Diamonds Can Be Deadly (17 page)

“I got most of it,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Your controller—Rigger—relayed your transmissions.”

“He relayed yours, too.”

Which reminded her…

She leaned back in his arms until she could see his face. “I was particularly interested in your last message. The one Rigger passed along just before he went no-com.”

Creasing his forehead, TJ played dumb. “Which message was that?”

“I believe Rigger mentioned the word
love.
”

“He did?”

“Yes, he did. If you don't mind, I'd like to hear it from the source.”

A smile came into his eyes, and Jordan's heart picked up speed again.

“Okay, here it is, right from the horse's mouth. I love you, Red.”

She was almost certain he meant it. She was also pretty certain the emotions rolling around inside her chest matched his. But she'd fallen for this man once and he'd walked away from her.

Granted, it was to go undercover. Still, Jordan just wanted a few assurances what he now felt went more than skin deep.

“Are you sure?” she asked, searching his face. “Tight situations like this, the adrenaline starts to pump.”

And kept pumping. The syndrome had a name.
Several, in fact. Claire said the medical community termed it postsituational sexual response. Mackenzie called it the post-op hots. Whatever the label, it hit every agent at one time or another.

Some version of it had certainly hit TJ. His smile tipped into a wicked grin. “Trust me on this, Red. I'm definitely pumping right now, but it's more than just adrenaline.”

“Okay. If you're sure…”

She slid her arms around his neck and had started to drag his mouth down to hers when an amused drawl rumbled in her ear.

“Control here. You might wanna cut this transmission, Diamond.”

“Roger, Control. Over and…” She thumbed her earring, brushing TJ's lips with hers. “Out.”

T
he taxi ferrying Jordan and TJ from D.C.'s Reagan NationalAirport cut in and out of the afternoon traffic with careless abandon. A sharp turn onto ConstitutionAvenue sent Jordan thumping into TJ's shoulder.

He steadied her, grumbling as he did so. “I still don't see what the big rush was. We could have taken a few days to wrap things up in Hawaii and sent that thing back by armed courier.”

That “thing” was the Star of the East. The emerald lay cushioned inside a velvet-lined case that was tucked inside another, innocuously labeled box. The package sat squarely on Jordan's lap, where it had rested throughout the long flight to the
mainland. She hadn't let it out of her sight since the communiqué from Lightning, directing her to jump on a plane immediately and hand-carry the emerald to D.C. TJ had been instructed to ride shotgun.

Jordan had barely had time to trade her grease-stained shorts and tank top for slacks and her poppy-red, short-sleeved jacket. TJ was still in his khakis and emerald-green Tranquility Institute polo shirt, looking worse for the wear. Dark stubble bristled on his cheeks and chin, matching his irritated scowl.

“Lighten up,” Jordan advised. “We'll deliver the package as ordered and wrap up the op at this end.”

That's not all they'd do at this end. She'd asked Rigger to book her a suite at the Ritz-Carlton in Crystal City. She had plans for Thomas Jackson Scott that included a juicy steak, a bottle of fine merlot and hot, hungry sex. Not necessarily in that order.

“I had something I wanted to take care of before we left Hawaii.” Still grumbling, he dug into his pocket. “Your boss's call didn't give me time to get the chain soldered, so I had to use string.”

The emerald dangled from a length of thin brown cord. Swaying with the motion of the taxi, the teardrop caught the sunlight and threw off glinting green sparks.

“Where did you find it?”

“Under a palmetto bush.”

“You probably shouldn't have brought the stone with you, TJ. I never paid for it.”

“I did. Bartholomew might even have time to
cash the check before he's arraigned on charges of trafficking in stolen merchandise.”

He looped the string over her head. The gem dropped into the valley between her breasts, cool at first, then taking on the warmth of her skin.

“I thought we'd have it mounted with diamonds for your engagement ring.”

Jordan blinked. She could have sworn the stone just quivered against her flesh. Then TJ's mouth came down on hers and she couldn't separate the stone's movement from the thumping of her heart.

* * *

Jordan was wearing more than the emerald on her neck when she mounted the steps of the elegant town house just a block off Massachusetts Avenue.

The whisker burns must have looked as red as they felt. Elizabeth Wells rose from behind the Louis XV desk, her smile widening just a bit as her glance drifted from Jordan's face to a spot just above her collar.

“There you are, dear. Lightning said to escort you right into his office.”

The grandmotherly receptionist who regularly fired at the expert level with a variety of small arms turned her smile to TJ.

“You must be Agent Scott.” She held out her hand, her eyes twinkling. “We've heard a great deal about you. Please, come right this way. They're waiting for you.”

“They who?” Jordan asked.

“Lightning, Cyrene, Rigger and our special guests.”

Jordan recognized the two guests immediately. One was bronzed and blond and wearing a burqa over a Chanel suit. The other was dark-haired, gorgeous, and standing with a decidedly proprietary air next to Cyrene.

Nick introduced the sultana of D'han, then made himself and the others known to TJ. Nick and Claire received firm handshakes, Rigger the bruising grip that expressed the entire spectrum of male emotions. In this case it signified gratitude.

“Thanks for talking me up to that park,” TJ said. “And for passing my message.”

“No problem.” The weathered skin beside Rigger's eyes crinkled. “Anytime you want Diamond to know how you feel about her, you just tell me.”

“I think I can handle that myself from here on out.”

“Looks like you can,” Rigger said with a pointed glance in the direction of Jordan's collar.

Feeling a flush of heat above the red silk, she used Nick's letter opener to slit the seal on the box she'd ferried from Hawaii. Withdrawing the inner case, she presented it to the sultana.

“I think this belongs to you.”

“Yes,” the tall, elegant blonde murmured, raising the lid. “It does indeed.”

The egg-shaped emerald outweighed the gem Jordan wore by a good 850 carats. She wouldn't
have traded one for the other, though. Somehow the teardrop seemed to have become a permanent part of her energy field.

“I must apologize for requesting that you deliver the Star so quickly,” the sultana said. “I'm flying home later this afternoon and very much wished to take it with me. You and Thomas must come for a visit to D'han. Perhaps on your honeymoon, which my darling Nick tells me may take place soon.”

When her darling Nick escorted the sultana out a few moments later, Jordan took advantage of the momentary lull to demand an explanation from Luis Esteban.

“I thought you were returning to Colombia after Hong Kong?”

“I did return.”

“You didn't stay long.”

His silky mustache lifted in a feral smile. “When we arrived in Bogotá, Alejandro heard of the shooting and car explosion at LAX. He let slip some rather incautious remarks that confirmed what I had suspected for some time. He was the pig who lured Maria Fuentes to her death.”

“Where's Garcia now?” TJ wanted to know.

“Let us just say Señor Garcia met with an unfortunate accident while visiting the Muzo mine.”

The two men's eyes locked. A wolfish grin sketched across TJ's face, a satisfied one across the colonel's.

“You do good work, Esteban.”

“As do you, Scott.”

“Perhaps we'll work another op together.”

“Perhaps we will. And sooner than you think.” Esteban's expression turned serious. “While we were waiting for you and Jordan to arrive, I spoke to Lightning about the shipments of unauthorized cargo coming into the United States from my country and others in Central and South America.”

“What kind of cargo?”

“Human beings,” Claire answered for him. “Undesirables who, for a variety of reasons, have been denied legal entry.”

“Is Lightning thinking of mounting an operation?”

“He's considering it.”

Esteban's dark eyes rested on Claire. “As you speak Spanish,
querida,
I shall request that we work closely on this mission. Very closely.”

Rigger registered an instant protest. “Hold on there, pardner! Diamond and Cyrene went into the field on this op. The next one's mine.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“I can make myself understood.”

“I'm fairly fluent,” Jordan volunteered, only to feel the emerald dance against her breasts.

She almost jumped out of her skin. The thing was taking on a life of its own. Belatedly, she realized it was TJ tugging on her string.

“We've got three years of lost time to make up for. Don't make any other plans for the immediate future.”

Jordan's belly curled in delight. TJ didn't know it, but their immediate future included a fat rib eye, a couple of glasses of merlot and hot sex.

Definitely
not in that order!

* * * * *