Diamonds Can Be Deadly (12 page)

“We have.”

The negotiations must have gone well, Jordan thought, observing the three men closely. Bartholomew looked like a cat that just lapped up a whole bowl of cream. Garcia had a spring to his step. Even the dour Myers wore a smile. She was filing the information away for a later report, when Garcia's inquiring glance settled on TJ.

“I don't believe we've met.”

“Thomas Jackson Scott. I'm chief of security here at the Tranquility Institute.”

“TJ recently joined our staff.” Bartholomew clapped a hand on his employee's shoulder. “In the few weeks he's been with us, he's upgraded our physical security and put all kinds of new procedures in place.”

“How fortunate you found someone so skilled.”

“Yes, it was.” Genial and expansive, Bartholomew played the gracious host for his Colombian guest. “I hope you'll stay at the institute for a few days to rest after your long flight.”

Garcia declined with seemingly real regret. “As much as I would love to, I'm afraid Luis and I must depart immediately. I'm delivering another shipment to a dealer in Hong Kong. Duncan's suggestion that we stop in Hawaii en route was most fortuitous.”

“For both of us,” Bartholomew concurred. “And for you, Jordan. Alejandro called his superiors from my office. They agreed to your price.”

Big surprise there, she thought cynically. They probably would have agreed to half of what she'd offered just to keep their good buddy Bartholomew happy.

Garcia took her hand in both of his to seal the deal. “May I say it is a pleasure doing business with such a beautiful woman? You must visit the Muzo mine sometime to see the source of your stones.”

“I'd like that. I toured the diamond mines in Brazil and found the trip very instructive. When do you return from Hong Kong? Perhaps I could detour to Colombia on my way back to New York.”

Her quick acceptance of the invitation provoked widely different reactions from the five men. Bartholomew beamed in approval. Myers frowned, as though he suspected her of trying to work a better deal on the side. Esteban, standing a little behind the others, telegraphed a quick, silent warning. TJ's expression remained neutral, but Jordan sensed his subtle tension when Garcia extracted a business card and pressed it into her hand.

“We spend only one night in Hong Kong. If you could fly into Bogotá on Friday, I would be most happy to take you up to the mine.”

That would give Jordan two more days to snoop around the institute. If she didn't uncover a link between Greene and his suspected involvement in money laundering at this end, maybe she'd have more luck at the other.

“Friday works for me. Assuming Bartholomew
doesn't mind me hanging around here for a few more days.”

Her host rushed to reassure her on that point. “After what you did for young Davy this morning, you're more than welcome to remain as my guest for as long as you like. Now I think we should all celebrate the latest addition to my private collection. Surely you have time for a drink before you leave, Alejandro.”

“But of course.”

“Jordan, Luis, TJ…will you join us?”

Bartholomew led the way back inside, Myers and Garcia with him. Jordan started to follow, only to find her egress blocked by Luis Esteban. His eyes hot and fierce, he leaned in close.

“Stay away from the Muzo mine,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent. “It's too dangerous. And tell Claire she is not to run that intercept!”

“T
hat's all he said? I'm not to run the intercept?”

Swinging between amusement and annoyance, Claire keyed up the volume on the speaker. Diamond's face filled the wall-size screen on the opposite wall, beamed into OMEGA's control center by the miniaturized camera embedded in her laptop.

“That's all he said,” Diamond confirmed. “He departed the institute with Garcia right after that, so I didn't get a chance to determine whether the order was directed to you as an operative or—” she paused, her nose wrinkling “—as his woman.”

The comment provoked an exasperated huff from Claire. That pretty well summed up her long-stand
ing, if tenuous, relationship with Colonel Luis Esteban. Steeped in traditional values, the Latin American kept trying to separate the woman from the agent. One he wanted to adore and cherish. The other he felt obligated to protect. He had yet to accept that Claire felt supremely comfortable in both skins and required neither adoration nor protection.

“I suspect it was the latter,” Claire said. “Luis tends toward the center on the IAS scale.”

“And that is?”

“A measurement of psychological inertia, activation and stability.”

“I'll take your word for that. Are you sure you have time to make it to L.A.?”

Claire glanced at the bank of clocks above the screen. It was 8:10 p.m. D.C. time, 3:10 p.m. in Hawaii.

McShay had booked a first-class seat on the turnaround of the same flight Garcia and Luis had arrived on. After some fast, behind-the-scenes maneuvering between OMEGA, the FAA and the parent airline, the aircraft had experienced a “mechanical delay” and departed Hawaii just moments ago.

Factoring the time zone changes and flying time into the equation, Claire had almost four hours to get outfitted, jump into the slick little air force jet standing by for her and make the intercept in L.A. She could do it. If she hustled.

“I'll make it, Diamond. Rigger will act as your controller while I'm in the field.”

The lanky Oklahoman whose code name stemmed from his early years in the oil fields moved into the camera's angle. “I've got you, Diamond. You're in good hands.”

“I'll touch base with you after I make contact with McShay,” Claire advised.

“Roger that.”

Jordan paused again. The ultra-high-definition camera picked up the faint wrinkle in her brow as she issued a friendly warning.

“Luis wasn't just firing for effect. Be careful out there, Cyrene.”

“The same goes for you.”

Regret tugged at Claire as she relinquished control to Rigger. Jordan was a friend as well as a fellow agent. She hated to pass her off in the middle of an operation, but a steady sense of purpose outweighed that reluctance. She was eminently well qualified to run this intercept, both personally and professionally.

Claire knew firsthand the devastation of losing a spouse. Her husband's brutal murder had occurred years ago, long before OMEGA recruited her, but the pain was still there, buried just under her breastbone. Looking back, she could remember the emotions that had wracked her.

She'd learned to deal with her shock and anger and bouts of depression. And the loneliness. The horrible, wrenching loneliness. To help her through those awful years, she'd turned her trained psychol
ogist's mind to the process of grieving itself. The insights she'd acquired hadn't erased the pain but did allow her to put her emotions into a framework she could understand and accept.

From the information she'd gathered on Harry McShay, the computer magnate hadn't achieved either understanding or acceptance. Getting close to him would require patience and skill. Claire possessed both.

Thankfully she'd packed a change of clothes before assuming her duties as Diamond's controller. Jeans and a cotton cable-knit sweater were fine for long hours at the control desk, monitoring a field agent's activities and compiling information on request. This particular activity required something more sophisticated.

The ice-blue pantsuit was a fine merino wool, perfect for what had turned into a blustery April evening. The color complemented her pale blond hair. Tossing a Burberry raincoat lined with the new, fashionable pink plaid over her arm, she headed for the elevator that would whisk her down to Technical Ops. Mackenzie had come in to outfit Claire personally for this mission. While his wife did her thing, Nick waited in his office on the ground floor of the town house for a final outbrief.

* * *

Mackenzie inserted a thin, flat disk into the shoulder strap of Claire's purse.

“This is the absolute latest in flat-screen digital
imaging. You won't believe the resolution on the pictures this baby picks up. The sound's not bad, either.”

Mac was at her computer, programming the disk, when the Tech Ops door whooshed open and a windblown Maggie Sinclair rushed in.

“Good! I caught you.”

The agent known as Chameleon thrust a hand through her tangled chestnut hair. The years Maggie had spent in the field and at head of OMEGA sat as easily on her as did marriage and motherhood. Her brown eyes sparkled, her skin glowed and the tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes only added character to an already arresting face.

“I know you've only got a few minutes,” she said with a smile that included both Claire and Mackenzie. “So do I. Nick agreed to stand guard over my tribe while I zipped up to talk to you.”

“You brought the girls and the baby?”

“The girls are with Adam for a father-daughter night at the theater. I brought the baby and the animals. We're on our way back from the vet. Don't ask,” she warned with a rueful grimace.

“Oh, Lord!”

That came from Mackenzie, who regularly babysat for Maggie's rapidly expanding brood. Claire merely shuddered. She could only imagine the chaos downstairs as Nick tried to control the lively two-year-old Maggie had birthed right there in her old office, the monstrous Hungarian sheepdog she'd in
herited from the vice president and the diabolical, purple-and-orange-striped iguana she'd acquired during a mission in Central America.

The iguana had been a gift from Luis Esteban, the man who was now apparently very much on Chameleon's mind.

“I've been thinking about Luis since you called a while ago,” she said, hitching a hip on the corner of Mackenzie's desk. “I worked with him in Cartoza. You worked with him in San Antonio. You've also kept him on a pretty long leash since then.”

“He's not ready for a short one,” Claire said calmly.

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Luis and his amours. This woman, this Maria Fuentes. You checked her out?”

“I did. As Luis said, they studied at a university in Barcelona together. Indications are they also engaged in a torrid affair that lasted for several years afterward.”

“So torrid he would risk his life to avenge hers?”

Claire had been asking herself the same thing for the past few hours. Had Luis told Jordan the truth? Or had he gone over to the enemy?

Her years as a psychologist, trained to ask rather than answer, prompted her to turn the question around. “What do you think? You've known him longer than I have, Maggie. He makes no secret of the fact that he carried a torch for you for years.”

“Until he met you.”

“The flame still flickers every once in a while,” Claire returned with a smile. Luis's past loves didn't threaten her. They'd shaped him into the man he now was, just as her love for her husband had shaped her.

“Yes, well, I think that may be the crux of the matter.”

Maggie swung her leg encased in denim. The jeans were spotted with something that looked suspiciously like iguana spit to Claire. She'd had one or two encounters with the repulsive creature herself.

“Luis is hardly the gentle, sensitive type. If he loved this woman—if he loved
any
woman—he'd consider it his sworn duty to avenge a wrong done to her no matter how long it took or what danger it involved.”

Mackenzie emitted a snort. “Ha! You've just described every male in OMEGA.”

“True,” Maggie conceded, laughing. “So true! We wouldn't have them any other way, the big lugs.”

“Speaking of big lugs…” Mackenzie handed Claire back her shoulder bag. “What's the story on this DEA agent Jordan's working with? Nick says they have a history.”

Claire's natural reticence and respect for a fellow agent's privacy battled with her close kinship with these women. She settled for a shrug and half answer.

“I suspect Jordan and Scott may also have some
thing of a present. Look, I've got to get down and talk to Nick, then head out to the airport. He can fill you in on how Jordan's handling this TJ Scott.”

* * *

If someone had asked her several hours later, Jordan would have said TJ wasn't handling well at all.

He'd bent her ear for a good hour after Garcia and Esteban departed. He was still torqued over the scene on the veranda, but more concerned about the risks associated with her proposed trip to Colombia. Now he'd appeared uninvited at her cottage to reiterate his objections.

“We have a man at Muzo, working undercover with Colombian moles.” He paced the sitting room, edgy and impatient. “You don't need to go in.”

Jordan hooked a heel on the chintz cushion and wrapped her arms around her upraised knee. Her sleeveless peach blouse and linen slacks were hopelessly wrinkled after the long day, but TJ hadn't given her time to change before showing up at her bungalow. Drawing on her rapidly diminishing store of patience, she shrugged.

“I won't step on any DEA toes while I'm in Colombia.”

“Dammit, Jordan, this isn't about protecting turf. This is about a valley that's so inaccessible you have to drive up to twelve thousand feet and plunge straight down again on a narrow road carved out of sheer rock, dodging guerrillas and bandits the whole
way. They've ambushed convoys consisting of more than fifty armed vehicles.”

“You've made the trip?”

“No, I haven't.” Frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair. “But I've talked to others who have and they say it's not an excursion for the faint of heart.”

“In case you haven't noticed, Scott, I'm not faint of anything.”

That fired him up again. His neck reddening above the collar of his shirt, he didn't hold back.

“I've noticed, all right. I've also noticed you're stubborn as hell and as much of a cowboy as your friend, the colonel. You pull another stunt like the one this afternoon, when you deliberately put yourself in harm's way and we'll renegotiate this so-called partnership real fast.”

Jordan swallowed a sigh. She was going into Muzo. End of story. She certainly didn't intend to spend the next two days arguing about it. Nor did she intend to waste those two days twiddling her thumbs.

A quick check of her watch told her Claire should make contact with McShay at any moment. Hopefully, the widower would prove the link between Greene and the large-scale money transactions he was suspected of facilitating. In the meantime, Jordan was feeling as antsy and restless as TJ.

Her foot hit the floor. Uncurling, she pushed off the sofa. “I know you're spoiling for a fight. Sorry.
I'm not giving you one. Not tonight. But I do have a suggestion on how we could burn up some of our energy.”

His chin jerked up. The air around him took on an electric charge. When he closed the short distance between them and tunneled a hand under her hair, Jordan realized he'd seriously misinterpreted her comment.

“Whoa! I'm not talking about another romp.”

“Maybe you're not. I am.”

Obviously. She could see the heat flaring in his eyes, feel the tension in the body so close to hers. An answering need slammed into Jordan, so swift and all consuming she lost her bearings for a few moments. All she could think of, all she could imagine, were TJ's mouth and hands roaming her bare flesh.

“We said we weren't going to do this, remember?” To her disgust, her words spilled out fast and breathless. “Even though last night was just sex, we said—”

“It wasn't just sex.”

“What was it, then?”

“Damned if I know.” His hand tightened on her nape. “I can tell you this much, Red. I tried to get you out of my head three years ago and never quite succeeded. You were always there, at the back of my mind. Along with regret and a whole heap of guilt for dragging you into that mess. After last night, the guilt's pretty much gone, and I've decided I can live with the regret.”

“So what's the problem?”

“I can't figure out which was worse. Wanting you then, knowing I couldn't have you, or wanting you now and not knowing how to make it right this time.”

She'd been burned once. Caution dictated that she take it slow and careful this round.

“Why don't we try a phased approach? See what feels right, what doesn't?”

“Starting when?”

“Starting now. This is phase one.”

Lifting her hands, she framed TJ's face. His cheeks bristled with an after-five shadow. Beneath the whiskers, his skin warmed her palms.

“Just follow my lead.”

Rising onto the balls of her feet, she brought her mouth to his. The feel of him, the taste and scent and smooth, slick warmth of him, quivered through her.

She took her time. She wanted this to be slow and tantalizing and delicious, unlike the frenzy that had gripped them last night—and every other time they'd come together, now that she thought about it.

She got what she wanted. TJ rested his hands lightly on her hips and let her explore his mouth with hers. Her teeth scraped his lower lip, nipping gently. Her tongue teased the velvety warmth beyond.

Remembering what one kiss had led to last night, Jordan conducted a fierce, silent debate. She wanted more. Just a little more.

Drawing back, she tested the waters. “Don't take
this the wrong way, okay? I'm not suggesting we jump a couple of steps. But how would you feel about a little body contact during this phase?”