Stars of Mithra Box Set: Captive StarHidden StarSecret Star

by Nora Roberts

  Leona waited ten humming seconds while her foot tapped. Then her lips firmed. “Well, I can see neither of you intends to tell the simple truth. As you prefer to make up outrageous fabrications, I can only presume that you’re perfectly suited to one another.”

  She snatched up her bag and marched to the door with outraged dignity in every step. “Cade, I’ll wait to hear from you when you decide to grant me the courtesy of the simple truth.”

  While Bailey simply stared, Cade grinned like a fool at the door his mother had closed with a snap.

  “I don’t understand. I did tell her the truth.”

  “And now I know what they mean by ‘the truth shall set you free.’” He let out a whooping laugh, swung her back up into his arms. “She’s so ticked off now she’ll leave me alone for a week. Maybe two.” He gave Bailey an enthusiastic kiss as he headed for the stairs. “I’m crazy about you. Who would have thought telling her the real story would have gotten her off my back?”

  Still laughing, he carried her into the bedroom and dropped her on the mattress. “We’ve got to celebrate. I’ve got some champagne chilled. I’m going to get you drunk again.”

  Pushing her hair out of her face, she sat up. “Cade, she’s your mother. This is shameful.”

  “No, it’s survival.” He leaned over, gave her a smacking kiss this time. “And, sweetheart, we’re both black sheep now. I can’t tell you how much more fun that’s going to be for me.”

  “I don’t think I want to be a black sheep,” she called as he headed out again.

  “Too late.” His laughter echoed back to her.

  Chapter 9

  They did make it out to dinner. But they settled for grilled burgers and potatoes fried in peanut oil at a country fair in rural Maryland. He’d thought about a romantic little restaurant, then a fight through the teeming crowds downtown for the huge fireworks display.

  Then inspiration had struck. Ferris wheels and shooting galleries. Live music, whirling lights, the flash of fireflies in a nearby field, with fireworks to top it off.

  It was, he thought, the perfect first date.

  When he told her just that, while she clung to him with screams locked in her throat on the whizzing car of the Tilt-A-Whirl, she laughed, shut her eyes tight and hung on for her life.

  He wanted to ride everything, and he pulled her along from line to line, as eager as any of the children tugging on an indulgent parent’s hand. She was spun, shaken, twirled and zoomed until her head revolved and her stomach flopped.

  Then he tilted her face upward for inspection, declared that since she wasn’t turning green yet they could do it all again.

  So they did.

  “Now, you need a prize,” he decided as she staggered off the Octopus.

  “No more cotton candy. I’m begging you.”

  “I was thinking more of an elephant.” He hooked an arm around her waist and headed toward the shooting gallery. “That big purple one up there.”

  It was three feet tall, with a turned-up trunk and toenails painted a bright pink. An elephant. The thought of elephants made her smile bloom brilliantly.

  “Oh, it’s wonderful.” She grinned, fluttered her lashes at Cade. “I want it.”

  “Then it’s my job to get it for you. Just stand back, little lady.” He plunked down bills, chose his weapon. Cheery-faced rabbits and ducks rolled by, with the occasional wolf or bear rearing up at odd moments to threaten. Cade sighted the air gun and fired.

  Bailey grinned, then applauded, then gaped as wildlife died in droves. “You didn’t miss once.” She goggled at him. “Not once.”

  Her wide-eyed admiration made him feel like a teenager showing off for the prom queen. “She wants the elephant,” he told the attendant, then laughed when she launched herself into his arms.

  “Thank you. You’re wonderful. You’re amazing.”

  Since each statement was punctuated by eager kisses, he thought she might like the floppy-eared brown dog, as well. “Want another?”

  “Man, you’re killing me here,” the attendant muttered, then sighed as Cade pulled out more bills.

  “Want to give it a try?” Cade offered the rifle to Bailey.

  “Maybe.” She bit her lip and studied her prey. It had looked simple enough when Cade did it. “All right.”

  “Just sight through the little V at the end of the barrel,” he began, stepping behind her to adjust her stance.

  “I see it.” She held her breath and pulled the trigger. The little pop had her jolting, but the ducks swam on, and the rabbits continued to hop. “Did I miss?”

  “Only by a mile or so.” And he was dead certain the woman had never held a gun in her life. “Try again.”

  She tried again, and again. By the time she’d managed to nip a few feathers and ruffle some fur, Cade had put twenty dollars back in the attendant’s grateful hands.

  “It looked so easy when you did it.”

  “That’s okay, sweetheart, you were getting the hang of it. What’d she win?”

  The attendant perused his lowest row of prizes, generally reserved for children under twelve, and came up with a small plastic duck.

  “I’ll take it.” Delighted, she tucked it in the pocket of her slacks. “My first trophy.”

  With hands linked, they strolled the midway, listening to the screams, the distant music of a bluegrass band, the windy whirl of rides. She loved the lights, the carnival colors, bright as jewels in the balmy night. And the smells of frying oil, of spun sugar and spiced sauces.

  It seemed so easy, as if there couldn’t be any trouble in the world—only lights and music and laughter.

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever been to a country carnival before,” she told him. “But if I have, this one is the best.”

  “I still owe you a candlelight dinner.”

  She turned her head to smile at him. “I’ll settle for another ride on the Ferris wheel.”

  “Sure you’re up to it?”

  “I want to go around again. With you.”

  She stood in line, flirted with a toddler who kept his head on his father’s shoulder and peeked at her with huge blue eyes. She wondered if she was good with children, if she’d ever had a chance to be. And, laying her head on Cade’s shoulder, dreamed a little.

  If this was just a normal night in normal lives, they could be here together like this. His hand would be in hers, just like this, and they wouldn’t have a care in the world. She’d be afraid of nothing. Her life would be as full and rich and bright as a carnival.

  What was wrong with pretending it was, and could be, for just one night?

  She climbed into the rocking car beside him, snuggled close. And rose into the sky. Beneath, people swarmed across the grass. Teenagers strutted, older couples strolled, children raced. The scents rose up on the wind, an evocative mix she could have breathed in forever.

  The downward rush was fast and exciting, making her hair fly out and her stomach race to catch up. Tilting her head upward, she closed her eyes and prepared for the upward swing.

  Of course, he kissed her. She’d wanted that, too, that sweet, innocent meeting of lips as they circled over the high summer grass, with the lights around them a rainbow gleam.

  They circled again as the first fireworks spewed gold across a black sky.

  “It’s beautiful.” She settled her head on his shoulder. “Like jewels tossed in the sea. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires.”

  The colors shot upward, fountained and faded on a booming crash. Below, people applauded and whistled, filled the air with noise. Somewhere a baby wailed.

  “He’s frightened,” she murmured. “It sounds like gunshots, or thunder.”

  “My father used to have an English setter who’d hide under his bed every Fourth.” Cade toyed with her fingers as he watched the show. “Trembled for hours once the fireworks got going.”

  “It’s so loud, scary if you don’t know what it is.” A brilliant flash of gold and sparkling diamonds erupted as they t
opped the wheel in a rush. Her heart began to race, her head to throb. It was the noise, that was all. The noise, and the sickening way the car rocked as the Ferris wheel jerked to a halt to unload passengers.

  “Bailey?” He drew her closer, watching her face. She was trembling now, her cheeks white, her eyes dark.

  “I’m all right. Just a little queasy.”

  “We’ll be off soon. Just a couple more cars.”

  “I’m all right.” But the lights flashed again, shattering the sky. And the image rolled into her head like thunder.

  “He threw up his hands.” She managed a whisper. She couldn’t see the lights now, the colored diamonds scattered across the sky. The memory blinded her to everything else. “Threw them up to try to grab the knife. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move. There was only the desk light. Just that one beam of light. They’re like shadows, and they’re screaming, but I can’t. Then the lightning flashed. It’s so bright, just that one instant, so bright the room’s alight with it. And he… Oh, God, his throat. He slashed his throat.”

  She turned her face into Cade’s shoulder. “I don’t want to see that. I can’t bear to see that.”

  “Let it go. Just hold on to me and let it go. We’re getting off now.” He lifted her out of the car, all but carried her across the grass. She was shuddering as if the air had turned icy, and he could hear sobs choking her. “It can’t hurt you now, Bailey. You’re not alone now.”

  He wound his way through the field where cars were parked, swore each time a boom of gunpowder made her jerk. She curled up in the seat, rocking herself for comfort while he skirted the hood and got quickly behind the wheel.

  “Cry it out,” he told her, and turned the key. “Scream if you want to. Just don’t let it eat at you like this.”

  Because he didn’t make her feel ashamed, she wept a little, then rested her throbbing head against the seat as he drove down the winding road and back toward the city.

  “I keep seeing jewels,” she said at length. Her voice was raw, but steady. “Beautiful gemstones. Floods of them. Lapis and opals, malachite and topaz. All different shapes, cut and uncut. I can pick out each one. I know what they are, how they feel in my hand. There’s a long piece of chalcedony, smooth to the touch and sword-shaped. It sits on a desk like a paperweight. And this lovely rutilated quartz with silvery threads running through it like shooting stars. I can see them. They’re so familiar.”

  “They make you happy, comfortable.”

  “Yes, I think they do. When I think of them, when they drift back into my head, it’s pleasant. Soothing. There’s an elephant. Not this one.” She hugged the plush toy against her for comfort. “Soapstone, carved with a jeweled blanket over its back and bright blue eyes. He’s so regal and foolish.”

  She paused a moment, tried to think past the headache pounding in her temples. “There are other stones, all manner of others, but they don’t belong to me. Still, they soothe. It doesn’t frighten me at all to think of them. Even the blue diamond. It’s such a beautiful thing. Such a miracle of nature. It’s amazing, really, that just the right elements, the right minerals, the right pressure and the right amount of time can join together to create something so special.

  “They’re arguing about them. About it,” she continued, squeezing her eyes shut to try to bring it back. “I can hear them, and I’m angry and feeling righteous. I can almost see myself marching toward that room where they’re arguing, and I’m furious and satisfied. It’s such an odd combination of feelings. And I’m afraid, a little. I’ve done something… I don’t know.”

  She strained toward it, fisting her hands. “Something rash or impulsive, or even foolish. I go to the door. It’s open, and their voices echo outside. I go to the door, and I’m trembling inside. It’s not all fear, I don’t think it’s just fear. Some of it’s temper. I close my hand over the stone. It’s in my pocket, and I feel better with my hand on it. The canvas bag’s there, on the table by the door. It’s open, too, and I can see the money inside. I pick it up while they shout at each other.”

  The lights as they slipped from suburb to city made her eyes water. She closed them again. “They don’t know I’m there. They’re so intent on each other, they don’t notice me. Then I see the knife in his hand, the curved blade gleaming. And the other one throws up his hands to grab it. They struggle over it, and they’re out of the light now, struggling. But I see blood, and one of the shadows staggers. The other moves in. He doesn’t stop. Just doesn’t stop. I’m frozen there, clutching the bag, watching. The lights go off, all at once, and it’s totally dark. Then the lightning flashes, fills the sky. It’s suddenly so bright. When he slices the knife again, over his throat, he sees me. He sees me, and I run.”

  “Okay, try to relax.” The traffic was murder, choked and impatient. He couldn’t take her hand, draw her close, comfort her. “Don’t push it now, Bailey. We’ll deal with this at home.”

  “Cade, they’re the same person,” she murmured, and let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a laugh. “They’re the same.”

  He cursed the clogged streets, hunted for an opening and shot around a station wagon with inches to spare. “The same as what?”

  “Each other. They’re the same person. But that can’t be. I know that can’t be, because one’s dead and one isn’t. I’m afraid I’m going crazy.”

  Symbols again, he wondered, or truth? “How are they the same?”

  “They have the same face.”

  She carried the stuffed elephant into the house, clutching it to her as if it were a lifeline to reality. Her mind felt musty, caught between dreams, with a sly headache hovering at the corners waiting to pounce.

  “I want you to lie down. I’ll make you some tea.”

  “No, I’ll make it. I’ll feel better if I’m doing something. Anything. I’m sorry. It was such a wonderful evening.” In the kitchen, she set the smiling elephant on the table. “Until.”

  “It was a wonderful evening. And whatever helps jiggle more pieces in place is worth it. It hurts you.” He took her shoulders. “And I’m sorry, but you have to get through the rest of it to get where we want to be.”

  “I know.” She lifted a hand to his, squeezed briefly, then turned to put the kettle on the stove. “I’m not going to fall apart, Cade, but I’m afraid I may not be stable.” Pressing her fingers to her eyes, she laughed. “Funny statement coming from someone who can’t remember her own name.”

  “You’re remembering more all the time, Bailey. And you’re the most stable woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Then I’m worried about you, too, and your choice of women.”

  She set cups precisely on their saucers, concentrating on the simple task. Tea bags, spoons, sugar bowl.

  In the maple tree, the wood thrush had given over to a whippoorwill, and the song was like liquid silver. She thought of honeysuckle burying a chain-link fence, perfuming the evening air while the night bird called for his mate.

  And a young girl weeping under a willow tree.

  She shook herself. A childhood memory, perhaps, bittersweet. She thought those vignettes of the past would be coming more quickly now. And she was afraid.

  “You have questions.” She set the tea on the table, steadied herself and looked at him. “You’re not asking them because you’re afraid I’ll crumble. But I won’t. I wish you’d ask them, Cade. It’s easier when you do.”

  “Let’s sit down.” He pulled out a chair for her, took his time stirring sugar into his tea. “The room has gray carpet, a window, a table by the door. There’s a desk lamp. What does the desk look like?”

  “It’s a satinwood library desk, George III.” She set her cup back down with a rattle. “Oh, that was clever. I never expected you to ask about the desk, so I didn’t think, and it was just there.”

  “Concentrate on the desk, Bailey. Describe it for me.”

  “It’s a beautiful piece. The top is crossbanded with rosewood that’s inlaid with bo
xwood lines. The sides, even the kneehole, are inlaid with ovals. One side has a long drawer paneled with false fronts. It opens to shelves. It’s so clever. The handles are brass, and they’re kept well polished.”

  Baffled, she stared into her tea. “Now I sound like an antique dealer.”

  No, he thought, just someone who loves beautiful things. And knows that desk very well.

  “What’s on the desk?”

  “The lamp. It’s brass, too, with a green glass shade and an old-fashioned chain pull. And there are papers, a neat stack of papers aligned with the corner of the desk. A leather blotter is in the center, and a briefke sits there.”

  “A what?”

  “A briefke, a little cup of paper for carrying loose stones. They’re emeralds, grass green, of varying cuts and carats. There’s a jeweler’s loupe and a small brass scale. A glass, Baccarat crystal, with ice melting in the whiskey. And…and the knife…” Her breath was strangling, but she forced it free. “The knife is there, carved bone handle, curved blade. It’s old, it’s beautiful.”

  “Is someone at the desk?”

  “No, the chair’s empty.” Easier to look away from the knife, to look somewhere else. “It’s a dark, pewter-gray leather. Its back is to the window. There’s a storm.” Her voice hitched. “There’s a storm. Lightning, lashing rain. They’re shouting over the thunder.”

  “Where are they?”

  “In front of the desk, facing each other.”

  He pushed her cup aside so that he could take her hand. “What are they saying, Bailey?”

  “I don’t know. Something about a deposit. Take the deposit, leave the country. It’s a bad deal. Too dangerous. His mind’s made up.”

  She could hear the voices. The words were bouncing out of the static of sound, harsh angry phrases.

  Double-crossing son of a bitch.