Stars of Mithra Box Set: Captive Star\Hidden Star\Secret Star (22 page)

It stung. She couldn't have said why, but the
bland and goody-goody description put her back up. “I've got a tattoo on my butt.”

He set the rather sloppy sandwich he'd put together down. “Excuse me?”

“I have a tattoo on my butt,” she repeated, with a combative gleam in her eye.

“Is that so?” He couldn't wait to see it. “Well, then, I'll have to turn you in. Now, if you tell me you've got something other than your ears pierced, I'll have to get my gun.”

“I'm so pleased I could amuse you.”

“Sweetheart, you fascinate me.” He shifted to block her path before she could storm out. “Temper. That's a good sign. Bailey's not a wimp.” She stepped to the right. So did he. “She likes scrambled eggs with dill and paprika, knows how to make iced tea, cuts tomatoes in very precise slices and knows how to tie a shank knot.”

“What?”

“Your belt,” he said with a careless gesture. “She was probably a Girl Scout, or she likes to sail. Her voice gets icy when she's annoyed, she has excellent taste in clothes, bites her bottom lip when she's nervous—which I should warn you instills wild lust in me for no sensible reason.”

His dimples winked when she immediately stopped nibbling her lip and cleared her throat.
“She keeps her nails at a practical length,” he continued. “And she can kiss a man blind. An interesting woman, our Bailey.”

He gave her hair a friendly tug. “Now, why don't we sit down, eat lunch, and I'll tell you what else I found out. Do you want mustard or mayo?”

“I don't know.” Still sulking, she plopped down in a chair.

“I go for mustard myself.” He brought it to the table, along with the fixings for her sandwich. “So what is it?”

She swiped mustard on bread. “What?”

“The tattoo? What is it?”

Embarrassed now, she slapped ham over mustard. “I hardly see that it's an issue.”

“Come on.” He grinned, leaning over to tug on her hair again. “A butterfly? A rosebud? Or are you really a biker chick in disguise, with a skull and crossbones hiding under my jeans?”

“A unicorn,” she muttered.

He bit the tip of his tongue. “Cute.” He watched her cut her sandwich into tidy and precise triangles, but refrained from commenting.

Because she wanted to squirm, she changed the subject. “You were going to tell me what else you've found out.”

Since it didn't seem to do his blood pressure
any good for him to paint mental images of unicorns, he let her off the hook. “Right. The gun's unregistered. My source hasn't been able to trace it yet. The clip's full.”

“The clip?”

“The gun was fully loaded, which means it either hadn't been fired recently, or had been reloaded.”

“Hadn't been fired.” She closed her eyes, grasped desperately at relief. “I might not have used it at all.”

“I'd say it's unlikely you did. Using current observations, I can't picture you owning an unregistered handgun, but if we get lucky and track it down, we may have a clearer picture.”

“You've learned so much already.”

He would have liked to bask in that warm admiration, but he shrugged and took a hefty bite of his sandwich. “Most of it's negative information. There's been no report of a robbery that involves a gem like the one you've been carrying, or that amount of cash. No kidnapping or hostage situations that the local police are involved in, and no open homicides involving the type of weapon we're dealing with in the last week.”

He took another swallow of beer. “No one has
reported a woman meeting your description missing in the last week, either.”

“But how can that be?” She shoved her sandwich aside. “I have the gem, I have the cash. I
am
missing.”

“There are possibilities.” He kept his eyes on hers. “Maybe someone doesn't want that information out. Bailey, you said you thought the diamond was only part of a whole. And when you were coming out of the nightmare you talked about three stars. Stars. Diamonds. Could be the same thing. Do you think there are three of those rocks?”

“Stars?” She pressed her fingers to her temple as it started to ache. “Did I talk about stars? I don't remember anything about stars.”

Because it hurt to think about it, she tried to concentrate on the reasonable. “Three gems of that size and quality would be unbelievably rare. As a set, even if the others were inferior in clarity to the one I have, they'd be beyond price. You couldn't begin to assess—” Her breath began to hitch, to come in gasps as she fought for air. “I can't breathe.”

“Okay.” He was up, shifting her so that he could lower her head between her knees, rub her
back. “That's enough for now. Just relax, don't force it.”

He wondered, as he stroked her back, just what she'd seen that put that kind of blind terror in her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she managed. “I want to help.”

“You are. You will.” He eased her up again, waiting as she pushed her hair back away from her pale cheeks. “Hey, it's only day one, remember?”

“Okay.” Because he didn't make her feel ashamed of the weakness, she took a deep, cleansing breath. “When I tried to think, really think about what you were asking, it was like a panic attack, with all this guilt and horror and fear mixed together. My head started to throb, and my heart beat too fast. I couldn't get air.”

“Then we'll take it slow. You don't get that panicky when we talk about the stone you have?”

She closed her eyes a moment, cautiously brought its image into her mind. It was so beautiful, so extraordinary. There was concern, and worry, yes. A layer of fear, as well, but it was more focused and somehow less debilitating. “No, it's not the same kind of reaction.” She shook her head, opened her eyes. “I don't know why.”

“We'll work on that.” He scooted her plate back in front of her. “Eat. I'm planning a long evening, and you're going to need fuel.”

“What sort of plans?”

“I went by the library on my travels. I've got a stack of books on gems—technical stuff, pictures, books on rare stones, rare jewels, the history of diamonds, you name it.”

“We might find it.” The possibility cheered her enough to have her nibbling on her sandwich again. “If we could identify the stone, we could trace the owner, and then… Oh, but you can't.”

“Can't what?”

“Work tonight. You have to go somewhere with Pamela.”

“I do? Hell—” He pressed his fingers to his eyes as he remembered.

“I'm sorry, I forgot to mention it. Your mother called. I was in here, so I heard the message. She's upset that you haven't returned her calls, or contacted Pamela about the arrangements for tonight. She's going to be at Dodie's until four. You can call her there. Also, Muffy's very annoyed with you. She called shortly after your mother and she's very unhappy that you missed Camilla's piano recital. She isn't speaking to you until you apologize.”

“I should be so lucky,” he muttered, and dropped his hands. “That's a pretty good rundown. Want a job?” When she only smiled, he shook his head and rode on inspiration. “No, I'm serious. You're a hell of a lot more organized than my late, unlamented secretary. I could use some help around the office, and you could use the busywork.”

“I don't even know if I can type.”

“I know I can't, so you're already a step ahead. You can answer a phone, can't you?”

“Of course, but—”

“You'd be doing me a big favor.” Calculating her weaknesses, he pressed his advantage. It was the perfect way to keep her close, keep her busy. “I'd rather not take the time to start advertising and interviewing secretaries right now. If you could help me out, a few hours a day, I'd really appreciate it.”

She thought of his office, decided it didn't need a secretary so much as a bulldozer. Well, perhaps she could be of some use after all. “I'd be glad to help.”

“Great. Good. Look, I picked up a few things for you while I was out.”

“Things?”

“Clothes and stuff.”

She stared as he rose and began to clear the plates. “You bought me clothes?”

“Nothing fancy. I had to guess at the sizes, but I've got a pretty good eye.” He caught her worrying her lip again and nearly sighed. “Just a few basics, Bailey. As cute as you look in my clothes, you need your own, and you can't wear one suit day after day.”

“No, I suppose I can't,” she murmured, touched that he should have thought of it. “Thank you.”

“No problem. It's stopped raining. You know what you could use? A little fresh air. Let's take a walk, clear your head.”

“I don't have any shoes.” She took the plates he'd put on the counter and loaded them into the dishwasher.

“I got you some sneakers. Six and a half?”

With a half laugh, she rewrapped the ham. “You tell me.”

“Let's try them on and see.”

She slid the tray into the dishwasher, closed the door. “Cade, you really have to call your mother.”

His grin flashed. “Uh-uh.”

“I told you she's upset with you.”

“She's always upset with me. I'm the black sheep.”

“Be that as it may.” Bailey dampened a dish-rag and methodically wiped the counters. “She's your mother, and she's waiting for your call.”

“No, she's waiting so she can browbeat me into doing something I don't want to do. And when I don't do it, she'll call Muffy, my evil sister, and they'll have a grand old time ripping apart my character.”

“That's no way to speak about your family—and you've hurt Camilla's feelings. I assume she's your niece.”

“There are rumors.”

“Your sister's child.”

“No, Muffy doesn't have children, she has creatures. And Camilla is a whiny, pudgy-faced mutant.”

She refused to smile, rinsed out the cloth, hung it neatly over the sink. “That's a deplorable way to speak about your niece. Even if you don't like children.”

“I do like children.” Enjoying himself now, he leaned on the counter and watched her tidy up. “I'm telling you, Camilla's not human. Now my other sister, Doro, she's got two, and somehow the youngest escaped the Parris curse. He's a
great kid, likes baseball and bugs. Doro believes he needs therapy.”

The chuckle escaped before she swallowed it. “You're making that up.”

“Sweetheart, believe me, nothing I could invent about the Parris clan would come close to the horrible truth. They're selfish, self-important and self-indulgent. Are you going to mop the floor now?”

She managed to close her mouth, which had gaped at his careless condemnation of his own family. Distracted, she glanced down at the glossy ivory tiles. “Oh, all right. Where—”

“Bailey, I'm kidding.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the room just as the phone began to ring. “No,” he said, before she could open her mouth. “I'm not answering it.”

“That's shameful.”

“It's self-preservation. I never agreed to this Pamela connection, and I'm not going to be pressured into it.”

“Cade, I don't want you to upset your family and break a date on my account. I'll be fine.”

“I said I didn't make the date. My mother did. And now, when I have to face the music, I can use you as an excuse. I'm grateful. So grateful I'm going to knock a full day off your fee. Here.”
He picked up one of the shopping bags he'd dropped by the front door and pulled out a shoe box. “Your glass slippers. If they fit, you get to go to the ball.”

Giving up, she sat on the bottom landing and opened the box. Her brow cocked. “Red sneakers?”

“I liked them. They're sexy.”

“Sexy sneakers.” And she wondered as she undid the laces how she could be in such an enormous mess and find herself delighted over a silly pair of shoes. They slid on like butter, and for some reason made her want to laugh and weep at the same time. “Perfect fit.”

“Told you I had a good eye.” He smiled when she evened out the laces precisely, tied them into careful and neat bows. “I was right, very sexy.” He reached down to draw her to her feet. “In fact, you make quite a package right now.”

“I'm sure I do, when the only thing that fits are my shoes.” She started to rise to her toes to kiss his cheek, then quickly changed her mind.

“Chicken,” he said.

“Maybe.” She held out her hand instead. “I'd really love to take a walk.” She stepped through the door he opened, glanced up at him. “So is Pamela pretty?”

He considered, decided the straight truth might be to his advantage. “Gorgeous.” He closed the door behind them, slipped an arm around Bailey's waist. “And she wants me.”

The cool little hum of Bailey's response brought a satisfied smile to his lips.

P
uzzles fascinated him. Locating pieces, shuffling them around, trying new angles until they slipped into place, was a challenge that had always satisfied him. It was one of the reasons Cade had bucked family tradition and chosen his particular line of work.

There was enough rebel in him that he would have chosen almost any line of work that bucked family tradition, but opening his own investigation agency had the added benefit of allowing him to call his own shots, solve those puzzles and right a few wrongs along the way.

He had very definite opinions on right and wrong. There were good guys and there were bad guys, there was law and there was crime. Still, he wasn't naive or simplistic enough not to understand and appreciate the shades of gray. In fact, he often visited gray areas, appreciated them. But there were certain lines that didn't get crossed.

He also had a logical mind that occasionally took recreational detours into the fanciful.

Most of all, he just loved figuring things out.

He'd spent a good deal of time at the library after he left Bailey that morning, scanning reams of microfiche, hunting for any snippet of news on a stolen blue diamond. He hadn't had the heart to point out to her that they had no idea where she came from. She might have traveled to D.C. from anywhere over the past few days.

The fact that she, the diamond and the cash were here now didn't mean that was where they had started out. Neither of them had any idea just how long her memory had been blank.

He'd studied up further on amnesia, but he hadn't found anything particularly helpful. As far as he could tell, anything could trigger her memory, or it could remain wiped clean, with her new life beginning shortly before she'd walked into his.

He had no doubt she'd been through or witnessed something traumatic. And though it might be considered one of those detours into the fanciful he was sometimes accused of having, he was certain she was innocent of any wrongdoing.

How could a woman with eyes like hers have done anything criminal?

Whatever the answers were, he was dead set on one thing—he meant to protect her. He was even ready to accept the simple fact that he'd fallen for her the moment he saw her. Whoever and whatever Bailey was, she was the woman he'd been waiting for.

So he not only meant to protect her—he meant to keep her.

He'd chosen his first wife for all the logical and traditional reasons. Or, he mused, he'd been fingered—calculatingly—by his in-laws, and also by his own family. And that soulless merger had been a disaster in its very reasonableness.

Since the divorce—which had ruffled everyone's feathers except those of the two people most involved—he'd dodged and evaded commitment with a master's consummate skill at avoidance.

He believed the reason for all that was sitting cross-legged on the rug beside him, peering myopically at a book on gemstones.

“Bailey, you need glasses.”

“Hmm?” She had all but pressed her nose into the page.

“It's just a wild guess, but I'd say you usually wear reading glasses. If your face gets any closer to that book, you're going to be in it.”

“Oh.” She blinked, rubbed her eyes. “It's just that the print's awfully small.”

“Nope. Don't worry, we'll take care of that tomorrow. We've been at this a couple hours. Want a glass of wine?”

“I suppose.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she struggled to bring the text into focus. “The Star of Africa is the largest known cut diamond in existence at 530.2 carats.”

“Sounds like a whopper,” Cade commented as he chose the bottle of Sancerre he'd been saving for the right occasion.

“It's set in the British royal scepter. It's too big, and it's not a blue diamond. So far I haven't found anything that matches our stone. I wish I had a refractometer.”

“A what?”

“A refractometer,” she repeated, pushing at her hair. “It's an instrument that measures the characteristic property of a stone. The refractive
index.” Her hand froze as he watched her. “How do I know that?”

Carrying two glasses, he settled on the floor beside her again. “What's the refractive index?”

“It's the relative ability to refract light. Diamonds are singly refracting. Cade, I don't understand how I know that.”

“How do you know it's not a sapphire?” He picked up the stone from where it sat like a paperweight on his notes. “It sure looks like one to me.”

“Sapphires are doubly refracting.” She shuddered. “I'm a jewel thief. That must be how I know.”

“Or you're a jeweler, a gem expert, or a really rich babe who likes to play with baubles.” He handed her a glass. “Don't jump to conclusions, Bailey. That's how you miss details.”

“Okay.” But she had an image of herself dressed all in black, climbing in second-story windows. She drank deeply. “I just wish I could understand why I remember certain things. Refractometers,
The Maltese Falcon—
”

“The Maltese Falcon?”

“The movie—Bogart, Mary Astor. You had the book in your room, and the movie jumped right into my head. And roses, I know what they smell
like, but I don't know my favorite perfume. I know what a unicorn is, but I don't know why I've got a tattoo of one.”

“It's a unicorn.” His lips curved up, dimples flashing. “Symbol of innocence.”

She shrugged that off and drank down the rest of her wine quickly. Cade merely passed her his own glass and got up to refill. “And there was this tune playing around in my head while I was in the shower. I don't know what it is, but I couldn't get rid of it.” She sipped again, frowned in concentration, then began to hum.

“Beethoven's ‘Ode to Joy,”' he told her. “Beethoven, Bogart and a mythical beast. You continue to fascinate me, Bailey.”

“And what kind of name is Bailey?” she demanded, gesturing expansively with her glass. “Is it my last name or my first? Who would stick a child with a first name like Bailey? I'd rather be Camilla.”

He grinned again, wondered if he should take the wine out of her reach. “No, you wouldn't. Take my word for it.”

She blew the hair out of her eyes and pouted.

“Tell me about diamonds.”

“They're a girl's best friend.” She chuckled, then beamed at him. “Did I make that up?”

“No, honey, you didn't.” Gently, he took the half-empty glass from her, set it aside. Mental note, he thought—Bailey's a one-drink wonder. “Tell me what you know about diamonds.”

“They sparkle and shine. They look cold, even feel cold to the touch. That's how you can easily identify glass trying to pass. Glass is warm, diamonds are cold. That's because they're excellent heat conductors. Cold fire.”

She lay on her back, stretching like a cat, and had saliva pooling in his mouth. She closed her eyes.

“It's the hardest substance known, with a value of ten on Mohs' hardness scale. All good gem diamonds are white diamonds. A yellowish or brown tinge is considered an imperfection.”

My, oh, my, she thought, and sighed, feeling her head spin. “Blue, green and red diamonds are very rare and highly prized. The color's caused by the presence of minor elements other than pure carbon.”

“Good.” He studied her face, the curved lips, closed eyes. She might have been talking of a lover. “Keep going.”

“In specific gravity, diamonds range between 3.15 and 3.53, but the value for pure crystals is
almost always 3.52. You need brilliancy and fire,” she murmured, stretching lazily again.

Despite his good intentions, his gaze shifted, and he watched her small, firm breasts press against the material of his shirt. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Uncut diamonds have a greasy luster, but when cut, oh, they shine.” She rolled over on her stomach, bent her legs into the air and crossed her ankles. “This is characterized technically as adamantine. The name
diamond
is derived from the Greek word
adamas,
meaning ‘invincible.' There's such beauty in strength.”

She opened her eyes again, and they were heavy and clouded. She shifted, swinging her legs around until she was sitting, all but in his lap. “You're awfully strong, Cade. And so pretty. When you kissed me, it felt like you could gobble me right up, and I couldn't do a thing about it.” She sighed, wiggled a bit to get comfortable, then confided, “I really liked it.”

“Oh, boy.” He felt the blood begin its slow, leisurely journey from head to loins and cautiously covered both the hands she had laid on his chest. “Better switch to coffee.”

“You want to kiss me again.”

“About as much as I'd like to take the next
breath.” That mouth of hers was ripe and willing and close. Her eyes were dreamy and dark.

And she was plowed.

“Let's just hold off on that.”

Gently he started to ease her back, but she was busily crawling the rest of the way into his lap. In a smooth, agile movement, she wriggled down and hooked her legs around his waist.

“I don't think— Listen—” For a damsel in distress, she had some pretty clever moves. He managed to catch her industrious hands again before she pulled his shirt off. “Cut that out. I mean it.”

He did mean it, he realized, and accepted the new fact that he was insane.

“Do you think I'd be good in bed?” The question nearly had his eyes crossing and his tonguetied in knots. She, meanwhile, simply sighed, settled her head on his shoulder and murmured, “I hope I'm not frigid.”

“I don't think there's much chance of that.” Cade's blood pressure spiked while she nibbled delicately on his earlobe. Her hands snuck under his shirt and up his back with a light scraping of nails.

“You taste so good,” she noted approvingly,
her lips moving down his throat. “I'm awfully hot. Are you hot?”

With an oath, he turned his head, captured her mouth and devoured.

She was ripe with flavors, pulsing with heat. He let himself sink into her, drown in that hot, delicious mouth, while the humming purrs that rippled from her throat pounded through his system like diamonds cased in velvet.

She was pliant, almost fluid, in surrender. When she dipped her head back, offering her throat, no saint in heaven could have resisted it. He scraped his teeth over that smooth white column, listened to her moan, felt her move sinuously against him in invitation.

He could have taken her, simply laid her back on the books and papers and buried himself in her. He could almost feel that glorious slippery friction, the rhythm that would be theirs and only theirs.

And as much as he knew it would be right, it would be perfect, he knew it couldn't be either, not then, not there.

“I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you.” He plunged his hand into her hair, turning her head until their eyes met. “Damn it, focus for a minute. Look at me.”

She couldn't see anything else. She didn't want anything else. Her body felt light as air, her mind empty of everything but him. “Kiss me again, Cade. It's like a miracle when you do.”

Praying for strength, he lowered his brow to hers until he could steady his breathing. “Next time I kiss you, you're going to know just what's going on.” He rose and lifted her into his arms.

“My head's spinning.” Giggling, she let it fall back on his supporting arm.

“Whose isn't?” With what he considered really heroic control, he laid her on the couch.

“Take a nap.”

“'Kay.” Obediently, she closed her eyes. “You'll stay here. I feel safe when you're here.”

“Yeah, I'll be here.” He dragged his hands through his hair and watched her drift off. They were going to laugh at this someday, he thought. Maybe when they had grandchildren.

Leaving her sleeping, he went back to work.

…She was digging in the dirt. The sun was a torch in a sapphire sky. The surrounding land was rocky and baked into muted shades of browns and reds and lavenders. Strong and pungent was the scent of sage from the pale green shrubs struggling out of cracks and crevices in the earth. With
spade and hammer, she went about her work happily.

Under the narrow shade of a boulder, two women sat watching her. Her sense of contentment was strong, and stronger yet when she looked over and smiled at them.

One had a short cap of hair that glowed like copper and a sharp, foxy face. And, though her eyes were shielded by dark wraparound sunglasses, Bailey knew they were a deep, deep green.

The other had ebony hair, though it was tucked up now under a wide-brimmed straw hat with silly red flowers around the crown. Loose, the hair would fall past her shoulder blades, thick and wavy to the waist. It suited the magic of her face, the creamy complexion and impossibly blue eyes.

Bailey felt a wave of love just from looking at them, a bond of trust and a sense of shared lives. Their voices were like music, a distant song of which she could only catch snatches.

Could go for a cold beer.

A cold anything.

How long do you think she'll keep at it?

For the rest of our lives. Paris next summer. Definitely.

Get her away from rocks long enough.

And the creeps.

Definitely.

It made her smile that they were talking about her, cared enough to talk about her. She'd go to Paris with them. But for now, she chinked away at an interesting formation, hoping to find something worthwhile, something she could take back and study, then fashion into something pretty for her friends.

It took patience, and a good eye. Whatever she found today, she'd share with them.

Then, suddenly, the blue stones all but tumbled into her hand. Three perfect blue diamonds of spectacular size and luster. And it was with pleasure, rather than shock, that she examined them, turned them in her palms, then felt the jolt of power sing through her body.