Bailey made a strangled sound, easily covered by Cade’s quick chatter as he all but shoved Ronald out of the work area.
“Sister-in-law?” Bailey managed.
“I had to tell them something.” All innocence, Cade spread his hands. “They’ve been campaigning to get me married off again since the ink was dry on my divorce decree. And you being royalty, so to speak, puts you several societal steps up from the women they’ve been pushing on me.”
“Poor Cade. Having women shoved at him right and left.”
“I’ve suffered.” Because there were dangerous glints in her eyes, he tried his best smile. “You have no idea how I’ve suffered. Hold me.”
She slapped his hand away. “Is this all a big joke to you?”
“No, but that part of it was fun.” He figured his hands would be safer in his pockets. “I guarantee my sister’s been burning up the phone lines since I talked to her this morning. And now that Ronald’s got a load of you—”
“You lied to your family.”
“Yeah. Sometimes it’s fun. Sometimes it’s just necessary for survival.” He angled his head. “You slipped right into the stream, sweetheart. That accent was a nice touch.”
“I got caught up, and I’m not proud of it.”
“You might make a good operative. Let me tell you, lying quick and lying well is one of the top requirements of the job.”
“And the end justifies the means?”
“Pretty much.” It was starting to irritate him, the disapproving ice in her voice. He had the feeling Bailey wasn’t nearly as comfortable in gray areas as he was. “We’re in, aren’t we? And Ronald and Muffy are going to have a rousing success with their little party. So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like it.” A lie, the simple fact of a lie, made her miserably uncomfortable. “One lie just leads to another.”
“And enough of them sometimes lead to the truth.” He took her bag, opened it and pulled out the velvet pouch, slid the diamond into his hand. “You want the truth, Bailey? Or do you just want honesty?”
“It doesn’t seem like there should be a difference.” But she took the stone from him. “All right, as you said, we’re here. What do you want me to do?”
“Make sure it’s real.”
“Of course it’s real,” she said impatiently. “I know it’s real.”
He merely arched a brow. “Prove it.”
With a huffing breath, she turned and headed for a microscope. She employed the dark-field illuminator, adjusting the focus on the binocular microscope with instinctive efficiency.
“Beautiful,” she said after a moment, with a tint of reverence in her voice. “Just beautiful.”
“What do you see?”
“The interior of the stone. There’s no doubt it’s of natural origin. The inclusions are characteristic.”
“Let’s see.” He nudged her aside, bent to the microscope himself. “Could be anything.”
“No, no. There are no air bubbles. There would be if it was paste, or strass. And the inclusions.”
“Doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s blue, and blue means sapphire.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, sapphire is corundum. Do you think I can’t tell the difference between carbon and corundum?” She snatched up the stone and marched to another instrument. “This is a polariscope. It tests whether a gem is singly or doubly refracting. As I’ve already told you, sapphires are doubly refracting, diamonds singly.”
She went about her work, muttering to herself, putting her glasses on when she needed them, slipping the eyepiece into the V of her blouse when she didn’t. Every move competent, habitual, precise.
Cade tucked his hands in his back pockets, rocked back on his heels and watched.
“Here, the refractometer,” she mumbled. “Any idiot can see the refractive index of this stone says diamond, not sapphire.” She turned, holding up the stone. “This is a blue diamond, brilliant-cut, weighing 102.6 carats.”
“All you need’s a lab coat,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“You work with this stuff, Bailey. I thought it might be a hobby, but you’re too precise, too comfortable. And too easily annoyed when questioned. So my conclusions are that you work with stones, with gems. This type of equipment is as familiar to you as a coffee maker. It’s just part of your life.”
She lowered her hand and eased herself back onto a stool. “You didn’t do all this, go to all this trouble, so we could identify the diamond, did you?”
“Let’s just say that was a secondary benefit. Now we have to figure whether you’re in the gem or jewelry trade. That’s how you got your hands on this.” He took the diamond from her, studied it. “And this isn’t the kind of thing you see for sale at Westlake or any other jeweler. It’s the kind of thing you find in a private collection, or a museum. We’ve got a really fine museum right here in town. It’s called the Smithsonian.” He lowered the stone. “You may have heard of it.”
“You think…I took it out of the Smithsonian?”
“I think someone there might have heard of it.” He slipped the priceless gem casually into his pocket. “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. They’ll be closed. No, hell, Tuesday.” He hissed between his teeth. “Tomorrow’s the Fourth, and Monday’s a holiday.”
“What should we do until Tuesday?”
“We can start with phone books. I wonder how many gemologists are in the greater metropolitan area?”
The reading glasses meant she could pore through all the books without risking a headache. And pore through them she did. It was, Bailey thought, something like rereading well-loved fairy tales. It was all familiar ground, but she enjoyed traveling over it again.
She read about the history of intaglio cutting in Mesopotamia, the gems of the Hellenistic period. Florentine engravings.
She read of famous diamonds. Of the Vargas, the Jonker, the Great Mogul, which had disappeared centuries before. Of Marie Antoinette and the diamond necklace some said had cost her her head.
She read technical explanations on gem cutting, on identification, on optical properties and formations.
They were all perfectly clear to her, and as smooth as the carnelian tumble stone she worried between her fingers.
How could it be, she wondered, that she remembered rocks and not people? She could easily identify and discuss the properties of hundreds of crystals and gems. But there was only one single person in the entire world she knew.
And even that wasn’t herself.
She only knew Cade. Cade Parris, with his quick, often confusing mind. Cade, with his gentle, patient hands and gorgeous green eyes. Eyes that looked at her as though she could be the focus of his world.
Yet his world was so huge compared to hers. His was populated by people, and memories, places he’d been, things he’d done, moments he’d shared with others.
The huge blank screen that was her past taunted her.
What people did she know, whom had she loved or hated? Had anyone ever loved her? Whom had she hurt or been hurt by? And where had she been, what had she done?
Was