Hidden Star

  rattle. But he was on his feet again quickly enough, limping a little, but fast enough to snag her before she reached the door.

  He yanked her around to face him. “What bug got up your—”

  “You deserved it.” The blood was roaring in her head, her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t going to back down.

  “What the hell for?”

  “For…whatever.”

  “Well, that sure covers it.”

  “Just get out of my way. I’m going for a walk.”

  “No,” he said precisely, “you’re not.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  He estimated he was close to twice her weight and had a good eight inches in height on her. His lips curved grimly. “Yes, I can. You’re hysterical.”

  That snapped it. “I certainly am not hysterical. If I were hysterical, I’d scratch that nasty smile off your face, and poke those smug eyes out, and—”

  To simplify matters, he simply picked her up and carried her inside. She wiggled, sputtered, kicked a little, but he managed to drop her into a kitchen chair. Putting his hands on her shoulders, his face close to hers, he gave one pithy order.

  “Stay.”

  If he didn’t have coffee, immediately, he was going to die. Or kill someone.

  “You’re fired.”

  “Fine, great, whoopee.” He let her fume while he poured coffee and downed it like water. “God, what a way to start the day.” He grabbed a bottle of aspirin, fought with the childproof cap while the headache that was brewing insidiously burst into full-blown misery.

  “I’m not going to tolerate having a woman yell at me before my eyes are open. Whatever’s got you going, sweetheart, you just hold on to it until I—” He cursed again, slamming the stubborn cap on the edge of the counter, where it held firm.

  His head was throbbing, his knee wept where it had hit the ground, and he could easily have chewed through the plastic to get to the aspirin.

  Swearing ripely, he grabbed a butcher knife out of the wooden block on the counter and hacked at the bottle until he’d decapitated it. His face tight with fury, he turned with the bottle in one hand, the knife in the other. His teeth were clenched.

  “Now you listen…” he began.

  Bailey’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she slid from the chair onto the floor in a dead faint before he could move.

  “Sweet God.” The knife clattered on the floor, and aspirin rolled everywhere as the mangled bottle hit the tiles. He gathered her up, and for lack of anything better, laid her on the kitchen table while he dampened a cloth. “Come on, Bailey, come around, sweetheart.”

  He bathed her face, chafed her wrists and cursed himself. How could he have shouted at her that way, manhandled her like that, when she was so fragile? Maybe he’d go out and kick some puppies, stomp on some kittens, for his next act.

  When she moaned and shifted, he pressed her limp hand to his lips. “That’s the way. All the way back.” Her eyes fluttered open while he stroked her hair. “It’s okay, Bailey. Take it easy.”

  “He’s going to kill me.” Her eyes were open, but blind. She clutched at Cade’s shirt as terror strangled her breath. “He’s going to kill me.”

  “No one’s going to hurt you. I’m right here.”

  “He’s going to kill me. He’s got a knife. If he finds me, he’ll kill me.”

  He wanted to gather her up, soothe it all away, but she’d trusted him to help. He kept his voice very calm, uncurled her fingers from his shirt and held them. “Who’s got the knife, Bailey? Who’s going to kill you?”

  “He…he…” She could see it, almost see it, the hand hacking down, the knife flashing again and again. “There’s blood everywhere. Blood everywhere. I have to get away from the blood. The knife. The lightning. I have to run.”

  He held her still, kept his voice calm. “Where are you? Tell me where you are.”

  “In the dark. Lights are out. He’ll kill me. I have to run.”

  “Run where?”

  “Anywhere.” Her breath was coming so fast, the force of it scored her throat like nails. “Anywhere, away. Somewhere away. If he finds me—”

  “He’s not going to find you. I won’t let him find you.” He cupped her face firmly in his hands so that her eyes met his. “Slow down now. Just slow down.” If she kept panting like that, she was going to hyperventilate and faint on him again. He didn’t think he could handle it. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. Understand that?”

  “Yes. Yes.” She closed her eyes, shuddered hard. “Yes. I need air. Please, I need some air.”

  He picked her up again, carried her outside. He set her on the padded chaise on the patio, sat beside her. “Take it slow. Remember, you’re safe here. You’re safe.”

  “Yes, all right.” With an effort, she evened out the air that seemed to want to clog and burst in her lungs. “I’m all right.”

  Far from it, he thought. She was sheet white, clammy and shivering. But the memory was close, and he had to try to dislodge it. “No one’s going to hurt you. Nothing’s going to touch you here. You hang on to that and try to tell me everything you remember.”

  “It comes in blips.” She struggled to breathe past the pressure in her chest. “When you had the knife…” Fear clawed through her again with razored talons.

  “I scared you. I’m sorry.” He took her hands, held them. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “I know.” She closed her eyes again, let the sun beat hot on the lids. “There was a knife. A long blade, curved. It’s beautiful. The bone handle is deeply carved. I’ve seen it—maybe I’ve used it.”

  “Where did you see it?”

  “I don’t know. There were voices, shouting. I can’t hear what they’re saying. It’s like the ocean, all sound, roaring, violent sound.” She pressed her hands to her ears, as if she could block it out. “Then there’s blood, everywhere there’s blood. All over the floor.”

  “What kind of floor?”

  “Carpet, gray carpet. The lightning keeps flashing, the knife keeps flashing.”

  “Is there a window? Do you see lightning through the window?”

  “Yes, I think…” She shivered again, and the scene fighting to form in her mind went blank. “It’s dark. Everything went dark, and I have to get away. I have to hide.”

  “Where do you hide?”

  “It’s a little place, hardly room, and if he sees, I’ll be trapped. He has the knife. I can see it, his hand on the hilt. It’s so close, if he turns—”

  “Tell me about the hand,” Cade said, interrupting her gently. “What does the hand look like, Bailey?”

  “It’s dark, very dark, but there’s a light bouncing around. It almost catches me. He’s holding the knife, and his knuckles are white. There’s blood on them. On his ring.”

  “What kind of ring, Bailey?” His eyes stayed intent on her face, but his voice remained calm and easy. “What does the ring look like?”

  “It’s heavy gold, thick band. Yellow gold. The center stone’s a ruby cabochon. On either side there are small diamonds, brilliant-cut. Initials. T and S in a stylized sweep. The diamonds are red with blood. He’s so close, so close, I can smell it. If he looks down. If he looks down and sees me. He’ll kill me, slice me to pieces, if he finds me.”

  “He didn’t.” Unable to bear it any longer, Cade drew her up, held her. “You got away. How did you get away, Bailey?”

  “I don’t know.” The relief was so huge— Cade’s arms around her, the sun warm at her back, his cheek pressed to her hair—she could have wept. “I don’t remember.”

  “It’s all right. That’s enough.”

  “Maybe I killed him.” She drew back, looked into Cade’s face. “Maybe I used the gun that was in the bag and shot him.”

  “The gun was fully loaded, Bailey.”

  “I could have replaced it.”

  “Sweetheart, in my professional opinion, you wouldn’t know how.”

  “Bu
t if I—”

  “And if you did—” he took her shoulders now, gave her a quick shake “—it was to protect yourself. He was armed, you were terrified, and it sounds as if he’d already killed someone. Whatever you did to survive was right.”

  She shifted away, looked out over the yard, past the flowers, the leafy old trees, the tidy fence line. “What kind of person am I? There’s a very real possibility I saw someone murdered. I did nothing to stop it, nothing to help.”

  “Be sensible, Bailey. What could you have done?”

  “Something,” she murmured. “I didn’t get to a phone, call the police. I just ran.”

  “And if you hadn’t, you’d be dead.” He knew by the way she winced that his tone had been harsh. But it was what she needed. “Instead, you’re alive, and bit by bit, we’re putting it together.”

  He rose, paced away, so that he wouldn’t give in to the temptation just to cuddle her. “You were in a building of some sort. In a room with gray carpet, probably a window. There was an argument, and someone had a knife. He used it. His initials could be T.S. He came after you, and it was dark. More than likely it was a blackout and the building had lost power. A section of North West D.C. lost power for two hours the night before you hired me, so we’ve got somewhere to look. You knew the building well enough to head for cover. I’d say you belonged there. You live or work there.”

  He turned back, noting that she was watching him, paying close attention. Her hands were steady in her lap again. “I can check if there was a knifing reported that night, but I’ve been watching the papers, and there hasn’t been any press on it.”

  “But it was days ago now. Someone must have found—found a body, if there was one.”

  “Not if it was a private home, or an office that shut down for the long weekend. If there’d been someone else there, other people in the building when it happened, it would have been reported. Odds are you were alone.”

  It made his stomach crawl to think of it—Bailey alone in the dark with a killer.

  “The storm didn’t hit until after ten.”

  It was logical, and the simple movement from theory to fact calmed her. “What do we do now?”

  “We’ll drive around the area that lost power, starting at the hotel where you ended up.”

  “I don’t remember getting to the hotel, whether I walked or took a cab.”

  “You either walked, took a bus or the metro. I’ve already checked on cabs. None of the companies dropped off a fare within three blocks of the hotel that night. We’re going to move on the assumption that you were on foot, dazed, too shaken to think of hopping a bus, and since the metro only runs until midnight, that’s too close to call.”

  She nodded, looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry I shouted at you before. You didn’t deserve it, after everything you’ve done for me.”

  “I deserved it.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I refuse to accept the term snit but I’ll allow the phrase out of sorts.” He enjoyed seeing her lips curve in one of her hesitant smiles as she lifted her head.

  “I suppose we both were. Did I hurt you when I knocked you down?”

  “My ego’s going to be carrying a bruise for a while. Otherwise, no.” He angled his head. There was a quick cockiness in the movement, and in the eyes that glinted at hers. “And I didn’t try to seduce you on the dance floor, Bailey. I did seduce you on the dance floor.”

  Her pulse stuttered a bit. He was so outrageously gorgeous, standing there in the bright morning sun, rumpled, his dark hair thick and untidy, the dimples denting his cheeks and his mouth arrogantly curved. No woman alive, Bailey thought, could have stopped her mouth from watering.

  And she was certain he knew it.

  “Your ego seems to function well enough, bruised or not.”

  “We can always stage a reenactment.”

  Her stomach fluttered at the thought, but she worked up a smile. “I’m glad you’re not angry with me anymore. I don’t think I handle confrontations very well.”

  He rubbed his elbow, where he’d lost several layers of skin on impact. “You seemed to do well enough. I’m going to clean up, then we’ll take ourselves a Sunday drive.”

  There were so many kinds of buildings, Bailey thought as Cade tooled around the city. Old ones, new ones, crumbling row houses and refurbished homes. Tall office buildings and squat storefronts.

  Had she ever really noticed the city before? she wondered. The sloping stone walls, the trees rising up from the sidewalks. Belching buses with whining air brakes.

  Was it always so humid in July? Was the summer sky always the color of paper? And were the flowers always so luscious in the public spaces tucked around statues and along the streets?

  Had she shopped in any of these stores, eaten in any of these restaurants?

  The trees took over again, tall and stately, lining both sides of the road, so that it seemed they were driving through a park, rather than the middle of a crowded city.

  “It’s like seeing everything for the first time,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Something will either click or it won’t.”

  They passed gracious old homes, brick and granite, then another strip of shops, smart and trendy. She made a small sound, and though she was hardly aware of it herself, Cade slowed. “Something click?”

  “That boutique. Marguerite’s. I don’t know.”

  “Let’s take a look.” He circled around, backtracked, then pulled into a narrow lot that fronted several upscale shops. “Everything’s closed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t window shop.” Leaning over, he opened her door, then climbed out his own.

  “Maybe I just liked the dress in the window,” she murmured.

  It was very lovely, just a sweep of rose-petal silk with thin straps of glittery rhinestones that continued down to cross under the bodice.

  The display was completed by a tiny silver evening bag and impossibly high heels in matching silver.

  The way it made her smile, Cade wished the shop was open, so that he could buy it for her. “It’s your style.”

  “I don’t know.” She cupped her hands to the glass, peered through them for the simple delight of looking at pretty things. “That’s a wonderful cocktail suit in navy linen. Oh, and that red dress is just fabulous. Bound to make you feel powerful and accomplished. I really should start wearing bolder colors, but I always wimp out with pastels.”

  Try this green, Bailey. It’s got punch. There’s nothing more tiring than a clothes coward.

  How long do I have to stand around while you two play with clothes? I’m starving.

  Oh, stop bitching. You’re not happy unless you’re feeding your face or buying new jeans. Bailey, not that tedious beige. The green. Trust me.

  “She talked me into it,” Bailey murmured. “I bought the green suit. She was right. She always is.”

  “Who’s right, Bailey?” He didn’t touch her, afraid that even an encouraging hand on her shoulder would jar her. “Is it M.J.?”

  “No, no, not M.J. She’s annoyed, impatient, hates to waste time. Shopping’s such a waste of time.”

  Oh, her head hurt. It was going to explode any moment, simply burst off her shoulders. But the need was greater, the need to latch on to this one thing. This one answer. Her stomach rolled, threatened to heave, and her skin went clammy with the effort of holding off nausea.

  “Grace.” Her voice broke on the name. “Grace,” she said again as her knees buckled. “Her name’s Grace. Grace and M.J.” Tears sprang to her eyes, rolled down her cheeks as she threw her arms around Cade’s neck. “I’ve been here. I’ve been to this shop. I bought a green suit. I remember.”

  “Good. Good job, Bailey.” He gave her a quick swing.

  “No, but that’s all.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. The pain was screaming now. “That’s all I remember. Just being in there with them, buying a suit. It’s so foolish. Why should I remember buying a suit?”

  “Y
ou remember the people.” He smoothed his thumbs over her temples. He could all but feel the headache raging inside. “They’re important to you. It was a moment, something shared, a happy time.”

  “But I can’t remember them. Not really. Just feelings.”

  “You’re breaking through.” He pressed his lips to her brow, drew her back toward the car. “And it’s happening quickly now.” He eased her down on the seat, hooked her safety belt himself. “And it hurts you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I need to know.”

  “It matters to me. We’ll get you something for that headache, and some food. Then we’ll start again.”

  Arguments wouldn’t sway him. Bailey had to admit that fighting Cade and a blinding headache was a battle she was doomed to lose. She let him prop her up in bed, dutifully swallowed the aspirin he gave her. Obediently she closed her eyes as he instructed, then opened them again when he brought up a bowl of chicken soup.

  “It’s out of a can,” he told her, fussing with the pillows behind her back. “But it should do the job.”

  “I could eat in the kitchen, Cade. It was a headache, not a tumor. And it’s almost gone.”

  “I’m going to work you hard later. Take the pampering while you can get it.”

  “All right, I will.” She spooned up soup. “It’s wonderful. You added thyme.”

  “For that little hint of France.”

  Her smile faded. “Paris,” she murmured. “Something about Paris.” The headache snuck back as she tried to concentrate.

  “Let it go for now.” He sat beside her. “I’d say your subconscious is letting you know you’re not all the way ready yet to remember. A piece at a time will do.”

  “I suppose it’ll have to.” She smiled again. “Want some soup?”

  “Now that you mention it.” He leaned forward, let her feed him, and didn’t take his eyes from hers. “Not too shabby.”

  She took another spoonful herself, tasted him. Marvelous. “As handy as you are in the kitchen, I’m surprised your wife let you get away.”

  “Ex-wife, and we had a cook.”

  “Oh.” She fed him again, slowly taking turns. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask without seeming rude.”

  He slipped her hair behind her ear. “Just ask.”

  “Well, this lovely house, the antiques, the fancy sports car… Then there’s your office.”

  His mouth twitched. “Something wrong with my office?”

  “No. Well, nothing a bulldozer and a construction crew couldn’t cure. It just doesn’t compute with the rest.”

  “I’ve got a thing about my business paying for itself, and that office is about all it can afford so far. My investigative work pays the bills and just a little more. On a personal level, I’m rolling in it.” His eyes laughed into hers. “Money, that is. If that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I guess it was. You’re rich, then.”

  “Depends on your definition, or if you mean me personally or the entire family. It’s shopping centers, real estate, that sort of thing. A lot of doctors and lawyers and bankers down through the ages. And me, I’m—”

  “The black sheep,” she finished for him, thrilled that he was just that. “You didn’t want to go into the family business. You didn’t want to be a doctor or a lawyer or a banker.”

  “Nope. I wanted to be Sam Spade.”

  Delighted, she chuckled. “The Maltese Falcon. I’m glad you didn’t want to be a banker.”

  “Me, too.” He took the hand she’d laid on his cheek, pressed his lips to it and felt her quiver of response.

  “I’m glad I found your name in the phone book.” Her voice thickened. “I’m glad I found you.”

  “So am I.” He took the tray from between them, set it aside. Even if he’d been blind, he thought, he would have understood what was in her eyes just then. And his heart thrilled to it. “I could walk out of here and leave you alone now.” He trailed a finger across her collarbone, then let it rest on the pulse that