herself and her new husband was not as it should be.
Did Anan wonder what he was thinking when she caught Egmath staring longingly out across the desert? Did she question his love for her when he wouldn’t tell her where he’d gotten the amulet that he wore around his neck and never took off? Did she doubt herself as a woman when he would kiss her perfunctorily, sweetly but without any real hint of passion?
Morgan sighed and opened her eyes.
Maybe she was obsessed with the box and the legend because it represented the magic that was sorely missing from her own marriage. It wasn’t the first time she’d had such thoughts.
And what if she located the amulet and opened the box only to find nothing there? That it was as empty inside as she was?
What then?
The thought startled her.
What on earth was she doing? Posting that message had been a bad idea. She should forget about the legend and just concentrate on building a stronger marriage. She had to stop using the mystery of the box as a buffer for her feelings, as a barrier to keep from facing what was going on in her own life.
Quick, delete the post before it’s too late.
Morgan leaned forward and was about to zap the message into cyberspace when another post popped up in the Special Gem thread.
“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” read the enigmatic subject line.
Morgan’s breath caught and her stomach staggered. Desire rose in her, the famished need to have her curiosity sated. Whether she wanted to admit her compulsion or not, she had to find out what was in that box.
Her hand hovered over the mouse. She’d never expected a response so swiftly.
Or one so cagey.
It appeared that someone knew the special gem she had written about was the White Star. Could the electronic posting possibly be from the person who currently possessed the amulet?
She was surprised to find her fingers trembling as she clicked the cursor on the read tab.
Dear Curious in Connecticut,
I might have access to what you’re looking for. If I may ask, what is the nature of your interest in the piece? Please answer through private e-mail.
It was unsigned.
Morgan’s heart stilled and a strange sense of calm came over her, even as the rational voice in the back of her head warned her not to get too excited or jump to erroneous conclusions.
After months of searching, was she within days of opening the box?
Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she poured out her findings into the e-mail. She launched into detail, describing how she believed the amulet might be the key that opened the box. Her breath came in raspy backward gasps as she signed her real name and hit Send.
Morgan got up and walked back and forth in front of the computer screen, thrill pumping a shower of tingles throughout her body. “Come on, come on, please answer me back.”
Five minutes passed, then ten. She paced the room, one hand splayed against the hollow of her throat. It wasn’t until she began to feel light-headed that Morgan realized she wasn’t exhaling.
Breathe.
She took a deep, cleansing yoga breath. Why did it feel as if the key to her future lay in this stranger’s response?
Finally after several long, agonizing minutes, the cheery digitized voice on her computer announced, “You’ve got mail.”
Morgan flung herself back into the chair and opened the letter.
All wariness had vanished from the sender’s earlier post.
Dear Morgan,
It sounds as if you have the same obsession with unique antiques as I. If you are willing to make your intriguing box available to me, then I’ll provide the amulet and we could open the box together. When would it be possible for us to meet? I live on the Mediterranean Sea in a small fishing village not far from Nice, but I am not in the best of health and unable to travel abroad. If you would consider a trip to France, you are welcome to stay at my villa. I would much enjoy a long chat with a kindred spirit.
Sincerely yours,
Henri Renouf
The hairs on Morgan’s forearm lifted and a chill chased up her spine. Could this guy be on the up-and-up? Did he really have access to the White Star? Or was he some weirdo who surfed the Net looking to lure unsuspecting women to France?
Morgan composed another post, telling him that she hoped he wouldn’t be offended by her inquiry, but a woman couldn’t be too cautious and she would require some reassurance that he was a legitimate dealer and that he had actually seen the White Star. She asked him to describe the amulet.
Minutes later his reply came back.
I appreciate your hesitation. It is only prudent in this electronic age to question the identity and motive of the person behind the post. I have been dealing in antiquities for many years and across many continents. My specialties are antique firearms, rare talismans with intriguing histories and unique North African objets d’art, which is how the White Star came into my possession. The amulet is very lovely. It is a five-pointed star made of the purest snow-white ivory and it is about the size of a petite woman’s palm, with a hollow center. However, anyone could know this if he or she had done the research, so let me suggest that you check my credentials. Perhaps that would convince you that I am genuine.
Morgan inhaled sharply. His description accurately matched the illustration of the White Star that she and Cass had stumbled across in the old French tome and then read about in an article in the New York Times when it had been stolen from the Stanhope auction house. The amulet had been recovered, but then it had been stolen from a museum, found again and was now currently missing from the evidence room at Sam’s precinct. She couldn’t help but wonder if Henri Renouf knew something about the thefts that he wasn’t telling.
Had he obtained the White Star through illegal means? It seemed likely. Yet everyone was innocent until proven guilty. Who was she to judge? She wanted to believe that he was a trustworthy man who’d gained access to the White Star honestly and that he was a legitimate collector, but she had to know for sure.
Quickly, she googled him and learned that yes, Henri Renouf was indeed a legitimate collector who had been in business for many, many years. She scoured the information that she downloaded, looking for anything incriminating, but found nothing alarming.
Still, did she dare trust him?
Throw caution to the wind for once in your life. Take a chance.
But she’d just done that by trying to seduce Adam, and look how miserably that impulse had played out.
Yes, but her gut had told her that going to the Grand Duchess was wrong. She had acted on Cass’s advice, not her own instinct. She had to ask herself this question: did she truly believe Renouf had the White Star?
In her mind’s eye she could see Egmath and Batu, meeting
