Stars of Mithra Box Set: Captive Star\Hidden Star\Secret Star (49 page)

Down another hallway. Antiques, paintings, artwork. Her eye was expert enough to recognize the Monet on the wall, the porcelain vase from the Han
dynasty on a pedestal, the Nok terra-cotta head from Nigeria.

Her host, she thought, had excellent and eclectic taste. The treasures she saw, small and large, spanned continents and centuries.

A collector, she realized with a chill. Now he had her, and was hoping to trade her for the Three Stars of Mithra.

With what Grace considered absurd formality, under the circumstances, the butler approached tall double doors, opened them, and with seamless expertise bowed slightly from the waist.

“Miss Grace Fontaine.”

Seeing no immediate alternative, she stepped through the open doors into an enormous dining room with a frescoed ceiling and a dazzling trio of chandeliers. She scanned the long mahogany table, the Georgian candelabra gaily lit and spaced at precise intervals down its length, and focused on the man who rose and smiled charmingly.

Her worlds overlapped—reality and fear. “Gregor.”

“Grace.” Elegant in his tux, diamonds winking, he crossed to her, took her numb hand in his. “How delightful to see you.” He tucked her arm through his, patted it affectionately. “I don't believe you've dined.”

 

He knew where she was. Seth had no doubt of it, but his first fiery urge to rush to the elegant estate in D.C. and tear it apart single-handedly had to be suppressed.

He could get her killed.

He was certain Ambassador Gregor DeVane had killed before.

The call that interrupted his scene with Grace had been confirmation of yet another woman who had once been linked to the ambassador, a beautiful German scientist who had been found murdered in her home in Berlin, the apparent victim of a bungled burglary.

The dead woman had been an anthropologist who had a keen interest in Mithraism. For six months during the previous year, she had been romantically linked with Gregor DeVane. Then she was dead, and none of her research notes on the Three Stars of Mithra had been recovered.

He knew DeVane was responsible, just as he knew DeVane had Grace. But he couldn't prove it, and he didn't have probable cause to sway any judge to issue a search warrant into the home of a foreign ambassador.

Once more he stood in Grace's living room. Once more he stared up at her portrait and imagined her dead. But this time, he wasn't thinking like a cop.

He turned as Mick Marshall stepped beside him. “We won't find anything here to link him. In twelve hours, the diamonds will be turned over to the museum. He's going to use her to see that doesn't happen. I'm going to stop him.”

Mick looked up at the portrait. “What do you need?”

“No. No cops.”

“Lieutenant…Seth, if you're right, and he's got her, you're not going to get her out alone. You need to put together a team. You need a hostage negotiator.”

“There's no time. We both know that.” His eyes weren't flat and cool now, weren't cop's eyes. They were full of storms and passions. “He'll kill her.”

His heart was coated with a sheet of ice, but it beat with fiery heat inside the casing. “She's smart. She'll play whatever game she needs to in order to stay alive, but if she makes the wrong move he'll kill her. I don't need a psychiatric profile to see into his head. He's a sociopath with a god complex and an obsession. He wants those diamonds and what he believes they represent. Right now he wants Grace, but if she doesn't serve his purpose, she'll end up like the others. That's not going to happen, Mick.”

He reached into his pocket, took out his badge
and held it out. This time he wouldn't go by the book, couldn't afford to play by the rules. “You take this for me, hang on to it. I may want it back.”

“You're going to need help,” Mick insisted. “You're going to need men.”

“No cops,” Seth repeated, and pushed his badge into Mick's reluctant hand. “Not this time.”

“You can't go in solo. It's suicide, professional and literal.”

Seth cast one last glance at the portrait. “I won't be alone.”

 

She wouldn't tremble, Grace promised herself. She wouldn't show him how frightened she was. Instead, she brushed her hair from her shoulder with a careless hand.

“Do you always have your dinner companions abducted from their homes and drugged, Ambassador?”

“You must forgive the clumsiness.” Considerately he drew out a chair for her. “It was necessary to be quick. I trust you're suffering no ill effects.”

“Other than great annoyance, no.” She sat, skimmed her gaze over the dish of marinated mushrooms a silent servant placed before her. They reminded her, painfully, of the noise-filled cookout at Cade's. “And a loss of appetite.”

“Oh, you must at least sample the food.” He
sat at the head of the table, picked up his fork. It was gold and heavy and had once slipped between the lips of an emperor. “I've gone to considerable trouble to have your favorites prepared.” His smile remained genial, but his eyes went cold. “Eat, Grace. I detest waste.”

“Since you've gone to such lengths.” She forced down a bite, ordered her hand not to shake, her stomach not to revolt.

“I hope your room is comfortable. I had to have it prepared for you rather quickly. You'll find appropriate clothing in the armoire and bureau. You've only to ask if there's something else you wish.”

“I prefer windows without bars, and doors without locks.”

“Temporary precautions, I promise you. Once you're at home here…” His hand covered hers, the grip tightening cruelly when she attempted to pull away. “…and I do very much want you to be at home here, such measures won't be necessary.”

She didn't wince as the bones in her hands ground together. When she stopped the resistance, his fingers relaxed, stroked once, then slid away.

“And just how long do you intend to keep me here?”

He smiled, picked up her wineglass, held it out
to her. “Eternity. You and I, Grace, are destined to share eternity.”

Under the table, her aching hand shook and went clammy. “That's quite some time.” She started to set her wine down, untouched, then caught the hard glint in his eye and sipped. “I'm flattered, but confused.”

“It's pointless to pretend you don't understand. You held the Star in your hand. You survived death, and you came to me. I've seen your face in my dreams.”

“Yes.” She could feel her blood drain slowly, as if leeched out of her veins. Looking into his eyes she remembered the nightmares—the shadow in the woods. Watching. “I've seen you in mine.”

“You'll bring me the Stars, Grace, and the power. I understand why I failed now. Every step was simply another on the path that brought us here. Together we'll possess the Stars. And I will possess you. Don't worry,” he said when she flinched. “You'll come to me a willing bride. But my patience has limits. Beauty is my weakness,” he continued, and skimmed a fingertip down her bare arm, toyed idly with the thick silver bracelet she wore. “And perfection my greatest delight. You, my dear, have both. Understand, you'll have no choice should my patience run out. My household staff is…well trained.”

Fear was a bright, icy flash, but her voice was steady with disgust. “And would turn a deaf ear and blind eye to rape?”

“I don't enjoy that word during dinner.” He gave a sulky little shrug and signaled for the next course. “A woman of your appetites will grow hungry soon enough. And one of your intelligence will undoubtedly see the wisdom of an amiable partnership.”

“It's not sex you want, Gregor.” She couldn't bear to look down at the tender pink salmon on her plate. “It's subjugation. I'm so poor at subjugation.”

“You misunderstand me.” He forked up fish and ate with enjoyment. “I intend to make you a goddess, and subject to no one. And I will have everything. No mortal man will come between us.” He smiled again. “Certainly not Lieutenant Buchanan. The man is becoming a nuisance. He's probing into my affairs, where he has no business probing. I've seen him…”

DeVane's voice trailed off to a whisper, and there was a hint of fear in it. “In the night. In my dreams. He comes back. He always comes back. No matter how often I kill him.” Then his eyes cleared, and he sipped wine the color of melted gold. “Now he's stirring up old business and looking for new.”

She could feel the alarming beat of her pulse in her throat, at her wrists, in her temples. “He'll be looking for me, very soon now.”

“Possibly. I'll deal with him, when and if the time comes. That could have been tonight, had he not left you so abruptly. Oh, I have considered just what will be done about the lieutenant. But I prefer to wait until I have the Stars. It's possible…” Thoughtfully DeVane picked up his napkin, dabbed at his lips. “I may spare him once I have what belongs to me. If you wish it. I can be magnanimous…under the right circumstances.”

Her heart was in her throat now, filling it, blocking it. “If I do what you want, you'll leave him alone?”

“It's possible. We'll discuss it. But I'm afraid I developed an immediate dislike for the man. And I am still annoyed with you, dear Grace, for rejecting my own invitation for such an ordinary man.”

She didn't hesitate, couldn't afford to, while her mind whirled with fear for Seth. She made her lips curve silkily. “Gregor, surely you forgive me for that. I was so…crushed when you didn't press your case. A woman, after all, enjoys a more determined pursuit.”

“I don't pursue. I take.”

“Obviously.” She pouted. “It was horrid of you
to have manhandled me that way, and frightened me half to death. I may not forgive you for it.”

“Be careful how deep you play the game.” His voice was low with warning and, she thought, with interest. “I'm not green.”

“No.” She skimmed a hand over his cheek before she rose. “But maturity has so many advantages.”

Her legs were watery, but she roamed the cavernous room, her gaze traveling quickly toward windows, exits. Escape. “You have such a beautiful home. So many treasures.” She angled her head, hoped the challenge she issued was worth the risk. “I do love…things. But I warn you, Gregor, I won't be any man's pretty toy.”

She walked to him slowly, skimming a fingertip down her throat, between her breasts, while the silk she wore whispered around her. “And when I'm backed into a corner…I scratch.”

Seductively she laid a hand on the table, leaned toward him. “You want me?” she breathed it, purred it, watching his eyes darken, sliding her fingers toward the knife beside his plate. “To touch me? To have me?” Her fingers closed over the handle, gripped hard.

“Not in a hundred lifetimes,” she said as she struck.

She was fast, and she was desperate. But he'd
shifted to draw her to him, and the knife struck his shoulder instead of his heart. As he cried out in shock and rage, she whirled. Grabbing one of the heavy chairs, she smashed the long window and sent glass raining out. But when she leaped forward, strong arms grabbed her from behind.

She fought viciously, her breath panting out. The fragile silk she wore ripped. Then she froze when the knife she had used was pressed against her throat. She didn't bother to struggle against the arms that held her as DeVane leaned his face close to hers. His eyes were mad with fury.

“I could kill you for that. But it would be too little and too quick. I would have made you my equal. I would have shared that with you. Now I'll just take what I choose from you. Until I tire of you.”

“You'll never get the Stars,” she said steadily. “And you'll never get Seth.”

“I'll have exactly what I choose. And you'll help me.”

She started to shake her head, flinched as the blade nicked. “I'll do nothing to help you.”

“But you will. If you don't do exactly as I tell you, I will pick up the phone. With one single word from me, Bailey James and M. J. O'Leary will die tonight. It will only take a word.”

He saw the wild fear come into her eyes, the
helpless terror that hadn't been there for her own life. “I have men waiting for that word. If I give it, there will be a terrible and tragic explosion in the night at Cade Parris's home. Another at a small neighborhood pub, just before closing. And as one last twist, a third explosion will destroy the home, and the single occupant, of a certain Lieutenant Buchanan's residence. Their fate is in your hands, Grace. And the choice is yours.”

She wanted to call his bluff, but, staring into his eyes, she understood that he wouldn't hesitate to do as he threatened. No, he longed to do it. Their lives meant nothing to him. And everything to her.

“What do you want me to do?”

 

Bailey was fighting against panic when the phone rang. She stared at it as if it were a snake that had rattled into life. With a silent prayer, she lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Bailey.”

“Grace.” Her fingers went white-knuckled as she whirled. Seth shook his head, held up a hand in caution. “Are you all right?”

“For the moment. Listen very carefully, Bailey, my life depends on it. Do you understand?”

“No. Yes.” Stall, she knew she'd been ordered to stall. “Grace, I'm so frightened for you. What happened? Where are you?”

“I can't go into that now. You have to be calm, Bailey. You have to be strong. You were always the calm one. Like when we took that art history exam in college and I was so intimated by Professor Greenbalm, and you were so cool. You have to be cool now, Bailey, and you have to follow my instructions.”

“I will. I'll try.” She looked helplessly at Seth as he signaled her to stretch it out. “Just tell me if you're hurt.”

“Not yet. But he will hurt me. He'll kill me, Bailey, if you don't do what he wants. Get him what he wants. I know I'm asking a great deal. He wants the stones. You have to go get them. You can't take Cade. You can't call…the police.”