by Nora Roberts
“I know.”
She passed into the vault room and approached the massive reinforced-steel doors. The security system was complex and intricate, and even with the ease of long practice, it took Bailey three full minutes to disengage.
“Maybe I ought to have one of these installed in my house,” Grace said lightly. “That bastard popped my library safe like it was a gumball machine. He must have fenced the jewelry fast. I hate losing the pieces you made for me.”
“I’ll make you more. In fact—” Bailey picked up a square velvet box “—let’s start now.”
Curious, Grace opened the box to a pair of heavy gold earrings. The smooth crescent-shaped gold was studded with stones in deep, dark hues of emerald, ruby and sapphire.
“Bailey, they’re beautiful.”
“I’d just finished them before…well, before. As soon as I had, I knew they were yours.”
“It’s not my birthday.”
“I thought you were dead.” Bailey’s voice shook, then strengthened when Grace looked up. “I thought I would never see you again. So let’s consider these a celebration of the rest of our lives.”
Grace removed the simple studs in her ears, began to replace them with Bailey’s gift. “When I’m not wearing them, I’ll keep them with my mother’s jewelry. The things that matter most.”
“They look perfect on you. I knew they would.” Bailey turned, took the heavy padded box from its shelf in the vault. Holding it between them, she opened it.
Grace let out a long, uneven sigh. “I honestly thought one would be gone. I would drive up to the mountains and find it in my garden, sitting on the ground beneath the flowers. It was so real, Bailey.”
Reaching out, Grace took a stone. Her stone. “I felt it in my hand, just as I do now. It pulsed in my hand like a heart.” She laughed a little, but the sound was hollow. “My heart. That’s what it seemed like. I didn’t realize that until now. It was like holding my own heart.”
“There’s a link.” A little pale, Bailey took another stone from the box. “I don’t understand it, but I know it. This is the Star I had. If M.J. was here, she’d have picked hers.”
“I never thought I believed in this sort of thing.” Grace turned the stone in her hand. “I was wrong. It’s incredibly easy to believe it. To know it. Are we protecting them, Bailey, or are they protecting us?”
“I like to think it’s both. They brought me Cade.” Gently, she replaced her stone, touched a fingertip to the second Star in its hollow. “Brought M.J. Jack.” Her face softened. “I opened up the showroom for them a little while ago,” she told Grace. “Jack dragged her in and bought her a ring.”
“A ring?” Grace lifted a hand to her heart as it swelled. “An engagement ring?”
“An engagement ring. She argued the whole time, kept telling him not to be a jerk. She didn’t need any ring. He just ignored her and pointed to this lovely green tourmaline—square-cut, with diamond baguettes. I designed it a few months ago, thinking that it would make a wonderful, nontraditional engagement ring for the right woman. He knew she was the right woman.”
“He’s perfect for her.” Grace brushed a tear from her lashes and beamed. “I knew it as soon as I saw them together.”
“I wish you’d seen them today. There she is, grumbling, rolling her eyes, insisting all this fuss is a waste of time and effort. Then he put that ring on her finger. She got this big, sloppy grin on her face. You know the one.”
“Yeah.” And she could see it, perfectly. “I’m so happy for her, for you. It’s like all that love was there, waiting, and the stones…” She looked down at them again. “They opened the door for it.”
“And you, Grace? Have they opened the door for you?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” Nerves suddenly sprang to her fingertips. She laid the stone back in its bed. “Seth certainly wouldn’t be. I don’t think he’d believe in magic of any sort. And as for love…even if that door is wide open and the opportunity is there, he’s not a man to fall easily.”
“Easy or not—” Bailey closed the lid, replaced the box “—when you’re meant to fall, you fall. He’s yours, Grace. I saw that in your eyes this morning.”
“Well.” Grace swallowed the nerves. “I think I may wait awhile to let him in on that.”
Chapter 8
There were flowers waiting for her when Grace returned to Cade’s. A gorgeous crystal vase was filled with long spears of paper-white long-stemmed roses. Her heart thudded foolishly into her throat as she snatched up the card, tore open the envelope.
Then it deflated and sank.
Not from Seth, she noted. Of course, it had been silly of her to think that he’d have indulged in such a romantic and extravagant gesture. The card read simply:
Until we meet again,
Gregor
The ambassador with the oddly compelling eyes, she mused, and leaned forward to sniff at the tender, just-opening blooms. It had been sweet of him, she told herself. A bit over-the-top, as there were easily three dozen roses in the vase, but sweet.
And she was irritated to realize that if they had been from Seth, she would have mooned over them like a starstruck teenager, would likely have pressed one between the pages of a book, even shed a few tears. She berated herself for being six times a fool.
If these appalling highs and lows were side effects of being in love, Grace thought she could have waited quite a bit longer to experience the sensation. She was just about to toss the card on the table when the phone rang.
She hesitated, as both Cade’s and Jack’s cars were in the drive, but when the phone rang the third time, she picked it up. “Parris residence.”
“Is Grace Fontaine available?” The crisp tones of a well-trained secretary sounded in her ear. “Ambassador DeVane calling.”
“Yes, this is she.”
“One moment, please, Ms. Fontaine.”
Lips pursed thoughtfully, Grace flipped the edge of the card against her palm. The man certainly had had no trouble tracking her down, Grace mused. And just how was she going to handle him?
“Grace.” His voice flowed through the phone. “How delightful to speak with you again.”
“Gregor.” She flipped her hair behind her shoulder, edged a hip onto the table. “How extravagant of you. I’ve just walked in to your roses.” She tipped one down, sniffed again. “They’re glorious.”
“Merely a token. I was disappointed not to have more time with you last evening. You left so early.”
She thought of the wild ride to Seth’s, the wilder sex. “I had…a previous engagement.”
“Perhaps we can make up for it tomorrow evening. I have a box at the theater. Tosca. It’s such a beautiful tragedy. There’s nothing I would enjoy more than sharing it with you, then a late supper, perhaps.”
“It sounds lovely.” She rolled her eyes toward the flowers. Oh, dear, she thought. This would never do. “I’m so terribly sorry, Gregor, but I’m not free.” With no regret whatsoever, she set the card aside. “Actually, I’m involved with someone, quite seriously.”
For me, in any case, she thought. Then she looked through the glass panels of the front door, and her face lit up with surprise and pleasure when she saw Seth’s car pull in.
“I see.” She was too busy trying to steady her abruptly dancing pulse to notice how his voice had chilled. “Your escort of last evening.”
“Yes. I’m terribly flattered, Gregor, and if I were any less involved, I’d leap at the invitation. I hope you’ll forgive me, and understand.”
Struggling not to squirm with delight, she crooked her finger in invitation as Seth stepped up to the door.
“Of course. If your circumstances change, I hope you’ll reconsider.”
“I certainly will.” With a sultry smile, she walked her fingers up Seth’s chest. “And thank you again, Gregor, so much, for the flowers. They’re divine.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said, and his hands balled into bone-w
hite fists as he hung up the receiver.
Humiliated, he thought, snapping his teeth together, grinding them viciously. Rejected for a suitful of muscles and a badge.
She would pay, he promised himself, taking her photo from his file and gently tapping a well-manicured finger against it. She would pay dearly. And soon.
With the ambassador completely forgotten the moment the connection was broken, Grace tipped her face up to Seth’s. “Hello, handsome.”
He didn’t kiss her, but looked at the flowers, then at the card she’d tossed carelessly beside them. “Another conquest?”
“Apparently.” She heard the cold distance in his tone and wasn’t certain whether to be flattered or annoyed. She opted for a different tack altogether, and purred. “The ambassador was interested in an evening at the opera and…whatever.”
The spurt of jealousy infuriated him. It was a new experience, and one he detested. It left him helpless, made him want to drag her out to his car by the hair, cart her off, lock her up where only he could see and touch and taste.
But more, there was fear, for her. A bone-deep sense of danger.
“It seems the ambassador—and you—move quickly.”
No, she realized, the temper was going to come. There was no stopping it. She eased off the table, her smile an icy dare. “I move however it suits me. You should know.”
“Yes.” He dipped his hands into his pockets to keep them off her. “I should. I do.”
Crushed, she angled her chin, aimed those laser blue eyes. “Which am I now, Lieutenant? The whore or the goddess? The ivory princess atop the pedestal, or the tramp? I’ve been them all—it just depends on the man and how he chooses to look.”
“I’m looking at you,” he said calmly. “And I don’t know what I see.”
“Let me know when you make up your mind.” She started to move around him, came up short when he took her arm. “Don’t push me.” She tossed her head so that her hair flew out, settled.
“I could say the same, Grace.”
She drew in one hot, deep breath, shoved his hand aside. “If you’re interested, I gave the ambassador my regrets and told him I was involved with someone.” She flashed a frigid smile and swung toward the stairs. “That, apparently, was my mistake.”
He scowled after her, considered striding up the stairs of a house that wasn’t his own and finishing the confrontation—one way or the other. Appalled, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and tried to squeeze off the bitter headache plaguing him.
His day had been grueling, and had ended ten long hours after it began, with him staring at the group of photos on his board. Photos of the dead who were waiting for him to find the connection.
And he was already furious with himself because he’d already begun to run a search for data on Gregor DeVane. He couldn’t be sure if he had done so due to a basic cop’s hunch, or a man’s territorial instinct. Or the dreams. It was a question, and a conflict, he’d never had to face before.
But one answer was clear as glass. He’d been out of line with Grace. He was still standing by the foyer table, frowning at the steps and weighing his options, when Cade strolled in from the rear of the house.
“Buchanan.” More than a little surprised to see the homicide lieutenant standing in his foyer scowling, Cade stopped, scratched his jaw. “Ah, I didn’t know you were here.”
He had no business being there, Seth reminded himself. “Sorry. Grace let me in.”
“Oh.” After one beat, Cade pinpointed the source of the heat still flashing in the air. “Oh,” he said again, and wisely controlled a grin. “Fine. Something I can do for you?”
“No. I’m just leaving.”
“Have a spat?”
Seth turned his head, met Cade’s obviously amused eyes blandly. “Excuse me?”
“Just a wild stab in the dark. What did you do to tick her off?” Though Seth didn’t answer, Cade noted that his gaze shifted briefly to the roses. “Oh, yeah. Guess you didn’t send them, huh? If some guy sent Bailey three dozen white roses, I’d probably have to stuff them down his throat, one at a time.”
It was the gleam of appreciation that flashed briefly in Seth’s eyes that made Cade decide to revise his stance. Maybe he could like Lieutenant Seth Buchanan after all.
“Want a beer?”
The casual and friendly invitation threw Seth off balance. “I— No, I was leaving.”
“Come on out back. Jack and I already popped a couple of tops. We’re going to fire up the grill and show the women how real men cook.” Cade’s grin spread charmingly. “Besides, oiling yourself with a couple of brews will make it easier for you to crawl. You’re going to crawl anyway, so you might as well be comfortable.”
Seth hissed out a breath. “Why the hell not?”
Grace stayed stubbornly in her room for an hour. She could hear laughter, music, and the silly whack of mallets striking balls as people played an enthusiastic game of croquet. She knew Seth’s car was still in the drive, and had promised herself she wouldn’t go back down until it was gone.
But she was feeling deprived, and hungry.
Since she’d already changed into shorts and a thin cotton shirt, she paused at the mirror only long enough to freshen her lipstick, spritz on some perfume. Just to make him suffer, she told herself, then sauntered downstairs and out onto the patio.
Steaks were smoking on the grill with Cade at the helm wielding an enormous barbecue fork. Bailey and Jack were arguing over the croquet match, and M.J. was sulking at a picnic table while she nibbled on potato chips.
“Jack knocked me out of the game,” she complained, and gestured with her beer. “I still say he cheated.”
“Any time you lose,” Grace pointed out as she picked up a chip, “it’s because someone cheated.” Then she slid her gaze to Seth.
He’d taken off his tie, she noted, and his jacket. He still wore his holster. She imagined that was because he didn’t feel comfortable hanging his gun over a tree branch. He, too, had a beer in his hand, and was watching the game with apparent interest.
“You still here?”
“Yeah.” He’d had two beers, but didn’t think crawling was going to be any more comfortable with the lubricant. “I’ve been invited to dinner.”
“Isn’t that cozy?” Grace spied what she recognized as a pitcher of M.J.’s special margaritas and poured herself a glass. The taste was tart, icy, and perfect. In dismissal, she wandered over to the grill to kibitz.
“I know what I’m doing,” Cade was saying, and shifted to guard his territory as Seth joined them. “I marinated these vegetable kabobs personally. Go away and leave this to a man.”
“I was merely asking if you preferred your mushrooms blackened.”
Cade sent her a withering look. “Get her off my back, Seth. An artist can’t work with critics breathing down his neck and picking on his mushrooms.”
“Let’s go over here.” Seth took her elbow, and was braced for her jerk. He kept his grip firm and hauled her away into the rose garden.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Grace said furiously.
“You don’t have to talk. I’ll talk.” But it took him a minute. Apologies didn’t come easily to a man who made it a habit not to make mistakes. “I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
She said nothing, simply folded her arms and waited.
“You want more?” He nodded, didn’t bother to sigh. “I was jealous, an atypical reaction for me, and I handled it poorly. I apologize.”
Grace shook her head. “That’s the weakest excuse for an apology I’ve ever heard. Not the words, Seth, the delivery. But fine, I’ll accept it in the same spirit it was offered.”
“What do you want from me?” he demanded, frustrated enough to raise his voice and grab her arms. “What the hell do you want?”
“That.” She tossed back her head. “Just that. A little emotion, a little passion. You can take your cardboard-stiff apology and stuff it, just lik
e you can stuff the cold, deliberate and dispassionate routine you gave me over the flowers. That icy control doesn’t cut it with me. If you feel something—whatever the hell it is—then let me know.”
She sucked in her breath, stunned, when he yanked her against him, savaged her mouth with heat and anger and need. She twisted once and was hauled roughly back. Then was left weak and singed and shaken by the time he drew away.
“Is that enough for you?” He hauled her to her toes, his fingers digging in. His eyes weren’t dispassionate now, weren’t cool, but turbulent. Human. “Enough emotion, enough passion? I don’t like to lose control. You can’t afford to lose control on the job.”
Her breath was heaving. And her heart was flying. “This isn’t the job.”
“No, but it was supposed to be.” He willed his grip to loosen. “You were supposed to be. I can’t get you out of my head. Damn it, Grace. I can’t get you out.”
She laid a hand on his cheek, felt the muscle twitch. “It’s the same for me. Maybe the only difference right now is that I want it to be that way.”
For how long? he wondered, but he didn’t say it. “Come home with me.”
“I’d love to.” She smiled, stroked her fingers back, into his hair. “But I think we’d better stay for dinner, at least. Otherwise, we’d break Cade’s heart.”
“After dinner, then.” It wasn’t difficult at all, he discovered, to bring her hands to his lips, linger over them, then look into her eyes. “I am sorry. But, Grace—?”
“Yes?”
“If DeVane calls you again, or sends flowers?”
Her lips twitched. “Yes?”
“I’ll have to kill him.”
With a delighted laugh, she threw her arms around Seth’s neck. “Now we’re talking.”
“That was nice.” With a satisfied sigh, Grace sank down in the seat of Seth’s car and watched the moon shimmer in the sky. “I like seeing the four of them together. But it’s funny. It’s as if I blinked, and everyone took this huge, giant step forward.”
“Red light, green light.”
Confused, Grace turned her head to look at him. “What?”
“The game—the kid’s game? You know, the person who’s it has to say, ‘Green light,’ turn his back. Everybody can go forward, but then he says, ‘Red light’ and spins around. If he sees anybody move, they have to go back to the start.”
When she gave a baffled laugh, it was his turn to look. “Didn’t you ever play games like that when you were a kid?”
“No. I was given the proper lessons, lectured on etiquette and was instructed to take brisk daily walks for exercise. Sometimes I ran,” she said softly, remembering. “Fast, and hard, until my heart was bumping in my chest. But I guess I always had to go back to the start.”
Annoyed with herself, she shook her shoulders. “My, doesn’t that sound pathetic? It wasn’t, really. It was just structured.” She scooped back her hair, smiled at him. “So what other games did young Seth Buchanan play?”
“The usual.” Didn’t she know how heartbreaking it was to hear that wistfulness in her voice, then see that quick, careless shrug as she pushed it all aside? “Didn’t you have friends?”
“Of course.” Then she looked away. “No. It doesn’t matter. I have them now. The best of friends.”
“Do you know any one of the three of you can start a sentence and either of the other two can finish it?”
“We don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do. A dozen times tonight, at least. You don’t even realize it. And you have this code,” he continued. “Little quirks and gestures. M.J.’s half smirk or eye roll, Bailey’s downsweep of the lashes or hair-around-the-finger twist. And you lift your left brow, just a fraction, or catch your tongue between your teeth. When you do, you let each other know the joke’s your little secret.”