The Stars of Mithra: Hidden Star

Some of this emptiness within her would be filled now, some of those undefinable needs met.

Sighing, she rolled to her back and stared up at the ceiling. But he’d been right to stop. She had to think.

She closed her eyes, not to seek sleep but to welcome memory. Who were the women she’d dreamed of? And where were they now? Despite herself she drifted off.

Cade woke the next morning stiff as a board. Bones popped as he stretched. He rubbed his hands over his face, and his palms made scratching sounds against the stubble. The moment his eyes cleared, he looked across the room. The couch was empty.

He might have thought he’d dreamed her, if not for the books and papers heaped all over the floor. The whole thing seemed like a dream—the beautiful, troubled woman with no past, walking into his life and his heart at the same time. In the morning light, he wondered how much he’d romanticized it, this connection he felt with her. Love at first sight was a romantic notion under the best of circumstances.

And these were hardly the best.

She didn’t need him mooning over her, he reminded himself. She needed his mind to be clear. Daydreaming about the way she’d wrapped herself around him and asked him to make love with her simply wasn’t conducive to logical thinking.

He needed coffee.

He rose and trying to roll the crick out of his neck, headed for the kitchen.

And there she was, pretty as a picture and neat as a pin. Her hair was smooth, brushed to a golden luster and pulled back with a simple rubber band. She was wearing the navy-and-white striped slacks he’d bought her, with a white camp shirt tucked into the waist. With one hand resting on the counter, the other holding a steaming mug, she was staring out the window at his backyard where a rope hammock hung between twin maples and roses bloomed.

“You’re an early riser.”

Her hand shook in startled reaction to his voice, and then she turned, worked up a smile. Her heart continued to thud just a little too fast when she saw him, rumpled from sleep. “I made coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Sweetheart, I owe you my life.” He said in heartfelt tones as he reached for a mug.

“It seems I know how to make it. Apparently some things just come naturally. I didn’t even have to think about it. It’s a little strong. I must like it strong.”

He was already downing it, reveling in the way it seared his mouth and jolted his system. “Perfect.”

“Good. I didn’t know if I should wake you. I wasn’t sure what time you leave for your office, or how much time you’d need.”

“It’s Saturday, and the long holiday weekend.”

“Holiday?”

“Fourth of July.” While the caffeine pumped through his system, he topped off his mug. “Fireworks, potato salad, marching bands.”

“Oh.” She had a flash of a little girl sitting on a woman’s lap as lights exploded in the night sky. “Of course. You’ll be taking the weekend off. You must have plans.”

“Yeah, I got plans. I plan for us to toddle into the office about midmorning. I can show you the ropes. Won’t be able to do much legwork today, with everything shut down, but we can start putting things in order.”

“I don’t want you to give up your weekend. I’d be happy to go in and straighten up your office, and you could—”

“Bailey. I’m in this with you.”

She set her mug down, linked her hands.

“Why?”

“Because it feels right to me. The way I see it, what you can’t figure out in your head, you do on instinct.” Those sea-mist eyes roamed over her face, then met hers. “I like to think there’s a reason you picked me. For both of us.”

“I’m surprised you can say that, after the way I acted last evening. For all we know, I go out cruising bars every night and pick up strange men.”

He chuckled into his mug. Better to laugh, he’d decided, than to groan. “Bailey, the way a single glass of wine affects you, I doubt you spent much time in bars. I’ve never seen anyone get bombed quite that fast.”

“I don’t think that’s anything to be proud of.” Her voice had turned stiff and cool, and it made him want to grin again.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of either. And you didn’t pick a strange man, you picked me.” The amusement in his eyes flicked off. “We both know it was personal, with or without the alcohol.”

“Then why didn’t you…take advantage?”

“Because that’s just what it would have been. I don’t mind having the advantage, but I’m not interested in taking it. Want breakfast?”

She shook her head, waited until he’d gotten out a box of cereal and a bowl. “I appreciate your restraint.”

“Do you?”

“Not entirely.”

“Good.” He felt the muscles of his ego expand and flex as he got milk out of the refrigerator. He poured it on, then added enough sugar to have Bailey’s eyes widening.

“That can’t be healthy.”

“I live for risk.” He ate standing up. “Later I thought we’d drive downtown, walk around with the tourists. You may see something that jogs your memory.”

“All right.” She hesitated, then took a chair. “I don’t know anything about your work, really, your usual clientele. But it seems to me you’re taking all of this completely in stride.”

“I love a mystery.” Then he shrugged and shoveled in more cereal. “You’re my first amnesia case, if that’s what you mean. My usual is insurance fraud and domestic work. It has its moments.”

“Have you been an investigator very long?”

“Four years. Five, if you count the year I trained as an operative with Guardian. They’re a big security firm here in D.C. Real suit-and-tie stuff. I like working on my own better.”

“Have you ever…had to shoot at someone?”

“No. Too bad, really, because I’m a damn good shot.” He caught her gnawing her lip and shook his head. “Relax, Bailey. Cops and P.I.s catch the bad guys all the time without drawing their weapon. I’ve taken a few punches, given a few, but mostly it’s just legwork, repetition and making calls. Your problem’s just another puzzle. It’s just a matter of finding all the pieces and fitting them together.”

She hoped he was right, hoped it could be just that simple, that ordinary, that logical. “I had another dream. There were two women. I knew them, I’m sure of it.” When he pulled out a chair and sat across from her, she told him what she remembered.

“It sounds like you were in the desert,” he said when she fell silent. “Arizona, maybe New Mexico.”

“I don’t know. But I wasn’t afraid. I was happy, really happy. Until the storm came.”

“There were three stones, you’re sure of that?”

“Yes, almost identical, but not quite. I had them, and they were so beautiful, so extraordinary. But I couldn’t keep them together. That was very important.” She sighed. “I don’t know how much was real and how much was jumbled and symbolic, the way dreams are.”

“If one stone’s real, there may be two more.” He took her hand. “If one woman’s real, there may be two more. We just have to find them.”