Diamonds Can Be Deadly (7 page)

As Danny had promised, the fish was the best thing on the menu. It had been cut into cubes, mar
inated in sesame-seed oil, garlic and soy sauce, and pan seared to a crunchy texture on the outside. The delicate white flakes inside were so tender they fell off Jordan's fork.

She was seated next to Felicity. The woman's mood hadn't improved much since the morning group session. Stabbing at her plate, the blonde swept a glance around the bubbling fountains and koi-filled ponds.

“Looks like our studly security director decided to skip dinner,” she grumbled. “So, I notice, did our little spa director. I bet they're together, doing the naked-monkey dance.”

Jordan didn't know which disgusted her more, Felicity's coarseness or the bitter taste left in her mouth by the idea TJ and Liana might be getting it on.

She wasn't jealous. You had to
care
about someone to feel jealous. But her tone held a distinctly cool note when she responded to Felicity's comment.

“Liana gave me a salt glow this afternoon. She was very professional and pleasant.”

And extremely closemouthed about her employer. The most Jordan had pulled out of her was that Bartholomew preferred hot-stone therapy to deep-tissue massage.

Big surprise there. The man took his rocks seriously. His near ecstasy when he'd fondled that emerald heart earlier this evening had come close to creeping Jordan out. So had those vibrations emanating from the stone on the massive gold crucifix.

Smoke and mirrors, she told herself. It was all done with smoke and mirrors.

At least she'd gotten a good look inside the vault. She knew its layout now and had a fix on the security protecting it. She'd need special equipment to bypass the alarms and access the vault again on her own.

And, she decided reluctantly, she'd need backup. She could handle the electronics. She could also get around any sensors, including those hidden in the floors, now that she knew to look for them. But getting around the redundant on-site/off-site computer systems demanded more than one set of hands.

She added backup to her list of items to coordinate with Claire. She also wanted to hear what she'd dug up on Harry McShay, the computer mogul who'd lost his wife and daughter in a boating accident. She'd sensed more than grief behind McShay's cryptic comments this morning.

Antsy to contact Claire, she skipped dessert. She was halfway to the door when Edna Albert caught her. The widow aimed a quick look over her shoulder and dropped her voice to a raspy whisper.

“Can you come to my bungalow later?”

Jordan went still. “Why?”

Edna shot another furtive look behind her. “A few of us are getting together for a little Texas Hold 'Em. The minimum bet is a hundred, with a max of five hundred on the flop.”

Relaxing, Jordan swallowed a grin. Greene
didn't allow phones or TV to disturb the tranquility of his guests. Evidently poker was on the prohibited list, as well.

“Sorry, I don't play Texas Hold 'Em.”

Edna's berry-bright eyes lit up. “I'd be happy to teach you.”

“Maybe some other time.”

The widow puffed out her cheeks, obviously disappointed that she'd failed to reel in a new fish, and scuttled in Felicity's direction.

Once out into the night, Jordan picked up her pace and headed for her favorite bent palm. Fingering her gold hoop, she activated the transmitter.

“Diamond here. Come in, Control.”

“I'm here,” Claire responded. “So is Lightning. We were just about to contact you.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jordan hammered on the locked rear door of the administrative building. Spots blinked on, dousing her in dazzling white light. Cameras whirred and aimed their eyes down at her. A hidden speaker crackled.

“Yes?”

“It's Jordan Colby. I want to talk to TJ Scott.”

“Mr. Scott has gone off duty for the night.”

“Where is he?” she demanded, fire in her heart.

T
J sprawled against a palm. He'd shed his shirt and shoes and planted his butt in the damp sand. One leg was bent at a comfortable angle, the other stretched out to the wavelets washing like long, iridescent ribbons onto the deserted beach. Clouds scudded across the dark sky. The moon poked out every once in a while and stayed just long enough to illuminate the six-pack stuck in the sand within easy reach.

TJ was on his second beer. Two was all he ever allowed himself, on or off duty, but this was the first alcohol he'd consumed since arriving at the Tranquility Institute. He wasn't buzzed, exactly. Just loose
enough that the verbal stab wounds Jordan had inflicted a couple hours ago were starting to scab over.

Not that he hadn't deserved every plunge of the dagger. He'd carry the guilt for involving her in the sting that took him down for a long, long time.

He'd never intended to let things get serious between them. Neither had Jordan. She'd told him so that Sunday afternoon in the park. Yet they clicked, right from the start. And what had begun as a casual affair got too intense, too fast.

If only the timing hadn't been so wrong…

Muttering a curse, TJ lifted the can and guzzled a long swallow. Yeasty and now warm, the beer was settling into his belly when the cell phone clipped to the waistband of his jeans began to vibrate. With another curse, he unhooked the phone and growled into the speaker.

“Scott.”

“Sorry to bother you, boss. Ms. Colby is here at the security ops center. She says she has something important she needs to discuss with you.”

“Put her on.”

“She doesn't want to talk over the phone. She wants your present location.”

What the hell…?

“Tell her I'm at the cove. She can take the stairs at the top of the bluff.”

TJ snapped the phone shut. A savage sense of anticipation thrummed along his nerves. This confrontation had to come. He'd tried to force it twice. He
was ready, more than ready, for a face-to-face with the woman he'd once burned and now suspected of tracking him across an ocean to exact a long-overdue revenge.

As crazy as it sounded, that was the only explanation he'd been able to come up with for Jordan's appearance at the Tranquility Institute. The only reason for her lies, the wet suit, the smooth way she'd manipulated Greene into showing her his private collection. She was after something, and TJ suspected it was his head on a platter. This was as good a time as any to find out how she intended to get it there.

The call had wiped out his mellow feeling, yet he maintained his lazy slouch against the palm. She'd called the meeting, but they'd conduct it on his turf—and run it by his rules.

That was the plan, anyway, until she appeared at the top of the steep stairs. She was in the same strapless sundress she'd worn for her visit to the vault, but she removed her high-heeled sandals and tossed them aside before making the descent.

Barefoot, she stalked across the sand to where he lounged under the palm. The moon popped out from behind a cloud when she was less than a yard away, illuminating a face tight with fury.

“Get up!”

Whatever the hell TJ had been expecting, that snarled command wasn't it. “Come again?”

“I want you standing for this.”

Curiosity beat out his determination to control the situation. He set aside the half-empty can and rolled to his bare feet.

“All right. I'm standing. Now what?”

“Now,” she ground out, “I'm going to knock you on your ass.”

Sheer astonishment immobilized him for the half second's edge she needed to compensate for his size and years of training. One moment he was balancing lightly on his feet, trying to figure out what had put the fire in her eyes. The next, he had a shoulder gouging into his gut and a hundred twenty pounds of female tossing him over her shoulder.

He hit with a thud that rattled his bones. Spread eagle on the sand, he sucked air back into his lungs while the wavelets tickled his soles and Jordan stood over him like an avenging angel.

He could have taken her down then. One kick, and he could have knocked her feet out from under her. Maybe. She seemed to want him to try. Before TJ took the bait, he wanted some answers.

“You going to tell me what the hell that was all about?”

“That, you bastard, was for letting me believe you were on the take.”

Klaxons went off inside his head. What did she know? How had she found out?

“I told you three years ago I was set up,” he said, feeling his way through this unexpected minefield. “And again when you arrived in Hawaii.
Are you saying you've suddenly decided to believe me?”

“No,
Special Agent
Scott. I'm saying my boss just advised me you took the fall deliberately and have been working undercover for the feds ever since.”

Damn! TJ didn't twitch so much as a muscle, but adrenaline shot through every vein and artery in his body.

“Who,” he asked, his voice low and lethal, “is your boss?”

“You don't need his name. All you need to know is that he outranks
your
boss. The way I figure it, that means you're working for me now.”

“The hell you say!”

He moved then. Jordan was expecting the swift kick aimed at her ankle and dodged it neatly. She
wasn't
expecting the lightning scissor action that brought his right leg up behind the left.

The blow struck behind her knee. Knocked off balance, she went down hard. TJ rolled up and over her. Straddling her hips, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the sand.

Jordan ached to continue the tussle. Her blood was up. So was her fury. She knew more than one move to disable an assailant from a prone position. Unfortunately, Lightning's instructions had been succinct and to the point.

She was to cooperate. With TJ. A fellow undercover agent. Working for the DEA.

“Okay,” her new associate snarled, “let's have it. Who are you?”

“I'm the woman you know as Jordan Colby. When we're communicating on this op, you can refer to me by my code name, Diamond.”

“No code names. No aliases.” His hands tightened on her wrists. “Who the hell are you?”

“I'm an operative employed by a covert agency of the United States government. I have been for five years.”

She could see him connecting the dots. Now he knew why her name had never popped up on the police reports. Why the media had never eviscerated her as they had him. His dawning realization that he'd been played for as much of a fool as she had gave Jordan a savage satisfaction.

“Which agency?”

“It's called OMEGA.”

“I've never heard of it.”

“Few individuals outside the president's immediate circle have.” Impatient now, she tugged at her wrists. “Contact your controller at DEA, Scott. He'll verify that this is now a joint operation.”

She could feel his reluctance to release her and his even greater reluctance to believe what she was telling him.

“My boss said to tell you the crabgrass is taking over the front yard.”

The coded message passed from DEA headquarters via Lightning made no sense to Jordan, but then
it didn't have to. The only one who needed to understand it was TJ.

He did. Looking like a bull that had just charged headfirst into a brick wall, he sank back on his haunches. His not inconsiderable weight landed on her belly and shoved her deeper into the wet sand.

“Well, hell!”

Resisting the impulse to squirm, Jordan huffed out an annoyed directive. “Use my code name when you talk to your controller. It will let your superior know I've established contact. As directed by
my
superior.”

He sat on her for another few moments, letting his unrestrained heaviness tell her how unhappy he was with her and with the situation.

“Diamond,” she said with exaggerated patience. “My code name is Diamond.”

He shoved to his feet with a vicious curse. “Stay put!”

Like she was going anywhere?

Struggling upright, she wrapped her arms around her knees. Her dress was soaked and plastered to her body. Sand coated her bare back and shoulders. A few grains had worked their way into her nose and mouth. She spit out the grit and was left with only the bitter aftertaste from Lightning's startling communication.

It had taken almost twenty-four hours of solid digging to get to the truth, he'd relayed. He'd started with the officer who'd commanded the NYPD anti
corruption task force. The captain stuck to his story. The task force had been watching TJ Scott for some time. They'd collected hard evidence he'd taken bribes. Then they'd screwed up on the warrant, and Scott had walked on a friggin' technicality.

It was the judge who finally admitted he'd been alerted to look for that technicality. The admission came only after Lightning had brought the pressure of the White House to bear on the judge. Even then it took more hours of sifting through bureaucratic layers to determine that the whole bust had been a setup.

As TJ had always asserted, Jordan acknowledged bitterly. He'd told her the absolute truth, dressed up to look like a lie. She hadn't believed him then. She wasn't sure she could believe him now.

She knew how bureaucracy worked. All too well. Despite the recommendations of the 9/11 Commission to streamline and centralize intelligence, the overhaul bill President Bush had signed into law had yet to break down the compartmentalization that was both the bane and the backbone of the intelligence community.

Some information
had
to be kept close-hold. The more people who were read into a program, the higher the possibility of a leak. On the other hand, the fewer who knew about clandestine operations such as this one, the greater the likelihood of crossed communications.

She had her orders. She was to apprise TJ of her
mission. He in turn would be instructed to cooperate fully with her. After what they'd put each other through three years ago, though, she suspected cooperation wouldn't equate with trust.

When he dropped down beside her a few moments later, he didn't look any more ready to forgive and forget than Jordan felt at the moment.

“All right,
Special Agent
Colby. Headquarters confirms you're on the side of justice, equality and the American way. Now suppose you tell me what the hell you're doing in the middle of my op.”

“You heard about the theft of the sultana of D'han's emerald?”

He sent her a scathing look. “I may be out of the loop on some matters, but headquarters did read me in on that little incident. They also advised me Bartholomew Greene is one of the prime suspects behind the heist. In addition to being in bed with the Colombians, which is why I was sent to Hawaii in the first place.”

“Have you uncovered any evidence that points to either the theft or Greene's involvement in money laundering?”

“Not yet. Have you?”

He'd slipped the blade in so smoothly it took Jordan a moment to feel the prick.

“Okay, okay. I admit it. I did some snooping around last night.”

He didn't appear gratified by her grudging admission. In the dim glow of the moon, his face was all hard angles and deep creases.

“How did you bypass the security systems?”

“I used a sniffer to detect and avoid the motion sensors.”

“What about the Y-beams?”

“Headquarters outfitted me with a thermal suit that contains body heat. It also,” she tacked on after a moment of brittle silence, “makes me sweat like a pig. That's why my foot went out from under me on the bathroom tiles.”

He angled her another look. “Did you find anything while you were poking around?”

“No.”

She hated having to admit failure to another operative. Particularly
this
operative. She hadn't yet made the mental leap from thinking of him as a dirty cop.

A short, charged silence spun out while Jordan remembered the humiliation, anger and hurt she'd nursed for so long. She had to ask, had to know.

“Why did you get involved with me back in New York? Was I part of your cover? Crooked cop needs extra cash to romance his supermodel girlfriend?”

“You were never part of the sting, Red. You just…happened. For what it's worth, I never intended to take things so far between us.”

“What did you intend?”

“A hot date,” he replied with brutal honesty. “An even hotter weekend. That's all I had in mind when I approached you at the charity ball. I'd spent months perfecting my cover and setting myself up
to take the fall. I knew the bust was coming, knew I couldn't get serious about any woman.”

“So you were just filling time.”

“Yeah. At first. Then…”

“Then?”

“Then things got complicated.”

That was one way of describing the fire they'd ignited in each other, Jordan supposed.

“The bust wasn't supposed to net anyone except me,” TJ said after a moment.

“So what went wrong?”

“A vice cop picked up a pimp I'd put the squeeze on. The pimp squealed, Vice took it to Internal Affairs and IA came down on the captain in charge of the anticorruption task force. We had planned the bust for later in the week, but with the crap about to hit the fan, the captain had to move on it. Unfortunately, he picked the same afternoon I finally got you into my bed.”

“Finally?” She let out a huff of derision and disgust. “As I recall, we'd tangled between the sheets several times before that supremely regrettable session in your apartment.”

“You can't regret it any more than I do.”

She wasn't so sure about that. Resting her chin on her sandy knees, she let the memories of their last hour together sweep back.

As if it were yesterday, she could feel the tiny beads of sweat that had pooled at the base of TJ's spine. The rasp of his unshaven cheek against hers.
The sheer wonder of exploring his lean, muscled body with mouth and tongue and teeth. She'd never experienced anything close to that level of sensuality before. Or since.