Stars of Mithra Box Set: Captive Star\Hidden Star\Secret Star (50 page)

String it out, Bailey reminded herself. Keep Grace talking. “You don't want me to call Seth?”

“No. He isn't important. He's just another cop. You know he doesn't matter. You're to wait until 1:30 exactly, then you're to leave the house. Go to Salvini, Bailey. You've got to go to Salvini. Leave M.J. out of it, just like we used to. Understand?”

Bailey nodded, kept her eyes on Seth's. “Yes, I understand.”

“Once you get to Salvini, put the stones in a briefcase. Wait there. You'll get a call with the next set of instructions. You'll be all right. You know how you used to like to sneak out of the
dorm at night and go out driving alone after curfew? Just think of it that way. Exactly that way, Bailey, and you'll be fine. If you don't, he'll take everything away from me. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Grace—”

“I love you,” she managed before the phone went dead.

“Nothing,” Cade said tightly as he stared down at the tracing equipment. “He's got it jammed. The signal's all over the board. It wouldn't home in.”

“She wants me to go to Salvini,” Bailey said quietly.

“You're not going anywhere,” Cade said, interrupting her, but Bailey laid a hand on his arm, looked toward M.J.

“No, she meant that part. You understood?”

“Yeah.” M.J. pressed her fingers to her eyes, tried to think past the terror. “She was pumping in as much as she could. Bailey and Grace never left me out of anything, so she wanted me along. She wants us out of here, but she was stringing him about the stones. Bailey never jumped curfew.”

“She was giving you signals,” Jack said. “Trying to punch in what she could manage.”

“She knew we'd understand. He must have told her something would happen to us if she didn't cooperate.” Bailey reached out for M.J.'s hand.
“She wanted us to contact Seth. That's why she said you didn't matter—because we know you do.”

Seth dragged a hand through his hair—a rare wasted motion. He had no choice but to trust their instincts. No choice but to trust Grace's sense of survival. “All right. She wants me to know what's happening, and wants you out of the house.”

“Yes. She wants us out of the house, thinks we'll be safer at Salvini.”

“You'll be safer at the precinct,” Seth told her. “And that's where both of you are going.”

“No.” Bailey's voice remained calm. “She wants us at Salvini. She made a point of it.”

Seth studied her, and gauged his options. He could have them taken into protective custody. That was the logical step. Or he could let the game play out. That was a risk. But it was the risk that fit.

“Salvini, then. But Detective Marshall will arrange for guards. You'll stay put until you hear differently.”

M.J. bristled. “You expect us to just sit around and wait while Grace is in trouble?”

“That's exactly what you're going to do,” Seth said coolly. “She's risking her life to see that you're safe. I'm not going to disappoint her.”

“He's right, M.J.” Jack lifted a brow as she
snarled at him. “Go ahead and fume. But you're outnumbered here. You and Bailey follow instructions.”

Seth noted with some surprise that M.J. closed her mouth, gave one brisk nod in assent. “What was the business about the art history exam, Bailey?”

Bailey sucked in air. “Professor Greenbalm's first name was Gregory.”

“Gregory.”
Gregor.
“Close enough.” Seth looked at the two men he needed. “We don't have a lot of time.”

G
race doubted very much that she would live through the night. There were so many things she hadn't done. She had never shown Bailey and M.J. Paris, as they had always planned. She would never see the willow she'd planted on her country hillside grow tall and bend gracefully over her tiny pond. She had never had a child.

The unfairness clawed at her, along with the fear. She was only twenty-six years old, and she was going to die.

She'd seen her sentence in DeVane's eyes. And she knew he intended to kill those she loved, as well. He wouldn't be satisfied with anything less
than erasing all the lives that had touched what his obsessed mind considered his.

All she could hang on to now was the hope that Bailey had understood her.

“I'm going to show you what you could have had.” His arm bandaged, a fresh tuxedo covering the damage, DeVane led her through a concealed panel, and down a well-lit set of stone stairs that were polished like ebony. He'd taken a painkiller. His eyes were glassy with it, and vicious.

They were the eyes that had stared out of the woods in her nightmares. And as he walked down the curve of those glossy black stairs, she felt the tug of some deep memory.

By torchlight then, she thought hazily. Down and down, with the torches flickering and the Stars glittering in their home of gold, on a white stone. And death waiting.

The harsh breathing of the man beside her. DeVane's? Someone else's? It was a hot, secret sound that chilled the skin. A room, she thought, struggling to grip the slippery chain of memories. A secret room of white and gold. And she had been locked in it for eternity.

She stopped at the last curve, not so much in fear as in shock. Not here, she thought frantically, but somewhere else. Not her, but part of her. Not him, but someone like him.

DeVane's fingers dug into her arm, but she barely felt the pain. Seth—the man with Seth's eyes, dressed as a warrior, coated with dust and the dents of battle. He'd come for her, and for the Stars.

And died for it.

“No.” The stairway spun, and she gripped the cool wall for balance. “Not again. Not this time.”

“There's little choice.” DeVane jerked her forward, pulled her down the remaining steps. He stopped at a thick door, gestured impatiently for his guard to step back. Holding Grace's arm in a bruising grip, he drew out a heavy key, fit it in an old lock that for reasons Grace couldn't fathom made her think of Alice's rabbit hole.

“I want you to see what could have been yours. What I would have shared with you.”

At his rough shove, she stumbled inside and stood blinking in shock.

No, not the rabbit hole, she realized, her dazzled eyes wide and stunned. Ali Baba's cave. Gold gleamed in mountains, jewels winked in rivers. Paintings she recognized as works of the masters crowded together on the walls. Statues and sculpture, some as small as the Fabergé eggs perched on gold stands, others soaring to the ceiling, were jammed inside.

Furs and sweeps of silk, ropes of pearls, carv
ings and crowns, were jammed into every available space. Mozart played brilliantly on hidden speakers.

It was, she realized, not a fairy-tale cave at all. It was merely a spoiled boy's elaborate and greedy clubhouse. Here he could hide his possessions from the world, keep them all to himself and chortle over them, she imagined.

And how many of these toys had he stolen? she wondered. How many had he killed for?

She wouldn't die here, she promised herself. And neither would Seth. If this was indeed history overlapping, she wouldn't allow it to repeat itself. She would fight with whatever weapons she had.

“You have quite a collection, Gregor, but your presentation could use some work.” The first weapon was mild disdain, laced with amusement. “Even the precious loses impact when crammed together in such a disorganized manner.”

“It's mine. All of it. A lifetime's work. Here.” Like that spoiled boy, he snatched up a goblet of gold, thrust it out to her for admiration. “Queen Guinevere sipped from this before she cuckolded Arthur. He should have cut out her heart for that.”

Grace turned the cup in her hand and felt nothing. It was empty not only of wine, she mused, but of magic.

“And here.” He grabbed a pair of ornate dia
mond earrings, thrust them into Grace's face. “Another queen—Marie Antoinette—wore these while her country plotted her death. You might have worn them.”

“While you plotted mine.” With deliberate scorn, she dismissed the offering and turned away. “No, thank you.”

“I have an arrow the goddess Diana hunted with. The girdle worn by Juno.”

Her heart thrummed like a harp, but she only chuckled. “Do you really believe that?”

“They're mine.” Furious with her reaction, he pushed his way through his collection, laid a hand over the cold marble slab he'd had built. “I'll have the Stars soon. They will be the apex of my collection. I'll set them here, with my own hands. And I'll have everything.”

“They won't help you. They won't change you.” She didn't know where the words came from, or the knowledge behind them, but she saw his eyes flicker in surprise. “Your fate's already sealed. They'll never be yours. It's not meant, not this time. They're for the light, and for the good. You'll never see them here in the dark.”

His stomach jittered. There was power in her words, in her eyes, when she should have been cowed and frightened. It unnerved him. “By sunrise I'll have them here. I'll show them to you.”
His breath was short and shallow as he approached her. “And I'll have you. I'll keep you as long as I wish. Do with you what I wish.”

The hand against her cheek was cold, made her think wildly of a snake, but she didn't cringe away. “You'll never have the Stars, and you'll never have me. Even if you hold us, you'll never have us. That was true before, but it's only more true now. And that will eat away at you, day after day, until there's nothing left of you but madness.”

He struck her, hard enough to knock her back against the wall, to have pain spinning in her head. “Your friends will die tonight.” He smiled at her, as if he were discussing a small mutual interest. “You've already sent them to oblivion. I'm going to let you live a long time knowing that.”

He took her by the arm and, pulling open the door, dragged her from the room.

 

“He'll have surveillance cameras,” Seth said as they prepared to scale the wall at the rear of DeVane's D.C. estate. “He's bound to have guards patrolling the grounds.”

“So we'll be careful.” Jack checked the point of his knife, stuck it in his boot, then examined
the pistol he'd tucked in his belt. “And we'll be quiet.”

“We stick together until we reach the house.” Cade went over the plan in his head. “I find security, disarm it.”

“Failing that, set the whole damn business off. We could get lucky in the confusion. It'll bring the cops. If things don't go well, you could be dealing with a lot more than a bust for a B and E.”

Jack issued a pithy one-word opinion on that. “Let's go get her out.” He shot Seth one quick grin as he boosted himself up. “Man, I hope he doesn't have dogs. I really hate when they have dogs.”

They landed on the soft grass on the other side. It was possible their presence was detected from that moment. It was a risk they were willing to take. Like shadows, they moved through the starstruck night, slipping through the heavy dark amid the sheltering trees.

Before, on his quest for the Stars and the woman, he'd come alone, and perhaps that arrogance had been his defeat. Baffled by the sudden thought, the quick spurt of what some might have called vision, Seth pushed the feeling aside.

He could see the house through the trees, the glimmer of lights in windows. Which room was
she in? How badly was she frightened? Was she hurt? Had he touched her?

Baring his teeth, he bit off the thoughts. He had to focus only on getting inside, finding her. For the first time in years, he felt the weight of his weapon at his side. Knew he intended to use it.

He gave no thought to rules, to his career, to the life he'd built step by deliberate step.

He saw the guard pass by, only a yard beyond the verge of the grove. When Jack tapped his shoulder and signaled, Seth met his eyes, nodded.

Seconds later, Jack sprang at the man from behind, and with a quick twist, rammed his head into the trunk of an oak and then dragged the unconscious body into the shadows.

“One down,” he breathed and tucked his newly acquired weapon away.

“They'll have regular check-in,” Cade murmured. “We can't know how soon they'll miss his contact.”

“Then let's move.” Seth signaled Jack to the north, Cade to the south. Staying low, they rushed those gleaming lights.

 

The guard who escorted Grace back to her room was silent. At least two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, she calculated. But she'd seen
his eyes flicker down over her bodice, scan the ripped silk that exposed flesh at her side.

She knew how to use her looks as a weapon. Deliberately she tipped her face up to his, let her eyes fill helplessly. “I'm so frightened. So alone.” She risked touching a hand to his arm. “You won't hurt me, will you? Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything you want.”

He said nothing, but his eyes were keen on her face when she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, keeping the movement slow and provocative. “Anything,” she repeated, her voice husky, intimate. “You're so strong, so…in charge.” Did he even speak English? she wondered. What did it matter? The communication was clear enough.

At the door to her prison, she turned, flashed a smoldering look, sighed deeply. “Don't leave me alone,” she murmured. “I'm so afraid of being alone. I need…someone.” Taking a chance, she lifted a fingertip, rubbed it over his lips. “He doesn't have to know,” she whispered. “No one has to know. It's our secret.”

Though it revolted her, she took his hand, placed it on her breast. The flex of his fingers chilled her skin, but she made herself smile invitingly as he lowered his head and crushed her mouth.

Don't think of it, don't think, she warned herself as his hands roamed her. It's not you. He's not touching you.

“Inside.” She hoped he interpreted her quick shudder as desire. “Come inside with me. We'll be alone.”

He opened the door, his eyes still hungry on her face, on her body. She would either win here, she thought, or lose everything. She let out a teasing laugh as he grabbed for her the moment the door was locked behind him.

“Oh, there's no hurry now, handsome.” She tossed her hair back, glided out of his reach. “No need to rush such a lovely friendship. I want to freshen up for you.”

Still he said nothing, but his eyes were narrowing with impatience, suspicion. Still smiling, she reached for the heavy cut-crystal atomizer on the bureau. A woman's weapon, she thought coldly as she gently spritzed her skin, the air. “I prefer using all of my senses.” Her fingers tightened convulsively on the bottle as she swayed toward him.

She jerked the bottle up and sprayed perfume directly into his leering eyes. He hissed in shock, grabbed instinctively for his stinging eyes. Putting all her strength behind it, she smashed the crystal into his face, and her knee into his groin.

He staggered, but didn't go down. There was blood on his face, and beneath it, his skin had gone a pasty shade of white. He was fumbling for his gun and, frantic, she kicked out, aiming low again. This time he went to his knees, but his hands were still reaching for the gun snapped to his side.

Sobbing now, she heaved up a footstool, upholstered in white, tasseled in gold. She rammed it into his already bleeding face, then, lifting it high, crashed it onto his head. Desperately she scrabbled to unstrap his gun, her clammy hands slipping off leather and steel. When she held it in two shaking hands, prepared to do whatever was necessary, she saw that he was unconscious.

Her breath tore out of her lungs in a wild laugh. “I guess I'm just not that kind of girl.” Too frightened for caution, she yanked the keys free of his clip, stabbed one after the other at the lock until it gave. And raced like a deer fleeing wolves, down the corridor, through the golden light.

A shadow moved at the head of the stairs, and with a low, keening moan, she lifted the gun.

“That's the second time you've pointed a weapon in my direction.”

Her vision grayed at the sound of Seth's voice. Clamping down hard on her lip, she cleared it as
he stepped out of the shadows and into the light. “You. You came.”

It wasn't armor he wore, she thought dizzily. But black—shirt, slacks, shoes. It wasn't a sword he carried, but a gun.

It wasn't a memory. It was real.

Her dress was torn, bloody. Her face was bruised, her eyes were glassy with shock. He'd killed two men to get this far. And seeing her this way, he thought it hadn't been enough. Not nearly enough.

“It's all right now.” He resisted the urge to rush to her, grab her close. She looked as though she might shatter at a touch. “We're going to get you out. No one's going to hurt you.”

“He's going to kill them.” She forced air in and out of her lungs. “He's going to kill them no matter what I do. He's insane. They're not safe from him. We're none of us safe from him. He killed you before,” she ended on a whisper. “He'll try again.”

He took her arm to steady her, gently slipped the gun from her hand. “Where is he, Grace?”

“There's a room, through a panel in the library, down the stairs. Just like before…lifetimes ago. Do you remember?” Spinning between images, she pressed a hand to her head. “He's there with
his toys, all the glittering toys. I stabbed him with a dinner knife.”

“Good girl.” How much of the blood was hers? He could detect no wound other than the bruises on her face and arms. “Come on now, come with me.”