Destiny's Hand

But this wasn’t the time or the place. She had embarrassed them both enough for one day.

“Just what?” he asked, sounding impatient.

“We’ll talk later. Go back to your client.” She waved a wrist, trying not to let him see her eyes, trying not to reveal her fragility.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” There was real concern in his voice. “This is totally out of character for you.”

I know! she wanted to scream.

Didn’t he get it? That was the point. To step out of character. To be someone else, someone new, someone wild and adventuresome and sexy.

Adam took off his suit jacket and held it out to her. “Here, you can’t go walking around the city at night alone dressed like that.”

She slipped her arms through the jacket. He hadn’t criticized her, but the expression on his face seemed to say it all: I hope this behavior isn’t going to become a habit. I chose you as my wife because you’re calm and reliable and sensible. Don’t go pulling any purple rabbits out of a hat on me at this late date.

“Jacobbi’s waiting,” she said, her chest squeezing sorrowfully.

“You be careful going home.” He gave her a perfunctory kiss.

The brushing of his lips against her skin felt so damned brotherly she could barely stand it. Quickly she turned away, glad that she wasn’t the kind of woman who cried at the drop of a hat.

Her humiliation was quite complete enough without tears.

WHAT THE HELL HAD THAT been about?

Stunned by his restrained wife’s unexpected conduct, Adam slipped into the booth across from Robert Jacobbi. He was rattled, thrown off his game and fretful at the thought of Morgan taking the train home dressed in those high-heeled boots and skimpy clothes.

At least she had on his coat. He used the rationalization to placate his concern, but his gut torqued.

His gaze lingered on the exit where Morgan had just disappeared. He wished he’d handled things differently, wished he hadn’t been so worried that everyone in the bar was thinking that he had ordered himself up a high-class escort.

“I’ll have a scotch, no ice,” Jacobbi told the cocktail waitress who wandered over.

“Make that two,” Adam said.

He would have preferred mineral water. He didn’t drink much. He felt that alcohol clouded his concentration. And when he did imbibe, he preferred beer to hard liquor. But liquor was an elementary ingredient in the art of sealing a deal. Adam had learned to drink whatever his client was having whether he liked it or not.

“Your wife seems very nice,” Jacobbi said. “I liked her.”

“She is wonderful and she’s unlike any woman I’ve ever known. Understanding, patient.”

“And very sexy.”

“Yeah,” Adam smiled. “That, too.”

He thought of Morgan and his heart immediately warmed. Her features possessed plenty of character, with brown eyes too big for her face that underscored her natural curiosity about the world. Her bottom lip was full, but her top lip was so narrow it almost disappeared whenever she smiled, and he adored that sweet disappearing act.

But it was her chin that Adam loved most.

Small and rounded but prominent, and when Morgan hardened it, you could be sure you were in for a protracted argument. I might be all dainty and ladylike on the outside, but inside, I’m pure steel, her stubborn chin seemed to say.

Adam remembered the first time he laid eyes on her. He’d walked into his senior-level economics class in business school and there she’d been. Sitting in the first row, where he preferred to sit. The other students were talking and joking, waiting for class to begin. But Morgan sat perfectly still.

She was an island, untouched by the chaotic sea around her. Quiet, serene.

Her calm reserve had captured him immediately. Adam was not a particularly deep or spiritual person. He realized this about himself, and his rather surface approach to life didn’t bother him. In fact, the trait was an asset in his line of work. But something about Morgan caused a voice inside his head to whisper, Here it is, the thing you never even knew was missing.

He admired her neat and tidy methods. The way she preferred everything clean and organized. On the surface, she was very controlled, his Morgan, but underneath her composure, at times like tonight, he would catch a glimpse of her inner vixen.

“To be frank,” Jacobbi commented, “if she were my wife, willing to dress up like that for me, I’d be spending every night of the week with her. But then, I shouldn’t be talking about your wife that way. Excuse me. It’s none of my business what shape your marriage is in.”

“My marriage isn’t in bad shape,” Adam denied.

“No?”

Vehemently he shook his head. “No.”

“So why are you here with me instead of at home with her?”

“Because you asked for a late meeting.”

“Ever consider telling me to shove it and meet at a time that didn’t disrupt your family life?”

“Would you be my client if I did?”

“Maybe not. The point is that you have to make choices in this world, Shaw. And it’s clear you’ve chosen business over family. Nothing wrong with that. Just make no mistake—you’ll pay top dollar for your sacrifices.”

“Speaking from experience, Jacobbi?”

“I’m on wife number three, my kids won’t speak to me, but I’m a millionaire several times over. You figure it out.”

“Two scotches for the gentlemen,” the waitress said and settled their drinks in front of them.

Adam signed the drinks to his hotel room. Pensively he sipped from his glass. Was Jacobbi right? Was he paying too high of a price for success?

But I’m doing it for Morgan, so she can have her antique shop. For our home. For the kids we don’t yet have.

He looked across the table at the older man and suddenly flashed fifteen years in the future. Would he still be doing this job at Jacobbi’s age—accommodating big-fish clients by meeting them late at night, even when it wasn’t conducive to his home life, simply to make more money?

The thought unsettled him.

So do something about it.

Now?

Adam glanced around as if someone was watching him, gauging his response, critiquing his choices.

His heart urged him to make his excuses to Jacobbi, reschedule their meeting and go home to his wife. But he was so very close to being made vice president. If he pissed off Jacobbi, he could jeopardize the promotion he had been working his entire life to snag. If he was going to distinguish himself above the other VP candidates, he had to go above and beyond the call of duty, not wimp out at the last moment.

Not even for the sake of your marriage?

Come on. His marriage was fine. No matter what Jacobbi had said. Sure, maybe their sex life had slowed down over the years, but hell, he and Morgan had been married a decade. It was normal and natural for the excitement to wax and wane.

Yet no matter how much Adam tried to convince himself that things were perfectly fine at home, he couldn’t stop remembering the look in Morgan’s eyes when he’d asked her what she was doing there. He’d hurt her feelings, and that had not been his intention.

Should he stay or should he go?

“Let’s get down to business,” Jacobbi said, rubbing his palms together and launching into details about his plans for taking his company public.

The next thing Adam knew, he was caught up in the minutiae, talking shop. But in the back of his head he made a decision. He wouldn’t stay at the Grand Duchess tonight as he’d planned. Even if the meeting ran so late that he missed the last train out of the city, he would spring for taxi fare to Connecticut. One way or the other, he was going to make love to his wife tonight.

He was determined to prove to them both that their marriage was one hundred percent okay.

2

MORGAN ARRIVED HOME TO find the green light on the answering machine blinking provocatively. Could it be Adam calling to say that he’d changed his mind and was coming home tonight after all? Her heart cartwheeled with hope.

Please let it be him, she prayed.

Unzipping Cass’s slut-puppy boots, Morgan kicked them across the entryway floor. She stripped off the itchy red wig, tossed it onto the foyer table and ran her fingers through her damp hair. She still wore Adam’s jacket, the sleeves dangling past her fingertips.

While pulling up one sleeve, she reached over to press the play button on the machine. Blood drained from her legs and pooled throbbing into her toes. Whether from anticipation of the message on the machine or from spending several hours in those unaccustomed high-heeled boots, she did not know for sure, but probably it was a bit of both.

“Hello, Morgan, this is Sam Mason returning your call.”

Her hopes took a sucker punch.

Detective Sergeant Sam Mason was Cass’s new boyfriend. Down-to-earth Sam was good for her flighty baby sister, and for that fact alone Morgan adored him. It was the first serious relationship Cass had ever had, and whenever Morgan saw the two of them together, she couldn’t help longing for the kind of fire-blazing passion they shared.

“In answer to your inquiry, no, I’m afraid the White Star amulet is no longer in the possession of the NYPD,” Sam’s voice spun out into the room.

Morgan had telephoned Sam that afternoon, before heading over to the Grand Duchess, in response to information she had received the previous morning from an archaeologist named Cate Wells. Several months ago Morgan had found an intriguing antique box in the basement of her antique shop, along with an ancient French text about an amulet that had belonged to star-crossed lovers.

At first, Morgan had found the box merely intriguing, but as time passed and she unearthed bits and pieces of the legend, she had become obsessed with finding out the truth about the box, the book and the White Star amulet, which had been stolen last April from the Stanhope auction house.

Sam had been assigned to the case and that was how he’d gotten involved with her sister. Cass had taken the book to him when she and Morgan had realized the stolen amulet was the same one pictured in the book. Morgan had found the tome among the antiques she’d purchased in a lot along with her shop.

Pieces of the puzzle had slowly started to come together, revealing a fascinating legend of star-crossed lovers and the magical power of true love.

Cate Wells had taken photos of the box and then shown them to an expert in the field. He had confirmed the connection, speculating that indeed the star-shaped design on the box correlated with a star-shaped key.

It was in that moment it occurred to Morgan that the White Star amulet was probably the key that opened the box. The key, that last Morgan had heard, was locked up in the evidence room at the Thirty-ninth Precinct, where Sam worked.

“No one knows where the amulet is,” Sam’s taped message continued. “There’s an investigation under way, but it’s looking like a dirty cop took a bribe to steal it for someone else. That’s all I can tell you right now. The station is in an uproar.”

Darn it. Morgan sighed and swallowed her second big disappointment of the day. Another dead end.

Still, she wasn’t a quitter. Once she sank her teeth into something, she hung on until there was absolutely no possibility of victory.

She belonged to an online message board for antique dealers, and there was a thread about stolen antiquities. What would it hurt to make a few discreet inquiries? She’d already posted about the box once before when she was trying to learn precisely what it might be and who its previous owners could have been.

All she would have to do was leave a message saying she’d discovered that a very unique key opened the box. She would try dangling the box as bait for the person who now possessed the amulet.

It was a long shot and she knew it, but Morgan was glad to have something to focus on besides her failed seduction.

She stripped off her sexy clothes—which seemed particularly pathetic in light of what had not happened at the Grand Duchess—scrubbed the heavy makeup off her face and slipped into her favorite pair of silk pajamas. Feeling more like herself again, she poured herself a glass of wine, padded into her home office and booted up her computer.

Logging on to the message board took a few minutes. Then she spent a long while getting the wording of her e-mail just right before she was satisfied enough to post it to the group.

She signed the missive Curious in Connecticut and entered “Special Gem” in the subject line. Satisfied, she depressed the send button, leaned back in her plush leather chair and took a long sip of Pinot Grigio. The slightly sweet liquid flowed warmly through her body, easing her tension.

A few minutes later her post popped up on the message board.

“It’ll probably be months before I get a response,” she muttered gloomily.

She searched through other threads, looking for posts of interest, but found nothing related to ancient amulets or long-lost boxes. Melancholy weighted her shoulders. She wrapped her sadness around her like a cloak, drank it in with the wine until her body pulsed, encompassed by the feeling.

Here it was again, the blue funk that whispered darkly to her in moments of doubt and shame. These feelings did not express who she thought she should be. What was wrong with her? She adored her husband. Why this desperate wish for something deeper?

Why? Because while she had transformed herself from an overworked, overachiever into a woman who was finally satisfied with her own life, it tortured her not to be able to share her personal growth with Adam. She wanted him to join her on this exciting path of liberation. She wanted him to understand how much more fulfilled he could be if he would just slow down and reconnect with the world around him. She longed for a more spiritual bond between them.

Picking up the box that she kept displayed on her desk, she studied it carefully as she had every day since she’d found it.

Intricate hand-carved symbols and designs that looked as if they could be some kind of hieroglyphics whiskered the box made from bubinga wood and darkened with age. The faint fragrance of some rich, exotic spice emanated from it. Morgan traced her fingers across the lid, over elaborate grooves where the expert archaeologist had said was the likely place to open the box with a star-shaped key.

Now that she had learned fresh details about the legend, she was even more fascinated than before. Between translating the old French tome with her new language skills and talking to experts in several disciplines, she had slowly pieced together the legend of the star-crossed lovers.

Three thousand years ago, in a now-vanished desert kingdom, Egmath and Batu had secretly been meeting every evening under the midnight stars near a grove of cypress trees. They shared their dreams, ambitions, lives and eventually their real feelings for one another. Theirs was a pure love, a true love. But alas, it could never be. In accordance with ancient custom, the kingdom’s bravest warrior, Egmath, was chosen to marry Batu’s older sister, Princess Anan, who had become queen.

Egmath spent the evening before his wedding to Anan with his beloved Batu, when she presented him with an amulet she had secretly commissioned. It was made of ivory and fashioned in the shape of a five-pointed star with a hollowed-out center.

With the amulet tightly pressed between their entwined hands, Egmath and Batu vowed their everlasting love to each other. That night, beneath the magic of the moon and the optimism of the stars, Egmath and Batu made love for the first and only time. The amulet blazed brightly. According to the fable, it now held the power of true love for whoever possessed it and was pure of heart.

The story was so sad. Soul mates destined to be together but torn asunder by their culture’s tradition and Egmath’s sense of honor.

Wasn’t that just like a man? Placing duty over love. Morgan snorted.

And poor Anan? What about her? Hadn’t the woman deserved a man who loved her the way that Egmath had loved Batu?

If Morgan closed her eyes, she could see Anan in her marriage, believing it was solid, knowing that she had a good man in Egmath. But somewhere in the back of her mind, as Anan went about her royal duties, she was bound to have nagging doubts. She was certain to realize the connection between 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 clandestinely in the cypress grove, their love for each other eternal and pure. The story that had held her spellbound for months would not let go of her.

She couldn’t help comparing the legendary lovers to her relationship. Morgan sighed with longing and cast her mind back to her courtship days with Adam.

They’d been in a study group together in college and after the group ended they just kept meeting for coffee every Thursday night. She liked him from the very beginning, their eyes meeting across the table, their smiles lingering on each other. They’d gotten the best grades in the class. Two high achievers in a mutual admiration society.

Their goals had been so closely aligned back then, their values so similar it was little wonder that they got along so well. It was breezy being with him, light and fun and hopeful. When he asked her to the symphony to hear her favorite composer she’d eagerly accepted his invitation. It turned out that they liked the same music, read the same books and enjoyed the same kind of movies.