Stars of Mithra Box Set: Captive Star\Hidden Star\Secret Star (32 page)

Cade slipped an arm around Bailey's waist. She was starting to tremble. “Mrs. Weathers, I wonder if you might have an extra key to Bailey's
apartment. She left it back at my place, and we need to pick up a few things.”

“Oh, is that the way of it?” She smiled slyly, fluffed her hair again and admonished Bailey. “And high time, too. Holing yourself up here, night after night. Now, let's see. I just watered Mr. Hollister's begonias, so I've got my keys right here. Here you are.”

“I don't remember giving you my key.”

“Of course you did, dearie, last year when you and the girls went off to Arizona. I made a copy, just in case.” Humming to herself, she unlocked Bailey's door. Before she could push it open and scoot in, Cade outmaneuvered her.

“Thanks a lot.”

“No trouble. Can't imagine where that girl got off to,” she said, craning her neck to see through the crack in the door of Bailey's apartment. “I told the police how she was running off on her own steam. Oh, and now that I think about it, Bailey, I did see your brother.”

“Timothy,” Bailey whispered.

“Can't say which one for sure. They look like clones to me. He came by, let's see.” She tapped a finger on her front teeth, as if to jiggle the thought free. “Must have been Saturday night. I told him I hadn't seen you, that I thought you
might have taken a holiday. He looked a little perturbed. Let himself right in, then closed the door in my face.”

“I didn't realize he had a key, either,” Bailey murmured, then realized she'd left her purse behind when she ran. She wondered how foolishly useless it would be to change her locks. “Thank you, Mrs. Weathers. If I miss M.J. again, will you tell her I'm looking for her?”

“Of course, dearie. Now, if you—” She frowned as Cade gave her a quick wink, slid Bailey inside and shut the door in her face.

It was just as well he had. One glance around told him his tidy Bailey didn't usually leave her apartment with cushions ripped open and drawers spilled out.

Apparently Salvini hadn't been content to search the place, he'd wanted to destroy it. “Messy amateur,” Cade murmured, running a hand up and down her back.

It was the same madness, she realized. The same violent loss of control she'd seen when he grabbed the antique knife Thomas used for a letter opener off the desk. When he used it.

These were only things, she reminded herself. No matter how dear and cherished, they were only things.

She'd seen for herself just what Timothy could do to people. “I have to call Grace. She'd have gone to Grace if she could.”

“Did you recognize who M.J. was with from the description?”

“No. I don't know anyone like that, and I know most of M.J.'s friends.” She waded through the destruction of her living room and reached the phone. Her message light was blinking, but she ignored it and hastily punched in numbers. “It's her machine,” Bailey murmured, and strained while the throaty voice recited the announcement. Then: “Grace, if you're there, pick up. It's urgent. I'm in trouble. M.J.'s in trouble. I don't know where she is. I want you to go to the police, give them the package I sent you. Call me right away.”

“Give her my number,” Cade instructed.

“I don't know it.”

He took the phone himself, recited it, then handed the receiver back to Bailey.

It was a calculated risk, revealing Bailey's whereabouts, but the diamond was going into safekeeping and he didn't want to put up any impediments to Grace being able to reach them. “It's life-and-death, Grace. Don't stay in the house alone. Get to the police. Don't talk to my
brother, whatever you do. Don't let him in the house. Call me, please, please, call me.”

“Where does she live?”

“In Potomac.” Bailey told him when he gently took the receiver away and hung it up. “She may not be there at all. She has a place up in the country, western Maryland. That's where I sent the package. There's no phone there, and only a few people know she goes there. Other times she just gets in the car and drives until she sees someplace that suits her. She could be anywhere.”

“How long does she usually stay out of touch?”

“No more than a few days. She'd call me, or M.J.” With an oath, she pounced on the message machine. The first voice to flow out was Grace's.

“Bailey, what are you up to? Is this thing real? Are we giving smuggling a try? Look, you know how I hate these machines. I'll be in touch.”

“Four o'clock on Saturday.” Bailey hung on to that. “She was all right at four o'clock on Saturday, according to the machine.”

“We don't know where she called from.”

“No, but she was all right on Saturday.” She punched to get the next message. This time it was M.J.

“Bailey, listen up. I don't know what the hell's
going on, but we're in trouble. Don't stay there, he might come back. I'm in a phone booth outside some dive near—” There was swearing, a rattle. “Hands off, you son of a—” And a dial tone.

“Sunday, two a.m. What have I done, Cade?”

Saying nothing, he punched in the next message. It was a man's voice this time. “Little bitch, if you hear this, I'll find you. I want what's mine.” There was a sob, choked off. “He cut my face. He had them slice up my face because of what you did. I'm going to do the same to you.”

“It's Timothy,” she murmured.

“I figured as much.”

“He's lost his mind, Cade. I could see it that night. Something snapped in him.”

He didn't doubt it, not after what he'd seen in Thomas Salvini's office. “Is there anything you need from here?” When she only looked around blankly, he took her hand. “We'll worry about that later. Let's go.”

“Where?”

“A quiet spot where you can sit down and tell me everything else. Then we'll make a call.”

 

The park was shady and green. Somehow, the little bench under the spreading trees seemed to block out the punch of the oppressive July heat.
It hadn't rained in days, and humidity hung like a cloud of wasps in the air.

“You need to have yourself under control when we go to the cops,” Cade told her. “You have to have your mind clear.”

“Yes, you're right. And I need to explain everything to you.”

“I'm putting the pieces together well enough. That's what I do.”

“Yeah.” She looked down at her hands, felt useless. “That's what you do.”

“You lost your father when you were ten. Your mother did her best, but didn't have a head for business. She struggled to keep a house, raise a daughter alone and run an antique business. Then she met a man, an older man, successful, competent, financially solvent and attractive, who wanted her and was willing to accept her daughter into his family.”

She let out an unsteady breath. “I suppose that's it, cutting to the bottom line.”

“The child wants a family, and accepts the stepfather and stepbrothers as such. That's it, too, isn't it?”

“Yes. I missed my father. Charles didn't replace him, but he filled a need. He was good to me, Cade.”

“And the stepbrothers' noses were a little out of joint at the addition of a little sister. A pretty, bright, willing-to-please little sister.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. It was time to face what she'd tried to ignore for years. “Yes, I suppose. I stayed out of their way. I didn't want to make waves. They were both in college when our parents married, and when they came back and were living at home again, I was off. I can't say we were close, but it seemed— I always felt we were a blended family. They never teased or abused me, they never made me feel unwelcome.”

“Or welcome?”

She shook her head. “There wasn't any real friction until my mother died. When Charles withdrew into himself, pulled back from life so much, they took over. It seemed only natural. The business was theirs. I felt I'd always have a job with the company, but I never expected any percentage. There was a scene when Charles announced I'd have twenty percent. He was giving them forty each, but that didn't seem to be the point to them.”

“They hassled you?”

“Some.” Then she sighed. “They were furious,” she admitted. “With their father, with me.
Thomas backed off fairly quickly though. He was more interested in the sales-and-accounting end than the creative work, and he knew that was my area of expertise. We got along well enough. Timothy was less content with the arrangement, but he claimed I'd get tired of the routine, find some rich husband and leave it all up to them anyway.”

It still hurt to remember that, the way he'd sneered at her. “The money Charles left me is in trust. It dribbles out to me until I reach thirty. It's not a great deal, but more than enough. More than necessary. He put me through college, he gave me a home, he gave me a career I love.

“And when he sent me to college, he gave me M.J. and Grace. That's where I met them. We were in the same dorm the first semester. By the second, we were rooming together. It was as if we'd known each other all our lives. They're the best friends I've ever had. Oh, God, what have I done?”

“Tell me about them.”

She steadied herself, and tried. “M.J.'s restless. She changed her major as often as some women change hairstyles. Took all sorts of obscure courses. She'd bomb tests or ace them, depending on her mood. She's athletic, impatient, generous, fun, toughminded. She tended bar her last year at
college for a lark, claimed she was so good at it she'd have to have her own place. She bought one two years ago. M.J.'s. It's a pub off Georgia Avenue, near the District line.”

“I've missed it.”

“It's kind of a neighborhood bar. Regulars, some Irish music on the weekends. If things get rowdy, she takes care of it herself most of the time. If she can't intimidate or outyell someone, she can drop-kick them around the block. She's got a black belt in karate.”

“Remind me not to cross her.”

“She'd like you. She can take care of herself, that's what I keep telling myself. No one can take care of herself better than M. J. O'Leary.”

“And Grace?”

“She's beautiful, you saw that from the sketch. That's what most people see, and they don't see anything else. She uses that when she likes—despises it, but uses it.”

Watching pigeons flutter and strut, Bailey let the memories come. “She was orphaned young, younger than I, and was raised by an aunt in Virginia. She was expected to behave, to be a certain way, a certain thing. A Virginia Fontaine.”

“Fontaine? Department stores.”

“Yes, money, lots of old money. At least old
enough to have that luster a century or so of prestige provides. Because she was beautiful, wealthy and from a fine family, it was expected that she would be properly educated, associate with the right people and marry well. Grace had other ideas.”

“Didn't she pose for…?” He trailed off, cleared his throat.

Bailey simply lifted a brow. “For a centerfold, yes, while she was still in college. The Ivy League Miss April. She did it without blinking an eye, with the idea of scandalizing her family and, as she put it, exploiting the exploiters. She came into her own money when she was twenty-one, so she didn't give a damn what her proper family thought.”

“I never saw the picture,” Cade said, wondering if he should be feeling regret or gratitude, under the circumstances. “But it created quite a stir.”

“That's just what she was after.” Bailey's lips curved again. “Grace liked creating stirs. She modeled for a while, because it amused her. But it didn't satisfy her. I think she's still looking for what will satisfy her. She works very hard for charities, travels on whims. She calls herself the last of the dilettantes, but it's not true. She does
amazing work for underprivileged children, but won't have it publicized. She has tremendous compassion and generosity for the wounded.”

“The bartender, the socialite and the gemologist. An unlikely trio.”

It made her smile. “I suppose it sounds that way. We— I don't want to sound odd, but we recognized each other. It was that simple. I don't expect you to understand.”

“Who'd understand better?” he murmured. “I recognized you.”

She looked up then, met his eyes. “Knowing who I am hasn't solved anything. My life is a mess. I've put my friends in terrible danger, and I don't know how to help them. I don't know how to stop what I've started.”

“By taking the next step.” He lifted her hand, brushed a kiss over the knuckles. “We go back to the house, get the canvas bag, and contact a pal of mine on the force. We'll find your friends, Bailey.”

He glanced up at the sky as clouds rolled over the sun. “Looks like we're finally going to get that rain.”

 

Timothy Salvini swallowed another painkiller. His face throbbed so deeply it was difficult to
think. But thinking was just what he had to do. The man who had ordered his face maimed, then ordered it tended by his personal physician, had given him one last chance.

If he didn't find Bailey and at least one of the diamonds by nightfall, there was nowhere on earth he could hide.

And fear was a deeper throb than pain.

He didn't know how it could have gone so horribly wrong. He'd planned it out, hadn't he? Handled the details when Thomas buried his head in the sand. He was the one who'd been contacted, approached. Because he was the one with the brains, he reminded himself. He was the one who knew how to play the games.

And he was the one who'd made the deal.

Thomas had jumped at it at first. Half of ten million dollars would have set his twin up nicely, and would have satisfied his own craving for real wealth.

Not the dribs and drabs of their business income, however successful the business. But real money, money to dream on.