Hidden Star. Nora Roberts
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If the cops are involved, I can get something.”
“And if there’s been a murder?” Struggling to stay calm, she reached into the bag again. This time she took out a .38.
A cautious man, Cade nudged the barrel aside, took it from her. It was a Smith and Wesson, and at his quick check, he discovered it was fully loaded. “How’d this feel in your hand?”
“I don’t understand.”
“How’d it feel when you picked it up? The weight, the shape?”
Though she was baffled by the question, she did her best to answer thoroughly. “Not as heavy as I thought it should. It seemed that something that had that kind of power would have more weight, more substance. I suppose it felt awkward.”
“The pen didn’t.”
This time she simply dragged her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve just shown you over a million dollars and a gun. You’re talking about pens.”
“When I handed you a pen to write, it didn’t feel awkward. You didn’t have to think about it. You just took it and used it.” He smiled a little and slipped the gun into his pocket, instead of the bag. “I think you’re a lot more accustomed to holding a pen than a .38 special.”
There was some relief in that, the simple logic of it. But it didn’t chase away all the clouds. “Maybe you’re right. It doesn’t mean I didn’t use it.”
“No, it doesn’t. And since you’ve obviously put your hands all over it, we can’t prove you didn’t. I can check and see if it’s registered and to whom.”
Her eyes lit with hope. “It could be mine.” She reached out, took his hand, squeezed it in a gesture that was thoughtless and natural. “We’d have a name then. I’d know my name then. I didn’t realize it could be so simple.”
“It may be simple.”
“You’re right.” She released his hand, began to pace. Her movements were smooth, controlled. “I’m getting ahead of myself. But it helps so much you see, so much more than I imagined, just to tell someone. Someone who knows how to figure things out. I don’t know if I’m very good at puzzles. Mr. Parris—”
“Cade,” he said, intrigued that he could find her economical movements so sexy. “Let’s keep it simple.”
“Cade.” She drew in a breath, let it out. “It’s nice to call someone by name. You’re the only person I know, the only person I remember having a conversation with. I can’t tell you how odd that is, and, right now, how comforting.”
“Why don’t we make me the first person you remember having a meal with? One candy bar isn’t much of a breakfast. You look worn out, Bailey.”
It was so odd to hear him use that name when he looked at her. Because it was all she had, she struggled to respond to it. “I’m tired,” she admitted. “It doesn’t feel as if I’ve slept very much. I don’t know when I’ve eaten last.”
“How do you feel about scrambled eggs?”
The smile wisped around her mouth again. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Well, let’s find out.” He started to pick up the canvas bag, but she laid a hand over his on the straps.
“There’s something else.” She didn’t speak for a moment, but kept her eyes on his, as she had when she first walked in. Searching, measuring, deciding. But there was, she knew, really no choice. He was all she had. “Before I show you, I need to ask for a promise.”
“You hire me, Bailey, I work for you.”
“I don’t know if what I’m going to ask is completely ethical, but I still need your word. If during the course of your investigation you discover that I’ve committed a crime, I need your word that you’ll find out everything you can, all the circumstances, all the facts, before you turn me over to the police.”
He angled his head. “You assume I’ll turn you in.”
“If I’ve broken the law, I’ll expect you to turn me over to the police. But I need all the reasons before you do. I need to understand all the whys, the hows, the who. Will you give me your word on that?”
“Sure.” He took the hand she held out. It was delicate as porcelain, steady as a rock. And she, he thought, whoever she was, was a fascinating combination of the fragile and the steely. “No cops until we know all of it. You can trust me, Bailey.”
“You’re trying to make me comfortable with the name.” Again, without thinking, in a move that was as innate as the color of her eyes, she kissed his cheek. “You’re very kind.”
Kind enough, she thought, that he would hold her now if she asked. And she so desperately wanted to be held, soothed, to be promised that her world would snap back into focus again at any moment. But she needed to stand on her own. She could only hope she was the kind of woman who stood on her own feet and faced her own problems.
“There’s one more thing.” She turned to the canvas bag again, slid her hand deep inside, felt for the thick velvet pouch, the weight of what was snugged inside it. “I think it’s probably the most important thing.”
She drew it out and very carefully, with what he thought of as reverence, untied the pouch and slid its contents into the cup of her palm.
The money had surprised him, the gun had concerned him. But this awed him. The gleam of it, the regal glint, even in the rain-darkened room, held a stunning and sumptuous power.
The gem filled the palm of her hand, its facets clean and sharp enough to catch even the faintest flicker of light and shoot it into the air in bright, burning lances. It belonged, he thought, on the crown of a mythical queen, or lying heavily between the breasts of some ancient goddess.
“I’ve never seen a sapphire that big.”
“It isn’t a sapphire.” And when she passed it to his hand, she would have sworn she felt the exchange of heat. “It’s a blue diamond, somewhere around a hundred carats. Brilliant-cut, most likely from Asia Minor. There are no inclusions visible to the naked eye, and it is rare in both color and size. I’d have to guess its market worth at easily three times the amount of money in the bag.”
He wasn’t looking at the gem any longer, but at her. When she lifted her eyes to his, she shook her head. “I don’t know how I know. But I do. Just as I know it’s not all…it’s not…complete.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish I knew. But it’s too strong a feeling, an almost-recognition. I know the stone is only part of the whole. Just as I know it can’t possibly belong to me. It doesn’t really belong to anyone. Any one,” she repeated, separating the word into two. “I must have stolen it.”
She pressed her lips together, lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. “I might have killed for it.”
Chapter 2
Cade took her home. It was the best option he could think of, tucking her away. And he wanted that canvas bag and its contents in his safe as quickly as possible. She hadn’t argued when he led her out of the building, had made no comment about the sleek little Jag parked in the narrow spot on the cracked asphalt lot.
He preferred using his nondescript and well-dented sedan for his work, but until it was out of the shop, he was stuck with the streamlined, eye-catching Jaguar.
But she said nothing, not even when he drove into a lovely old neighborhood with graceful shade trees and tidy flower-trimmed lawns and into the driveway of a dignified Federal-style brick house.
He’d been prepared to explain that he’d inherited it from a great-aunt who had a soft spot for him—which was true enough. And that he lived there because he liked the quiet