Hidden Star, Page 4

  “Easy,” he said again, and pressed her head to his shoulder so that he wouldn’t be tempted to devour that ripe, willing mouth.

  She vibrated against him, nerves and needs tangling, the echoes of sensations thumping through her system. “I don’t know if it’s ever been like that. I just don’t know.”

  That brought him back to earth a little too abruptly. She didn’t know, he reminded himself. He did. It had never been like that for him. “Don’t worry.” He pulled away, then rubbed his hands over her shoulders, because they were tense again. “You know that wasn’t ordinary, Bailey. That ought to be enough for now.”

  “But—” She bit her lip when he turned and wrenched open the fridge. “I made—I’m making iced tea.”

  “I want a beer.”

  She winced at the brusque tone. “You’re angry.”

  “No.” He twisted off the cap, downed three long swallows. “Yes. With myself, a little. I pushed the buttons, after all.” He lowered the bottle, studied her. She was standing with her arms crossed tight at her waist. His jeans bagged at her hips, his shirt drooped at her shoulders. Her feet were bare, her hair was tangled around her shoulders.

  She looked absolutely defenseless.

  “Let’s just get this out, okay?” He leaned back against the counter to keep his distance. “I felt the click the minute you walked into the office. Never happened to me before, just click, there she is. I figured it was because you were a looker, you were in trouble and you’d come looking for me. I’ve got a thing about people in trouble, especially beautiful women.”

  He drank again, slower this time, while she watched him soberly, with great attention. “But that’s not it, Bailey, or at least not all of it. I want to help you. I want to find out everything about you as much as you do. But I also want to make love with you, slow, really slow, so that every second’s like an hour. And when we’ve finished making love, and you’re naked and limp under me, I want to start all over again.”

  She had her hands crossed over her breasts now, to keep her bucking heart in place. “Oh” was all she could manage.

  “And that’s what I’m going to do. When you’re a little steadier on your feet.”

  “Oh,” she said again. “Well.” She cleared her throat. “Cade, I may be a criminal.”

  “Uh-huh.” Calm again, he inspected the sandwich makings on the counter. “So is this lunch?”

  Her eyes narrowed. What sort of response was that from a man who’d just told her he wanted to make love with her until she was limp? “I may have stolen a great deal of money, killed people, kidnapped an innocent child.”

  “Right.” He piled some ham on bread. “Yeah, you’re a real desperado, sweetheart. Anybody can see that. You’ve got that calculating killer gleam in the eye.” Then, chuckling, he turned to her. “Bailey, for God’s sake, look at yourself. You’re a polite, tidy woman with a conscience as wide as Kansas. I sincerely doubt you have so much as a parking ticket to your name, or that you’ve done anything wilder than sing in the shower.”

  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.

  Chapter 4

  Puzzles 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?”