The Stars Of Mithra

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?”

“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.

The storm rolled in fast and mean, blocking the flaming sun, dark, grasping shadows shooting out and covering the landscape. Now there was panic, a great need to hurry. Hurry. Hurry. A stone for each of them, before it was too late. Before the lightning struck.

But it was already too late. Lightning stabbed the skin, sharp as a knife, and she was running, running blindly. Alone and terrified, with the walls closing in and the lightning stabbing at her heels….

She awoke with her breath heaving, shooting straight up on the sofa. What had she done? Dear God, what had she done? Rocking herself, her hands pressed to her mouth, Bailey waited for the shudders to pass.

The room was quiet. There was no thunder, no lightning, no storm chasing her. And she wasn’t alone. Across the room, under the slant of light from a globe lamp, Cade dozed in a chair. He had a book open on his lap.

It calmed her just to see him there, papers scattered at his feet, a mug on the table beside him. His legs were stretched out, crossed comfortably at the ankles.

Even in sleep, he looked strong, dependable. He hadn’t left her alone. She had to block an urge to go over, crawl into his lap and slide back to sleep cuddled with him. He pulled her, tugged at her emotions so strongly. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d known him less than twenty-four hours. After all, she’d hardly known herself much longer.

Pushing at her hair, she glanced at her watch. It was just after three a.m., a vulnerable time. Stretching out again, she pillowed her head on her hands and watched him. Her memory of the evening was clear enough, no breaks, no jumps. She knew she’d thrown herself at him, and it both embarrassed and amazed her.