Hidden Star

  Sara snickered. “When you do, I’ll be making my living doing caricatures in bars.” She shrugged, sipped, then picked up a fresh pencil. “Want to try for the other?”

  “Yes, all right.” Telling herself not to focus on just how well Cade and Sara knew each other, Bailey closed her eyes and concentrated.

  Grace. She let the name cruise through her mind, bring up the image.

  “Soft,” she began. “There’s a softness to her face. It’s very beautiful, almost unbelievably so. It’s an oval face, very classic. Her hair’s ink black, very long. It sort of spills down her back in loose waves. No bangs, just a flow of dark, thick silk. Her eyes are wide, heavy-lidded and thickly lashed. Laser-blue eyes. The nose is short and straight. Think perfect.”

  “I’m starting to hate her,” Sara said lightly, and made Bailey smile.

  “It must be hard to be wildly beautiful, don’t you think? People only look at the surface.”

  “I think I could live with it. How about the mouth?”

  “Lush. Full.”

  “Natch.”

  “Yes, that’s good.” Excitement began to drum. The sketch was coming together quickly. “The eyebrows are a little fuller, and there’s a mole beside the left one. Just here,” Bailey said, pointing to her own face.

  “Now I really hate her,” Sara muttered. “I don’t want to know if she’s got the body to match this face. Tell me she’s got Dumbo ears.”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” Bailey smiled at the sketch and felt warm and weepy again. “She’s just beautiful. It startles the eye.”

  “She looks familiar.”

  At Sara’s careless comment, Bailey tensed. “Does she? Really?”

  “I’d swear I’ve seen this face before.” Pursing her lips, Sara tapped her pencil against the sketch. “In a magazine, maybe. She looks like someone who’d model—pricey perfume or face cream. You got a million-dollar face, you’d be crazy not to use it.”

  “A model.” Bailey bit her lip, fought to remember. “I just don’t know.”

  Sara tore off the sheet, handed it to Cade. “What do you think?”

  “A heart-stopper,” he said after a moment. “The gene fairy was in one hell of a good mood when she was born. I can’t place it, though, and that’s a face no man with a pulse would forget.”

  Her name is Grace, Bailey told herself. And she’s more than beautiful. She’s not just a face.

  “Good work, Sara.” Cade laid the two sketches together on the counter. “Got time for one more?”

  Sara took a quick look at her watch. “I’ve got about a half hour to spare.”

  “The man, Bailey.” Cade crouched down until they were eye to eye. “You know what he looks like now.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You do.” He said it firmly, though his hands were gentle on her arms. “It’s important. Just tell Sara how you see him.”

  It would hurt, Bailey realized. Her stomach muscles were already clenched at the thought of letting that face back into her head. “I don’t want to see him again.”

  “You want the answers. You want it over. This is a step. You’ve got to take the steps.”

  She closed her eyes, shifted. Her head began to throb as she put herself back in that room with the gray carpet and the storm-lashed window.

  “He’s dark,” she said quietly. “His face is long, narrow. It’s tight with anger. His mouth is grim with temper. It’s thin and strong and stubborn. His nose is slightly hooked. Not unattractive, but strong again. It’s a very strong face. His eyes are deep-set. Dark. Dark eyes.”

  Flashing with fury. There was murder in them. She shuddered, hugged her elbows and fought to concentrate.

  “Hollowed cheeks and high forehead. His eye brows are dark and straight. So’s his hair. It’s well cut, full at the top, very precisely trimmed around the ears. It’s a very handsome face. The jaw spoils it a little, it’s soft, slightly weak.”

  “Is that him, Bailey?” Cade put a hand on her shoulder again, squeezed lightly in support.

  Braced, she opened her eyes and looked at the sketch. It wasn’t precise. It wasn’t perfect. The eyes should be a bit farther apart, the mouth slightly fuller. But it was enough to have her trembling.

  “Yes, it’s very like him.” Mustering all her control, she rose slowly. “Excuse me,” she murmured, and walked out of the room.

  “The lady’s terrified,” Sara commented, sliding her pencils back in their case.

  “I know.”

  “Are you going to tell me what kind of trouble she’s in?”

  “I’m not sure.” Cade dipped his hands in his pockets. “But I’m close to finding out. You did good work, Sara. I owe you.”

  “I’ll bill you.” She gathered her tools and rose. She kissed him lightly, studied his face. “I don’t think you’re going to be calling me up for a night on the town anymore.”

  “I’m in love with her,” he said simply.

  “Yeah, I got that.” She shouldered her bag, then touched his cheek. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll be around.”

  “You’ll be around,” she agreed. “But those wild and wacky days are over for you, Parris. I like her. Hope you work it out.” With a last wistful smile, she turned. “I know the way out.”

  He walked her out anyway, and closing the door, realized he was indeed shutting off a part of his life. The freedom of coming and going as he pleased, with whom he pleased. Late nights in a club, with the prospect of friendly, unfettered sex to follow. Responsible to no one but himself.

  He glanced up the stairs. She was up there. Responsibility, stability, commitment. One woman from now throughout the rest of his life—a troubled woman, one who had yet to say the words he needed to hear, to make the promises he needed made.

  He could still walk away, and she wouldn’t blame him. In fact, he was sure that was exactly what she’d expected. It made him wonder who had left her before.

  With a shake of his head, he climbed the stairs to her without the slightest regret.

  She was standing in the bedroom, looking out the window. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her back was to the door.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, I was rude to your friend. I didn’t even thank her.”

  “Sara understands.”

  “You’ve known her a long time.”

  “A few years, yeah.”

  Bailey swallowed. “You’ve been together.”

  Cade lifted a brow, decided against moving to her. “Yeah, we’ve been together. I’ve been with other women, Bailey. Women I’ve liked, cared for.”

  “Knew.” She turned on the word, and her eyes were fierce.

  “Knew,” he agreed with a nod.

  “This is out of sync.” She dragged her hands through her hair. “You and me, Cade, it’s out of sync with the rest of it. It should never have happened.”

  “It did happen.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, because they’d tensed, wanted to fist. “Are you going to stand there and tell me you’re upset because you’ve met a woman I’ve slept with? Because I didn’t come to you the same way you came to me?”

  “Blank.” The word shot out of her like a bullet. “You didn’t come to me blank. You have family, friends, lovers. A life. I have nothing but pieces that don’t fit. I don’t care if you’ve slept with a hundred women.” Her voice snapped on that, then whispered fiercely on the rest. “It’s that you remember them. Can remember them.”

  “You want me to tell you they don’t matter?” His temper began to inch up, nudged by panic. She was pulling back, pulling away. “Of course they mattered. I can’t blank out my past for you, Bailey.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to.” She covered her face with her hands for a moment as she fought for even a slippery grip on control. She’d made up her mind. Now she just had to be strong enough to follow through. “I’m sorry. Your private life before I came into it isn’t my business, or even the point.
The point is, you had one, Cade.”

  “So did you.”

  “So did I.” She nodded, thinking that was precisely what frightened her. “I never would have gotten this close to finding it without you. But I realize I should have gone to the police straightaway. I’ve only complicated things by not doing so. But that’s what I’m going to do now.”

  “You don’t trust me to finish this?”

  “That’s not the issue—”

  “Damn right it’s not,” he told her. “This isn’t about going to the cops. It’s about you and me. You think you can walk out of here and away from what’s between us.” His hands shot out of his pockets, grabbed her arms. “Think again.”

  “Someone’s dead. I’m involved.” Her teeth threatened to chatter as she fought to keep her eyes level with his. “And I shouldn’t have involved you.”

  “It’s too late for that now. It was too late the minute you walked into my office. You’re not shaking me off.” When his mouth crushed down on hers, the kiss tasted of frustration and fury. He held her close, blocking any choice, ravaging her mouth until her hands went limp on his shoulders.

  “Don’t,” she managed when he lifted her off her feet. But that, too, was too late. She was pressed beneath him on the bed, every sense scrambling and screaming as his hands streaked over her.

  “I don’t give a damn what you forget.” Eyes dark and reckless, he dragged at her clothes. “You’ll remember this.”

  He spun her out of control, out of time, out of place. There was a wildness and willfulness here that she’d never experienced and couldn’t resist. His mouth closed over her breast, stabbing pleasure through her. Even as she sucked in air to moan, his fingers pierced her and drove her ruthlessly to peak.

  She cried out, not in alarm, not in protest, but with the staggered thrill of being plunged beyond reason. Her nails bit into his back, her body moved like lightning under his. She opened herself to him recklessly. The only thought in her head was, Now, now, now.

  He drove himself into her hard and deep, felt her clutch convulsively around him as she flew over the new crest. It was mindless, desperate. It was wrong. It was irresistible.

  He gripped her hands in his, watched pleasure chase shock across her face. The animal inside him had broken free, and it clawed at both of them. So his mouth was rough as it savaged hers. And he pistoned himself inside her until she wept out his name and what was left of his mind shattered.

  Empty, hollowed out, he collapsed on her. Her body shuddered under his as a catchy whimper sounded in her throat. Her hands lay, palm out and limp, on the rumpled spread. His mind began to clear enough for shame.

  He’d never taken a woman so roughly. Never given a woman so little choice. He rolled away from her, stared at the ceiling, appalled by what he’d found inside himself.

  “I’m sorry.” It was pathetic, that phrase. The uselessness of it scraped at him as he sat up, rubbed his hands over his face. “I hurt you. I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for it.” And, finding none, he rose and left her alone.

  She managed to sit up, one hand pressed to her speeding heart. Her body felt weak, tingly and still pulsingly hot. Her mind remained fuzzy around the edges, even as she patiently waited for it to clear. The only thing she was certain of was that she had just been savaged. Overwhelmed by sensation, by emotion, by him.

  It had been wonderful.

  Cade gave her time to compose herself. And used the time to formulate his next steps. It was so difficult to think around fury. He’d been angry before. Hurt before. Ashamed before. But when she came down the stairs, looking tidy and nervous, those three emotions threatened to swamp him. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Cade, I—”

  “You’ll do what you want.” He interrupted her in a voice that was both cool and clipped. “And so will I. I apologize again for treating you that way.”

  She felt her stomach sink to her knees. “You’re angry with me.”

  “With both of us. I can deal with myself, but first I have to deal with you. You want to walk out.”

  “It’s not what I want.” There was a plea for understanding in her voice. “It’s what’s right. I’ve made you an accessory to God knows what.”

  “You hired me.”

  She let out an impatient breath. How could he be so blind and stubborn? “It hasn’t been a professional relationship, Cade. It barely started as one.”

  “That’s right. It’s personal, and you’re not walking out on me out of some misguided sense of guilt. You want to walk for other reasons, we’ll get into them after this is done. I love you.” There was chilly fury over the words that only deepened the emotion behind them. “If you don’t, can’t or won’t love me, I’ll have to live with it. But walking out at this point’s just not an option.”

  “I only want—”

  “You want to go to the cops.” He paused a moment, hooked his thumbs in his front pockets to keep his hands from reaching for her. “That’s fine, it’s your choice. But meanwhile, you hired me to do a job, and I’m not finished. Whatever your personal feelings, or mine, I intend to finish. Get your purse.”

  She wasn’t sure how to handle him now. Then again, she realized, had she ever known? Still, this cold, angry man standing in front of her was much more of a stranger than the one she had first seen in a cluttered, messy office only days before.

  “The appointment at the Smithsonian,” she began.

  “I’ve postponed it. We have somewhere else to go first.”

  “Where?”

  “Get your purse,” he repeated. “We’re taking this next step my way.”

  He didn’t speak on the drive. She recognized some of the buildings. They’d ridden past them before. But when he drove out of D.C. and into Maryland, her nerves began to jump.

  “I wish you’d tell me where we’re going.” The trees were too close to the road, she thought, panicky. Too green, too big.

  “Back,” he said. “Sometimes you’ve just got to open the door and look at what’s on the other side.”

  “We need to talk to the curator at the museum.” Her throat was closing. She’d have bartered her soul for a glass of water. “We should turn around and go back to the city.”

  “You know where we’re going?”

  “No.” The denial was sharp, desperate. “No, I don’t.”

  He only flicked a glance at her out of sharp green eyes. “The pieces are there, Bailey.”

  He turned left, off the main drag, listening to her breathing coming short and labored. Ruthlessly he repressed his instinct to soothe. She was stronger than he’d pretended she was. He could admit that. And she would get through this. He’d help her get through it.

  If the place was being watched, he was bringing her out in the open. He had to weigh the possibility of that against doing his job. She’d hired him to solve the puzzle, he reminded himself. And this, he was sure, was the last piece.

  She couldn’t continue to live in the safe little world he’d provided for her. It was time, for both of them, to move forward.

  Setting his jaw, he pulled into the lot at Salvini.

  “You know where we are.”

  Her skin was clammy. In long, restless strokes, she rubbed her damp palms over the knees of her slacks. “No, I don’t.”

  The building was brick, two stories. Old, rather lovely, with tall display windows flanked by well established azaleas that would bloom beautifully in the spring. There was an elegance to the place that shouldn’t have made her shudder.

  There was a single car in the lot. A BMW sedan, dark blue. Its finish gleamed in the sunlight.

  The building stood alone, taking up the corner, while behind it, across a vast parking lot, a trendy strip mall seemed to be doing a brisk holiday business.

  “I don’t want to be here.” Bailey turned her head, refusing to look at the sign that topped the building in large, clear letters.

  SALVINI

  “They’re closed,” she continued.
“There’s no one here. We should go.”

  “There’s a car in the lot,” Cade pointed out. “It won’t hurt to see.”

  “No.” She snatched her hand away from his, tried to bury herself in the corner of the seat. “I’m not going in there. I’m not.”

  “What’s in there, Bailey?”

  “I don’t know.” Terror. Just terror. “I’m not going in.”

  He would rather have cut out his heart than force her to do what he intended. But, thinking of her, he got out of the car, came around to her side, opened the door. “I’ll be with you. Let’s go.”

  “I said I’m not going in there.”

  “Coward.” He said it with a sneer in his voice. “Do you want to hide the rest of your life?”

  Fury sparkled off the tears in her eyes as she ripped the seat belt free. “I hate you for this.”

  “I know,” he murmured, but took her arm firmly and led her to the building’s front entrance.

  It was dark inside. Through the window he could see little but thick carpet and glass displays where gold and stones gleamed dully. It was a small showroom, again elegant, with a few upholstered stools and countertop mirrors where customers might sit and admire their choices.

  Beside him, Bailey was shaking like a leaf.

  “Let’s try the back.”

  The rear faced the strip mall, and boasted delivery and employee entrances. Cade studied the lock on the employee door and decided he could handle it. From his pocket he took out a leather roll of tools.

  “What are you doing?” Bailey stepped back as he chose a pick and bent to his work. “Are you breaking in? You can’t do that.”

  “I think I can manage it. I practice picking locks at least four hours a week. Quiet a minute.”

  It took concentration, a good touch, and several sweaty minutes. If the alarm was set, he figured, it would go off when he disengaged the first lock. It didn’t, and he changed tools and started on the second.

  A silent alarm wasn’t out of the question, he mused as he jiggled tumblers. If the cops came, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

  “This is insane.” Bailey took another step in retreat. “You’re breaking into a store in broad daylight. You can’t do this, Cade.”

  “Did it,” he said with some satisfaction as the last tumbler fell. Fastidiously he replaced his tools in the roll, pocketed them. “An outfit like this ought to have a motion alarm in place, as well.”

  He stepped through the door. In the dim light, he saw the alarm box beside the doorway. Disengaged.

  He could almost hear another piece fall into place.

  “Careless of them,” he murmured. “With the way crime pays.”

  He took Bailey’s hand and pulled her inside. “Nobody’s going to hurt you while I’m around. Not even me.”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “You’re doing it.” Keeping her hand firm in his, he hit the lights.

  It was a narrow room, more of an entranceway with a worn wooden floor and plain white walls. Against the left wall were a watercooler and a brass coatrack. A woman’s gray raincoat hung on one of the hooks.

  It had called for thunderstorms the previous Thursday, he thought. A practical woman such as Bailey wouldn’t have gone to work without her raincoat. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Coat’s your style. Quality, expensive, subtle.” He checked the pockets,