Nora Roberts - The Stars of Mithra - Hidden Star

“I do like children.” Enjoying himself now, he leaned on the counter and watched her tidy up. “I’m telling you, Camilla’s not human. Now my other sister, Doro, she’s got two, and somehow the youngest escaped the Parris curse. He’s a great kid, likes baseball and bugs. Doro believes he needs therapy.”

The chuckle escaped before she swallowed it. “You’re making that up.”

“Sweetheart, believe me, nothing I could invent about the Parris clan would come close to the horrible truth. They’re selfish, self-important and self-indulgent. Are you going to mop the floor now?”

She managed to close her mouth, which had gaped at his careless condemnation of his own family. Distracted, she glanced down at the glossy ivory tiles. “Oh, all right. Where—”

“Bailey, I’m kidding.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the room just as the phone began to ring. “No,” he said, before she could open her mouth. “I’m not answering it.”

“That’s shameful.”

“It’s self-preservation. I never agreed to this Pamela connection, and I’m not going to be pressured into it.”

“Cade, I don’t want you to upset your family and break a date on my account. I’ll be fine.”

“I said I didn’t make the date. My mother did. And now, when I have to face the music, I can use you as an excuse. I’m grateful. So grateful I’m going to knock a full day off your fee. Here.” He picked up one of the shopping bags he’d dropped by the front door and pulled out a shoe box. “Your glass slippers. If they fit, you get to go to the ball.”

Giving up, she sat on the bottom landing and opened the box. Her brow cocked. “Red sneakers?”

“I liked them. They’re sexy.”

“Sexy sneakers.” And she wondered as she undid the laces how she could be in such an enormous mess and find herself delighted over a silly pair of shoes. They slid on like butter, and for some reason made her want to laugh and weep at the same time. “Perfect fit.”

“Told you I had a good eye.” He smiled when she evened out the laces precisely, tied them into careful and neat bows. “I was right, very sexy.” He reached down to draw her to her feet. “In fact, you make quite a package right now.”

“I’m sure I do, when the only thing that fits are my shoes.” She started to rise to her toes to kiss his cheek, then quickly changed her mind.

“Chicken,” he said.

“Maybe.” She held out her hand instead. “I’d really love to take a walk.” She stepped through the door he opened, glanced up at him. “So is Pamela pretty?”

He considered, decided the straight truth might be to his advantage. “Gorgeous.” He closed the door behind them, slipped an arm around Bailey’s waist. “And she wants me.”

The cool little hum of Bailey’s response brought a satisfied smile to his lips.

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—”