Captive Star: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

“If you want my help,” he said, as if reading her mind, “then I need facts, details and names.”

“I’m not giving you names.” She shook her head slowly. “That’s out until I talk to the other people involved. And as for facts and details, I don’t have many.”

“Give me what you do have.”

She studied him again. No, she didn’t trust him, not nearly as far as she could throw him. If she ever got the opportunity. But she had to start somewhere. “Unlock me.”

He shook his head. “Let’s just leave things as they are for the moment.” But he rose, walked over and shut off the television. “Where’d you get the stone, M.J.?”

She hesitated another instant. Trust wasn’t the issue, she decided. He might help, if in no other way than just by providing her with a sounding board. “A friend sent it to me. Overnight courier. I just got it yesterday.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Originally from Asia Minor, I believe.” She shrugged off his hiss of annoyance. “I’m not telling you where it was sent from, but I will tell you there had to be a good reason. My friend’s too honest to steal a handshake. All I know is it was sent, with a note that said for me to keep it with me at all times, and not to tell anyone until my friend had a chance to explain.”

Abruptly she pressed a hand to her stomach and the arrogance died out of her voice. “My friend’s in trouble. It’s got to be terrible trouble. I have to call.”

“No calls.”

“Look, Jack—”

“No calls,” he repeated. “Whoever’s after you might be after your pal. His phone could be tapped, which would lead them back to you. Which leads them to me, so no calls. Now how did your honest friend happen to get his hands on a blue diamond that makes the Hope look like a prize in a box of Cracker Jack?”

“In a perfectly legitimate manner.” Stalling, she combed her fingers through her hair. He thought her friend was male—why not leave it that way?

“Look, I’m not getting into all of that. All I’m going to tell you is he was supposed to have his hands on it. Look, let me tell you about the stone. It’s one of three. At one time they were part of an altar set up to an ancient Roman god. Mithraism was one of the major religions of the Roman Empire—”

“The Three Stars of Mithra,” he murmured, and had her eyeing him first in shock, then with suspicion.

“How do you know about the Three Stars?”

“I read about them in the dentist’s office,” he murmured. Now, when he picked up the stone, it wasn’t simply with admiration, it was with awe. “It was supposed to be a myth. The Three Stars, set in the golden triangle and held in the hands of the god of light.”

“It’s not a myth,” M.J. told him. “The Smithsonian acquired the Stars through a contact in Europe just a couple months ago. My friend said the museum wanted to keep the acquisition quiet until the diamonds were verified.”

“And assessed,” he thought aloud. “Insured and under tight security.”

“They were supposed to be under security,” M.J. told him, and he answered with a soft laugh.

“Doesn’t look like it worked, does it? The diamonds represent love, knowledge and generosity.” His eyes narrowed as he contemplated the ancient stone. “I wonder which this one is?”

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