Captive Star by Nora Roberts Page B

depth of his sense of insult had gone farther toward gaining her trust than any promise or oath could have. "No. It wouldn't stop me, but no."
    She stepped toward him, stopping only when they were within an armspan. "My friend's name is Bailey James. She's a gemologist."
    He recognized the name from the doctored paperwork. But the pronoun was the most vital piece of information to him. "She?"
    "Yes, she. We went to college together, we roomed together. One of the reasons I located in D.C. was because of Bailey, and Grace. She was our other roommate.
    They're the closest friends I have, ever have had. I'm afraid for them, and I need your help."
    "Bailey's the one who sent you the stone?"
    "Yes, and she wouldn't have done it without good reason. I think she may have sent the third one to Grace. It would be Bailey's kind of logic. She does a lot of consulting work for the Smithsonian."
    Suddenly tired, M.J. rubbed her gritty eyes. "I haven't seen her since Wednesday evening. We were supposed to get together tonight at the pub. I put a note under her door to check the time with her. I work a lot of nights, she works days, so even though we live right across the hall from each other, we pass a lot of notes under the door. And lately, since she got the job working on the Three Stars for the Smithsonian, she's been putting in a lot of overtime. I didn't think anything of it when I didn't see her for a couple days."
    "And Friday you got the package."
    "Yes. I called her at work right away, but I only got the service. They'd closed until Tuesday. I'd forgotten she'd told me they were closing down for the long weekend, but that she'd probably work through it. I went by, but the place was locked up. I called Grace, got her machine. By that time, I was annoyed with both of them. I figured I just was going to have to assume Bailey had her reasons and would let me know. So I went to work. I just went on to work."
    "There's no use beating yourself up about that. You didn't have much choice."
    "I have a key to her place. I could have used it. We've got this privacy arrangement, which is why we pass notes. I didn't use the key out of habit." She shuddered out a breath. "But she didn't answer the phone now, when I called from outside that bar, and it was two o'clock in the morning. Bailey's arrow-straight, she's not out at 2:00 a.m., but she didn't answer the phone. And I'm afraid… What they did to that man… I'm afraid for her."
    He put his hands on her shoulders, and this time they were gentle. "There's only one thing to do." Because he thought she might need it, he pressed a kiss to her brow. "We'll check it out."
    She let out her breath on a shuddering sigh. "Thanks."
    "But this time you have to trust me."

    "This time I will."
    He opened the door, waited for her to get in. "The other friend you were talking about, the he?"
    She pushed her hair back, looked up. "There is no he."
    So he leaned down, captured her mouth with his in one long, searing kiss.
    "There's going to be."
    He took a chance, went back to Union Station first. They'd be looking for his car, true enough, but he was banking on the moldy gray of the Olds, with its scarred vinyl top, blending in.
    And he intended to be quick.
    Bus and train stations were all very much the same in the middle of the night, he thought. The people curled in chairs or stretched out in blankets weren't all waiting for transportation. Some of them just had nowhere else to go.
    "Keep moving," he told M.J. "And keep sharp. I don't want to get cornered in here."
    She wondered, as she matched her pace to his, why such places smelled of despair in the early hours. There was none of the excitement, the bustle, the anticipation of goings and comings, so evident during the daylight hours. Those who traveled at night, or looked for a dry corner to sleep, were usually running low on hope.
    "You said we were going to check on Bailey."
    "Soon as I'm done with this." He headed straight for the storage lockers,