style="font-size:15px;"> Bounty hunter, Grace thought, trying to keep pace. The man named Jack, she supposed, with the bronze-tipped ponytail and the stormy gray eyes. And the killer grin. Handcuffs, cheap motels, and shootings. Pressing fingertips to her eyes, she latched on to the least disturbing detail.
“You were at my place? When?”
“It’s a long story.” M.J. gave a quick version of a handful of days from her first encounter with Jack, when he’d tried to take her in, believing her to be a bail jumper, to the two of them escaping that setup and working their way back to the core of the puzzle.
“We know someone’s pulling the strings,” M.J. concluded. “But we haven’t gotten very far on figuring that out yet. The bail bondsman-cum-black-mailer who gave Jack the fake paperwork on me is dead, the two guys who came after us are dead, the Salvinis are dead.”
“And Melissa,” Grace murmured.
“It was Melissa?” Bailey turned to Grace. “In your house?”
“It must have been. When I got home, the cop was there. The place was torn up, and they’d assumed it was me.” It took a moment, a carefully indrawn breath, a steady exhale, before she could finish. “She’d fallen off the balcony—or been pushed. I was miles away when it happened.”
“Where did you go?” M.J. asked her. “When Jack and I got to your country place, it was locked up tight. I thought…I was sure you’d just been there. I could smell you.”
“I left late yesterday morning. Got an itch to be near the water, so I drove down the Eastern Shore, found a little B-and-B. I did some antiquing, rubbed elbows with tourists, watched a fireworks display. I didn’t leave until late today. I nearly stayed over another night. But I called both of you from the B-and-B and got your machines. I started feeling uncomfortable about being out of 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
