by Nora Roberts
contact, so I headed home.”
She shut her eyes a moment. “Bailey, I hadn’t been really thinking. Just before I left for the country, we lost one of the children.”
“Oh, Grace, I’m sorry.”
“It happens all the time. They’re born with AIDS or a crack addiction or a hole in the heart. Some of them die. But I can’t get used to it, and it was on my mind. So I wasn’t really thinking. When I started back, I started to think. And I started to worry. Then the cop was there in my house. He asked about the stone. I didn’t know what you wanted me to tell him.”
“We’ve told the police everything now.” Bailey sighed. “Neither Cade nor Jack seem to like this Buchanan very much, but they respect his abilities. The two stones are safe now, as we are.”
“I’m sorry for what you went through, both of you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” M.J. declared. “We were scattered all over—one stone apiece. Maybe we were meant to be.”
“Now we’re together.” Grace took each of their hands in hers. “What happens next?”
“Ladies.” Seth stepped into the room, skimmed his cool gaze over them, then focused on Grace. “Ms. Fontaine. The diamond?”
She rose, picked up the purse she’d tossed carelessly on the end of the couch. Opening it, she took out a velvet pouch, slid the stone out into her palm. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” she murmured, studying the flash of bold blue light. “Diamonds are supposed to be cold to the touch, aren’t they, Bailey? Yet this has…heat.” She lifted her eyes to Seth’s as she crossed to him. “Still, how many lives is it worth?”
She held her open palm out. When his fingers closed around the stone, she felt the jolt—his fingers on her skin, the shimmering blue diamond between their hands.
Something clicked, almost audibly.
She wondered if he’d felt it, heard it. Why else did those enigmatic eyes narrow, or his hand linger? The breath caught in her throat.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” she managed, then felt the odd wave of emotion and recognition ebb when he took the stone from her hand.
He didn’t care for the shock that had run up his arm, and he spoke bitingly. “I imagine this one’s out of even your price range, Ms. Fontaine.”
She merely smiled. No, she told herself, he couldn’t have felt anything—and neither had she. Just imagination and stress. “I prefer to decorate my body in something less…obvious.”
Bailey rose. “The Stars are my responsibility, unless and until the Smithsonian indicates otherwise.” She looked over at Cade, who remained in the doorway. “We’ll put them in the safe. All of them. And I’ll speak with Dr. Linstrum in the morning.”
Seth turned the stone over in his hand. He imagined he could confiscate it, and its mates. They were, after all, evidence in several homicides. But he didn’t relish driving back to the station with a large fortune in his car.
Parris was an irritant, he reflected. But he was an honest one. And, technically, the stones were in Bailey James’s keeping until the Smithsonian relieved her of them. He wondered just what the powers at the museum would have to say about the recent travels of the Three Stars.
But that wasn’t his problem.
“Lock it up,” he said, passing the stone off to Cade. “And I’ll be talking with Dr. Linstrum in the morning, as well, Ms. James.”
Cade took one quick, threatening step forward. “Look, Buchanan—”
“No.” Quietly, Bailey stepped between them, a cool breeze between two building storms. “Lieutenant Buchanan’s right, Cade. It’s his business now.”
“That doesn’t stop it from being mine.” He gave Seth one last, warning look. “Watch your step,” he said, then walked away with the stone.
“Thank you for bringing Grace by so quickly, Lieutenant.”
Seth looked down at the extended, and obviously dismissing, hand Bailey offered him. Here’s your hat, he thought, what’s your hurry. “I’m sorry you were disturbed, Ms. James.” His gaze flicked over to M.J. “Ms. O’Leary. You’ll keep available.”
“We’re not going anywhere.” M.J.’s chin angled, a cocky gesture as Jack crossed to her. “Drive carefully, Lieutenant.”
He acknowledged the second dismissal with a slight nod. “Ms. Fontaine? I’ll drive you back.”
“She’s not leaving.” M.J. jumped in front of Grace like a tiger defending her cub. “She’s not going back to that house tonight. She’s staying here, with us.”
“You may not care to go back home, Ms. Fontaine,” Seth said coolly. “You may find it more comfortable to answer questions in my office.”
“You can’t be serious—”
He cut Bailey’s protest off with a look. “I have a body in the morgue. I take it very seriously.”
“You’re a class act, Buchanan,” Jack drawled, but the sound was low and threatening. “Why don’t you and I go in the other room and…talk about our options?”
“It’s all right.” Grace stepped forward, working up a believable smile. “It’s Jack, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.” He took his attention from Buchanan long enough to smile at her. “Jack Dakota. Pleased to meet you…Miss April.”
“Oh, my misspent youth survives.” With a little laugh, she kissed his bruised cheek. “I appreciate the offer to beat up the lieutenant for me, Jack, but you look like you’ve already gone several rounds.”
Grinning now, he stroked a thumb over his bruised jaw. “I’ve got a few more rounds in me.”
“I don’t doubt it. But, sad to say, the cop’s right.” She pushed her hair to her back and turned that smile, several degrees cooler now, on Seth. “Tactless, but right. He needs some answers. I need to go back.”
“You’re not going back to your house alone,” Bailey insisted. “Not tonight, Grace.”
“I’ll be fine. But if it’s all right with your Cade, I’ll deal with this, pick up a few things and come back.” She glanced over at Cade as he came back into the room. “Got a spare bed, darling?”
“You bet. Why don’t I go with you, help you pick up your things and bring you back?”
“You stay here with Bailey.” She kissed him, as well—a casual and already affectionate brush of lips. “I’m sure Lieutenant Buchanan and I will manage.” She picked up her purse, turned and embraced both M.J. and Bailey again. “Don’t worry about me. After all, I’m in the arms of the law.”
She eased back, shot Seth one of those full candlepower smiles. “Isn’t that right, Lieutenant?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He stepped back and waited for her to walk to the door ahead of him.
She waited until they were in his car and pulling out of the drive. “I need to see the body.” She didn’t look at him, but lifted a hand to the four people crowded at the front door, watching them drive away. “You need— She’ll have to be identified, won’t she?”
It surprised him that she’d take the duty on. “Yes.”
“Then let’s get it over with. After—afterwards, I’ll answer your questions. I’d prefer we handle that in your office,” she added, using that smile again. “My house isn’t ready for company.”
“Fine.”
She’d known it would be hard. She’d known it would be horrible. Grace had prepared herself for it—or she’d thought she had. Nothing, she realized as she stared down at what remained of the woman in the morgue, could have prepared her.
It was hardly surprising that they’d mistaken Melissa for her. The face Melissa had been so proud of was utterly ruined. Death had been cruel here, and, through her involvement with the hospital, Grace had reason to know it often was.
“It’s Melissa.” Her voice echoed flatly in the chilly white room. “My cousin, Melissa Fontaine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. We shared the same health club, among other things. I know her body as well as I know mine. She has a sickle-shaped birthmark at the small of her back, just left of
center. And there’s a scar on the bottom of her left foot, small, crescent-shaped, in the ball of her foot, where she stepped on a broken shell in the Hamptons when we were twelve.”
Seth shifted, found the scar, then nodded to the M.E.’s assistant. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are.” With muscles that felt like glass, she turned, her dimming vision passing over him. “Excuse me.”
She made it nearly to the door before she swayed. Swearing under his breath, Seth caught her, pulled her out into the corridor and put her in a chair. With one hand, he shoved her head between her knees.
“I’m not going to faint.” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, battling fiercely against the twin foes of dizziness and nausea.
“Could have fooled me.”
“I’m much too sophisticated for something as maudlin as a swoon.” But her voice broke, her shoulders sagged, and for a moment she kept her head down. “Oh, God, she’s dead. And all because she hated me.”
“What?”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s dead.” Bracing herself, she sat up again, let her head rest against the cold white wall. Her cheeks were just as colorless. “I have to call my aunt. Her mother. I have to tell her what happened.”
He gauged his woman, studying the face that was no less staggeringly lovely for being bone-white. “Give me the name. I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s Helen Wilson Fontaine. I’ll do it.”
He didn’t realize until her hand moved that he’d placed his own over it. He pulled back on every level, and rose. “I haven’t been able to reach Helen Fontaine or her husband. She’s in Europe.”
“I know where she is.” Grace shook back her hair, but didn’t try to stand. Not yet. “I can find her.” The thought of making that call, saying what had to be said, squeezed her throat. “Could I have some water, Lieutenant?”
His heels echoed on tile as he strode off. Then there was silence—a full, damning silence that whispered of what kind of business was done in such places. There were scents here that slid slyly under the potent odors of antiseptics and industrial cleaning solutions.
She was pitifully grateful when she heard his footsteps on the return journey.
She took the paper cup from him with both hands, drinking slowly, concentrating on the simple act of swallowing liquid.
“Why did she hate you?”
“What?”
“Your cousin. You said she hated you. Why?”
“Family trait,” she said briefly. She handed him back the empty cup as she rose. “I’d like to go now.”
He took her measure a second time. Her color had yet to return, her pupils were dilated, the electric-blue irises were glassy. He doubted she’d last another hour.
“I’ll take you back to Parris’s,” he decided. “You can get your things in the morning, come in to my office to make your statement.”
“I said I’d do it tonight.”
“And I say you’ll do it in the morning. You’re no good to me now.”
She tried a weak laugh. “Why, Lieutenant, I believe you’re the first man who’s ever said that to me. I’m crushed.”
“Don’t waste the routine on me.” He took her arm, led her to the outside doors. “You haven’t got the energy for it.”
He was exactly right. She pulled her arm free as they stepped back into the thick night air. “I don’t like you.”
“You don’t have to.” He opened the car door, waited. “Any more than I have to like you.”
She stepped to the door, and with it between them met his eyes. “But the difference is, if I had the energy—or the inclination—I could make you sit up and beg.”
She got in, sliding those long, silky legs in.
Not likely, Seth told himself as he shut the door with a snap. But he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it.
Chapter 3
She felt like a weakling, but she didn’t go home. she’d needed friends, not that empty house, with the shadow of a body drawn on the floor.
Jack had gone over, fetched her bags out of her car and brought them to her. For a day, at least, she was content to make do with that.
Since she was driving in to meet with Seth, Grace had made do carefully. She’d dressed in a summer suit she’d just picked up on the Shore. The little short skirt and waist-length jacket in buttercup yellow weren’t precisely professional—but she wasn’t aiming for professional. She’d taken the time to catch her waterfall of hair back in a complicated French braid and made up her face with the concentration and determination of a general plotting a decisive battle.
Meeting with Seth again felt like battle.
Her stomach was still raw from the call she’d made to her aunt, and the sickness that had overwhelmed her after it. She’d slept poorly, but she had slept, tucked into one of Cade’s guest rooms, secure that those who meant most to her were close by.
She would deal with the relatives later, she thought, easing her convertible into the lot at the station house. It would be hard, but she would deal with them. For now, she had to deal with herself. And Seth Buchanan.
If anyone had been watching as she stepped from her car and started across the lot, he would have seen a transformation. Subtly, gradually, her eyes went from weary to sultry. Her gait loosened, eased into a lazy, hip-swinging walk designed to cross a man’s eyes. Her mouth turned up slightly at the corners, into a secret, knowing female smile.
It wasn’t really a mask, but another part of her. Innate and habitual, it was an image she could draw on at will. She willed it now, flashing a slow under-the-lashes smile at the uniform who stepped to the door as she did. He flushed, moved back and nearly bobbled the door in his hurry to open it for her.
“Why, thank you, Officer.”
Heat rose up his neck, into his face, and made her smile widen. She was right on target. Seth Buchanan wouldn’t see a pale, trembling woman this morning. He’d see Grace Fontaine, just hitting her stride.
She sauntered up to the sergeant on duty at the desk, skimmed a fingertip along the edge. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His Adam’s apple bobbed three times as he swallowed.
“I wonder if you could help me? I’m looking for a Lieutenant Buchanan. Are you in charge?” She skimmed her gaze over him. “You must be in charge, Commander.”
“Ah, yes. No. It’s sergeant.” He fumbled for the sign-in book, the passes. “I— He’s— You’ll find the lieutenant upstairs, detective division. To the left of the stairs.”
“Oh.” She took the pen he offered and signed her name boldly. “Thank you, Commander. I mean, Sergeant.”
She heard his little expulsion of breath as she turned, and felt his gaze on her legs as she climbed the stairs.
She found the detective division easily enough. One sweeping glance took in the front-to-front desks, some manned, some not. The cops were in shirtsleeves in an oppressive heat that was barely touched by what had to be a faulty air-conditioning unit. A lot of guns, she thought, a lot of half-eaten meals and empty cups of coffee. Phones shrilling.
She picked her mark—a man with a loosened tie, feet on the desk, a report of some kind in one hand and a Danish in the other. As she started through the crowded room, several conversations stopped. Someone whistled softly—it was like a sigh. The man at the desk swept his feet to the floor, swallowed Danish.
“Ma’am.”
About thirty, she judged, though his hairline was receding rapidly. He wiped his crumb-dusted fingers on his shirt, rolled his eyes slightly to the left, where one of his associates was grinning and pounding a fist to his heart.
“I hope you can help me.” She kept her eyes on his, and only his, until a muscle began to twitch in his jaw. “Detective?”
“Yeah, ah, Carter, Detective Carter. What can I do for you?”
“I hope I’m in the right place.” For effect, she turned her head, swept her gaze over the room and its occupants. Several stomachs were ruthlessly sucked in.
“I’m looking for Lieutenant Buchanan. I think he’s expecting me.” Gracefully she brushed a loose flutter of hair away from her face. “I’m afraid I just don’t know the proper procedure.”
“He’s in his office. Back in his office.” Without taking his eyes from her he jerked a thumb. “Belinski, tell the lieutenant he has a visitor. A Miss…”
“It’s Grace.” She slid a hip onto the corner of the desk, letting her skirt hike up a dangerous inch. “Grace Fontaine. Is it all right if I wait here, Detective Carter? Am I interrupting your work?”
“Yes— No. Sure.”
“It’s so exciting.” She brought the temperature of the overheated room up ten more degrees with a dazzling smile. “Detective work. You must have so many interesting stories.”
By the time Seth had finished the phone call he was on when he was notified of Grace’s arrival, shrugged back into the jacket he’d removed as a concession to the heat and made his way into the bull pen, Carter’s desk was completely surrounded. He heard a low, throaty female laugh rise out of the center of the crowd.
And saw a half a dozen of his best men panting like puppies over a meaty bone.
The woman, he decided, was going to be an enormous headache.
“I see all cases have been closed this morning, and miraculously crime has come to a halt.”
His voice had the desired effect. Several men jerked straight. Those less easily intimidated grinned as they skulked back to their desks. Deserted, Carter flushed from his neck to his receding sandy hairline. “Ah, Grace—that is, Miss Fontaine to see you, Lieutenant. Sir.”
“So I see. You finish that report, Detective?”
“Working on it.” Carter grabbed the papers he’d tossed aside and buried his nose in them.
“Ms. Fontaine.” Seth arched a brow, gestured toward his office.
“It was nice meeting you, Michael.” Grace trailed a finger over Carter’s shoulder as she passed.
He’d feel the heat of that skimming touch for hours.
“You can cut the power back now,” Seth said dryly as he opened the door to his office. “You won’t need it.”
“You never know, do you?” She sauntered in, moving past him, close enough for them to brush bodies. She thought she felt him stiffen, just a little, but his eyes remained level, cool, and apparently unimpressed. Miffed, she studied his office.
The institutional beige of the walls blended depressingly into the dingy beige of the aging linoleum floor. An overburdened department-issue desk, gray file cabinets, computer, phone and one small window didn’t add any spark to the no-nonsense room.
“So this is where the mighty rule,” she murmured. It disappointed her that she found no personal touches. No photos, no sports trophies. Nothing she could hold on to, no sign of the man behind the badge.
As she had in the bull pen, she eased a hip onto the corner of his desk. To say she resembled a sunbeam would have been a cliché. And it would have been incorrect, Seth decided. Sunbeams were tame—warm, welcoming. She was an explosive bolt of heat lightning— Hot. Fatal.
A blind man would have noticed those satiny legs in the snug yellow skirt. Seth merely walked around, sat, looked at her face.
“You’d be more comfortable in a chair.”
“I’m fine here.” Idly she picked up a pen, twirled it. “I don’t suppose this is where you interrogate suspects.”
“No, we have a dungeon downstairs for that.”
Under other circumstances, she would have appreciated his dust-dry tone. “Am I a suspect?”
“I’ll let you know.” He angled his head. “You recover quickly, Ms. Fontaine.”
“Yes, I do. You had questions, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, I do. Sit down. In a chair.”