore. I’ll look forward to meeting you in person tomorrow.”
He ended the connection.
Lyra looked at Vincent, who was perched on top of the rez-brush paint box, waiting for her to open it.
“I don’t think we’ll mention the name of my new client to Cruz,” she said. “I get the feeling there’s some bad blood between the Reveres and the Sweetwaters. Remember the tuner’s motto: ‘What happens in a tuner’s shop stays in a tuner’s shop.’ ”
Chapter 11
“ I’M HAVING DINNER WITH YOU TONIGHT BECAUSE Nancy and I decided that being seen with you may be good for the antiquities consulting side of my business,” Lyra said. “Especially given the articles in today’s papers.”
Cruz looked at her across the width of the small, intimate booth. “I appreciate the honesty.”
“Sure. Anytime. I take it that informing the media that I’m an exclusive antiquities consultant with an exclusive clientele was your idea?”
“Figured it was the least I could do.”
“Well, thanks for that.”
Cruz’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Does that mean we’re even?”
“No.”
The small restaurant was not only one of the most expensive in the city, it was considered to be among the best by people who cared a lot about fine dining. Lyra tried not to appear impressed, but it was hard to fake a blasé attitude when you were sitting in one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, and your dinner partner was one of the most powerful men in the city.
The Emerald Bistro was located in the heart of a recently gentrified section of the Quarter. It was an elegant, discreetly lit enclave where the wealthy and the powerful could dine in a relaxed atmosphere among their own kind. The service was exquisite, the exotic cuisine was served in itty-bitty portions, and the wines on the leather-clad list started at a price that was well above her entire weekly food budget.
She and Cruz had been the subject of a number of veiled glances when they had arrived. But the staff and the other diners were giving the impression that her presence here tonight with one of the men of Amber Inc. was no big deal.
Cruz picked up his wineglass. “You look incredible this evening.”
“Thank you.”
She had gone with her standard
“Miss Dore, please.”
The voice was male, smooth, authoritative, with just the right amount of upper-class power vibe. Not one of her regulars.
“Speaking,” she said.
“This is Wilson Revere. I understand you’re something of an expert on rare ambers.”
She froze, excitement pulsing through her. It was, of course, entirely possible that there was more than one Wilson Revere in Frequency City. But how many of them would be interested in a tuner who could handle rare ambers?
She cleared her throat and tried to assume an assured tone. “Would this be Wilson Revere of the RezStone corporation?”
He laughed. “One and the same. Sorry, I should have done a better job of introducing myself. Call me Wilson.”
“What can I do for you, uh, Wilson?”
“There’s an auction at the Fairstead Gallery tomorrow afternoon. I understand that there will be some interesting raw stones of rare amber up for sale. One of the specimens is amethyst. The consultant I usually employ for this sort of thing has no experience with that particular variety. I’d like you to attend the preview with me and give me your opinion before I bid. Are you free?”
She gripped the phone tighter. It was all she could do to maintain her cool, professional voice. “Let me check my appointment book.”
“Certainly.”
She forced herself to let a few seconds pass before she spoke to him again.
“Yes, Mr. Revere, it appears I’m free tomorrow afternoon. I’ll meet you at the Fairstead Gallery.”
“That will be fine. And, remember, it’s Wilson.”
“Right. Wilson.”
“Thank you, Miss Dore. I’ll look forward to meeting you in person tomorrow.”
He ended the connection.
Lyra looked at Vincent, who was perched on top of the rez-brush paint box, waiting for her to open it.
“I don’t think we’ll mention the name of my new client to Cruz,” she said. “I get the feeling there’s some bad blood between the Reveres and the Sweetwaters. Remember the tuner’s motto: ‘What happens in a tuner’s shop stays in a tuner’s shop.’ ”
Chapter 11
“ I’M HAVING DINNER WITH YOU TONIGHT BECAUSE Nancy and I decided that being seen with you may be good for the antiquities consulting side of my business,” Lyra said. “Especially given the articles in today’s papers.”
Cruz looked at her across the width of the small, intimate booth. “I appreciate the honesty.”
“Sure. Anytime. I take it that informing the media that I’m an exclusive antiquities consultant with an exclusive clientele was your idea?”
“Figured it was the least I could do.”
“Well, thanks for that.”
Cruz’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Does that mean we’re even?”
“No.”
The small restaurant was not only one of the most expensive in the city, it was considered to be among the best by people who cared a lot about fine dining. Lyra tried not to appear impressed, but it was hard to fake a blasé attitude when you were sitting in one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, and your dinner partner was one of the most powerful men in the city.
The Emerald Bistro was located in the heart of a recently gentrified section of the Quarter. It was an elegant, discreetly lit enclave where the wealthy and the powerful could dine in a relaxed atmosphere among their own kind. The service was exquisite, the exotic cuisine was served in itty-bitty portions, and the wines on the leather-clad list started at a price that was well above her entire weekly food budget.
She and Cruz had been the subject of a number of veiled glances when they had arrived. But the staff and the other diners were giving the impression that her presence here tonight with one of the men of Amber Inc. was no big deal.
Cruz picked up his wineglass. “You look incredible this evening.”
“Thank you.”
She had gone with her standard
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