Diamonds Can Be Deadly (14 page)

“We don't know. The agent tailing Cyrene and the target took Herrera out. He also took out the vehicle and everything in it. The techies are shifting through the ashes now, but initial indications are the trunk contained upwards of a quarter million in U.S. dollars.”

So Jordan's gut feeling about McShay had proved right. The man
had
left the Tranquility Institute with more than meditation on his mind. The knowledge didn't give her any particular satisfaction. Especially since they still hadn't made the link directly back to Greene.

“You're sure Cyrene's okay?”

“She's pissed at the way things went down, but okay. She said to tell you she's going to stay in California and work the connection between McShay and Herrera.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope, that's it.”

“Keep me posted on those sifting ashes.”

“Will do.”

* * *

TJ arrived at her bungalow a short while later. “Did you get word about McShay?” he asked, thumping the rolled schematics against his thigh.

“Yes.”

“What's the take on your end?”

“We're not sure yet. Could be Herrera was going to hand McShay the keys and let him deposit that trunkful of cash. Could be he was delivering signa
ture cards for new accounts, so he could deposit the quarter of a million himself in McShay's name.”

“In either case, they'd need to make deposits in at least twenty-five different accounts to stay under the ten-thousand-dollar ceiling.”

“If McShay has upwards of twenty-five bank accounts scattered around the Bay Area,” Jordan said with utter conviction, “Cyrene will find them. She's staying in California to work that end of things.”

The schematics thumped against TJ's thigh again. “We ran McShay when he first arrived here. He didn't pop in any of our systems.”

“Maybe he'll pop in ours. Are those the vault plans?” she asked, itching to get on with her end of things.

“They're for the whole institute.”

He spread the drawings on the coffee table and flipped through the sheets until he found the floor plans for the residence. Rolling back the other pages, he anchored them with his hand.

“The vault was constructed the same time as the residence, but Greene has made various improvements and additions over the years.”

Hooking her elbows on her knees, Jordan studied the room within a room. It was double-walled in concrete and steel, with its own emergency-power source, air-regeneration capability and fire-suppression systems. Greene and his treasures could probably ride out a category five hurricane in comfort and
safety. The electrical-wiring diagram looked like spaghetti.

TJ leaned forward, his shoulder prodding Jordan's. She felt the warmth of his flesh, followed by swift annoyance that the mere brush of his skin against hers could distract her so easily. Frowning, she hunched her shoulders and forced herself to pay attention when TJ thumped a finger against a recent addition.

“Greene added this section to make the display area for the Cross of the Andes. That was done two, three years ago. The new area contains a special beefed-up security shield. I can short-circuit the sound-and-motion sensors, but the heat sensors are integrated into a redundant fire-suppression system. I can't shut them down without taking down the entire halon system, which is monitored by an outside agency.”

“I'll be wearing my thermal suit.”

And swimming in sweat the whole time.

“Even so, try to avoid the special heat sensors located here, here, and here.”

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Jordan memorized the locations. TJ went over the specifics of the vault again before putting that schematic aside to make room for one that included the floor plan for the entire first floor. Jordan zeroed in on Greene's study with its sliding bookshelves and hidden corridor leading to the vault.

The minutes ticked by. She imprinted the draw
ings onto her brain, room by room, schematic by schematic. A good half hour later, she'd absorbed every detail.

“I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

“I hope so!”

TJ released the rolled-up sheets. When they flopped back down, Jordan fanned through the stack to see what she might have missed. The Meditation Center was there. The spa. The Jade Buddha. Corporate headquarters, with its large, airy conference room.

A small bump-out behind the conference room caught her eye. “What's this?”

“A storage closet. I've checked it out.”

“Looks like it backs up against the north wall of the conference room.”

“It does.”

Jordan pulled up a mental image of that wall. It contained the world map detailing Bartholomew's far-flung empire, with each satellite Tranquility Center designated by an emerald. At its center was the round, unwinking eye marking the headquarters here in Hawaii.

Her heart began to thump. She pulled up another mental image, this one of the Star of the East. Nine hundred-plus carats of emerald in the shape of an oval. Rounded at the top, like the stone dangling between her breasts.

She closed her hand around the teardrop, felt a small shock of vibration. Excitement, she told herself. And sudden, sweeping certainty.

“Change of plans, TJ. I don't think I'll need into the vault after all.”

“What?”

“Just get me into that closet.”

W
ith TJ at his security-operations center, covering for the man he'd sent to run a perimeter check, Jordan didn't worry about tripping sensors during her second nocturnal visit to the conference center.

She found the storage closet easily enough. Shining her high-intensity penlight on the rear wall, she moved aside a stack of boxes and thumped the drywall with her knuckles. The first half-dozen thumps sounded solid. The seventh had a hollow ring.

Bingo!

With the penlight clenched between her teeth, Jordan skimmed her fingertips over that section of
the wall. Just below the molding she found a soft spot that gave when she pressed it.

A square foot or so of drywall slid noiselessly to one side and there it was. The fabled Star of the East. The stone threw the high-intensity beam from Jordan's penlight back at her in dazzling green rays.

The bulk of the stone lay nested in a special compartment cut into the rear of the conference-room wall. Only a small fraction of its rounded top protruded through to the map. Instead of secreting the famous emerald in the vault with his other treasures, Bartholomew had pulled an Edgar Allan Poe and hidden his purloined stone in plain sight, where he could view and enjoy it every day.

Jordan left it right where it was. She'd located its hiding place. She could retrieve it when necessary. Before she exposed Greene as a thief, she needed to ferret out his link to the lethal drug trade. Sliding the panel back into place, she almost danced into the conference room and aimed her penlight at the center of the map.

“TJ!” she hissed to the nearest security camera. “That's it. The butt end of the Star.”

* * *

Still flying high, she made her way back to her bungalow. It was black as pitch, with dark clouds obscuring the sky and mountains. She kept an eye out for the security officer TJ had sent to run a perimeter check and her ears tuned to every rustle of the palms. Consequently, she almost jumped out of her
synthetic skin when a shadowy figure loomed out of the darkness close to her bungalow.

“It's me,” TJ growled.

Swallowing to push her heart back down to her chest, Jordan led the way to the bedroom window they'd left open.

“How the heck did you get here so fast?” she asked, swinging a leg over the windowsill.

“I reset the systems as soon as you were out and recalled my man.”

She waited for TJ to follow her inside and close the shutters before switching on a lamp.

“Who would have believed Greene would position the damn thing where everyone could see it?” she exclaimed, dragging back her hood.

“Not me. Obviously.”

The reply held more than a trace of self-disgust. Jordan waved an airy hand. She could be magnanimous in victory.

“You would have figured it out sooner or later.”

“Yeah, right. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Let's hope I do better with the other half of our mission.”

“Okay, here's my thinking on that. If McShay was doing favors for Bartholomew by picking up and/or depositing cash to various bank accounts, there's a chance some of the other guests are, too.”

She dragged down the zipper of her thermal suit. She had to get out of it. The damn thing was cooking her.

“We need to have our people scrub the list of
previous guests again,” she said, pulling an arm free. “In the meantime, we'll work the ones here.”

TJ responded with a grunt.

Jordan glanced up, saw he'd zeroed in on the scraps of lace plastered to her chest. The sweat-soaked fabric clung to her breasts, making a perfect showcase for the puckered nipples at the center.

“Sorry, but my bones are melting. I
have
to shed this thing. I also need to report the find to OMEGA and take a quick shower. Why don't you draw up a list of the guests. We can decide which ones to tackle and how after I clean up.”

Pulsing with energy, she headed for the bathroom. On the way, she thumbed her earring. “This is Diamond. Do you read me, Control?”

Rigger came on a few seconds later. “Loud and clear, Diamond. What have you got for me?”

“How about the Star of the East?”

“Come again?”

“She's here. I wrapped my hot little hands around her not ten minutes ago.”

“Lightning's gonna be glad to hear that. The prez has been crawling up his back.”

Swiftly, Jordan detailed the stone's location and her rationale for leaving it in place. Rigger promised to relay the information to Lightning.

Still buoyed at having accomplished at least part of her mission, she stripped off her soggy underwear and hit the shower. The scent of mango tickled her nostrils as she soaped down. In an admittedly poor
imitation of the fabulous Shirley Bassey, Jordan crooned a few bars from the theme of her favorite James Bond movie, “Diamonds are Forever.”

The sultry strains drifted from the bathroom to the sitting room. TJ was standing pretty much where Jordan had left him, trying without a whole lot of success to recover from watching her peel off that thermal suit. Although the shower muffled most of the words, he recognized the tune she was humming. Disjointed phrases came to him, sung slightly off key. Diamonds stimulated. Diamonds teased and tantalized. They wouldn't lie or leave a girl in the night. Like men.

A few days ago that line would have pricked TJ's guilt about the way things ended between Jordan and him three years ago. The guilt was gone now, but the hunger had returned in full force. Remembering how she'd looked when he'd surprised her in that shower a few nights ago didn't exactly help matters, either.

TJ could see her. Long and lean and curved in all the right places, her skin as smooth and lustrous as a freshwater pearl.

Sweat popped out on his palms. He shoved his hands in his pockets and told himself to cool it. A few hours ago they'd stood almost where he was standing now and made the conscious decision to take things one step at a time.

He remained where he was for another few moments, arguing, debating, ignoring the ache in his
groin. When Jordan got to the line about touching it, stroking it, embracing it, his control snapped.

He strode through the bedroom, shedding shirt and shoes as he went. His pants came off as well. He was naked when he hit the bathroom and fully aroused when Jordan's head whipped around.

She looked him up and down. Mostly down, TJ noted with fierce male satisfaction.

“I thought we decided on a phased approach.”

“We did,” he agreed, muscling his way into the shower.

“Aren't you skipping a few steps?”

“Nope. This is phase two.” Grinning, he plucked the washcloth out of her hand. “Turn around.”

When she hesitated, he leaned down and whispered one of the more inventive tricks a couple could perform with a bar of soap, a washcloth and a dirty mind.

“You're making that up!”

“Guess again, Red. Turn around.”

* * *

Their energetic and decidedly erotic shower activities spilled over into the bedroom.

Maybe it was the thrill of locating the Star of the East. Or the ticking clock that measured the hours remaining before Jordan's imminent departure for Colombia. Whatever the reason, they both ignored the niggling little voice that said it wasn't smart to mix business with pleasure. Especially in their line of work.

By the time they finished, they'd left big water
splotches on the sheets and mattress. Jordan scooted away from the damp spots and snuggled up against TJ's side, intending just a catnap.

She woke an indeterminate time later. She was still curled against his side but had crowded him right to the edge of the bed. He had one foot hooked over hers. The other was planted on the floor to keep from falling off the bed.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Jordan studied his profile in the first hazy light of dawn. Amazing how they'd come full circle. The last time she'd shared a bed with this man, his fellow officers had busted down his door. Jordan had been more than half in love with him at the time. An avalanche of anger and disgust had buried that love. Now…

Now what? Did she love him? Did she want him in her life after Hawaii? Did he want her? What the heck was their next step?

She still didn't have the answer to those questions, when he twitched. A moment later his lids lifted. When he turned his head and saw she was awake, a lazy smile came into his gray eyes.

“'Morning, Red. What time is it?”

She raised up enough to squint at the digital clock beside the bed. “Almost six.”

“Guess we should get up and get to work.”

“Guess so,” she agreed, dropping back down beside him.

Neither of them made a move to leave the bed.
The muscles under Jordan's cheek bunched as he bent his arm and played with her tangled hair.

“This morning-after sure beats the last one,” he said.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Maybe we could try for two out of three.”

“Or three out of four. I've got tonight and tomorrow night before I leave for Bogotá.”

“I still don't like the idea of you going into the jungles of Colombia without backup.”

She pushed up on an elbow, determined to head off another argument. TJ surprised her with a simple declaration.

“I'm going in with you.”

“Huh?”

“Bartholomew knows we're old friends. He'll understand when I tell him I don't think it's safe for—”

“For weak, helpless little me to traipse into the jungle without big, strong you to protect me.”

His mouth curved. “Something like that.”

Jordan pursed her lips, torn between annoyance and a swamping sense of relief. She'd feel a whole lot better going into Muzo with someone she trusted riding shotgun.

And she could understand why TJ would want in on the op. He'd played his role at the Tranquility Institute for weeks now with no direct leads or links between Greene and drug money to show for it. Like Jordan, he itched for action.

“In the meantime,” he said with a playful slap on her bare rump, “we've got work to do. Move it, woman.”

* * *

They divided up the guest list over coffee and fresh rolls delivered to the bungalow. TJ disappeared into the bedroom while the waiter delivered the tray, then hogged the single knife to slather butter and strawberry jam over a flaky croissant.

“I'll take Edna and Davy's mom,” Jordan said, eyeing the list.

“And Felicity Waller-Winston.”

“Sure you don't want to question her?” she asked, straight-faced. “You could probably get more out of her than I could.”

“You've had a couple of group sessions with her,” TJ countered. “You can get inside her head faster than I can. Besides,” he added with a quick, slashing grin, “there's only so much a man should be asked to do for his country.”

While they divvied up the rest of the guests, he wolfed down his croissant, a bran muffin, a banana and two cups of coffee. Declining Jordan's amused offer of the other half of her bagel, he rasped a hand across his bristly chin.

“I have to head back to my place, get cleaned up and make morning roll call for my security troops.”

Before he slipped out into the still-sleepy dawn, he flicked the teardrop suspended from its thin gold chain.

“Make sure you keep this on. I want to be able to track you.”

“Track me how?” she asked, dropping her chin to frown at the emerald.

“We paint all of the stones in Bartholomew's private collection with a chemical compound. All the ones we know about,” he corrected with a grimace, obviously thinking of the Star. “The paint is visible only when viewed through special filters.”

“And you waited until now to tell me this?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“What's the matter, Scott? Didn't you trust me?”

“Just keep this little bauble on, okay? And let me know right away if you pick up anything from the other guests.”

“That works both ways,” she said tartly.

Nodding, he dropped a quick, hard kiss on her mouth. His unshaven chin scraped hers. Jordan carried the tingle with her when she went to dress.

She'd corner Davy's mom first, she decided, pulling on her gauzy white shorts and a scoop-neck T-shirt sporting the institute's logo. She could tackle Edna and Felicity after group. The rest of the guests on her list she'd hunt down this afternoon.

* * *

Although she'd already consumed the half bagel that normally constituted breakfast, Jordan figured she'd find Davy and his mother at the Jade Buddha. She would have to separate Patricia from her son so the two women could talk undisturbed.

She'd suggest a walk along the bluffs, Jordan decided. Use the draw of wanting to know more about asthma and what triggered an attack. After the harrowing experience with Davy yesterday morning, that was no pretext.

As anticipated, Jordan spotted Davy and his mom at a table near the edge of the pool. She started toward them but got only a short way before bony fingers clamped onto her arm.

“Did you hear?” Edna demanded, her voice thick and hoarse. Smeared mascara ringed her reddened eyes, making her look like a fuzzy-haired raccoon.

“Did I hear what?”

“About Harry. Harry McShay. He was shot.”

Jordan made a sound somewhere between shock and surprise. She couldn't feign grief for a man she'd only spoken to once or twice in passing.

Edna had spent many more hours with McShay. She appeared to truly mourn her poker partner. Gulping back tears, the widow spilled out the details.

“Felicity went to the reception center a while ago to check the stock report on CNN. She said Harry was gunned down outside the Oakland airport.”

She swallowed convulsively. The loose skin of her throat wobbled with each gulp.

“Right at the airport,” she whispered, looking horrified.

No, Jordan corrected with a sudden jolt. Not horrified. Terrified. The woman was scared stiff.