Amber Beach

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “Jake mentioned the mafiya.”

  “They aren’t the same,” Ellen said. “The Organizatsiya is an export. They prey on the Russian emigrants in various countries. The mafiya stays home. The Organizatsiya is pretty much independent of the Old World, although they take people who are shit-listed in Russia and give them a safe place to be until the folks back home forget or are paid off. The mafiya repays the favor by finding work in Russia for Organizatsiya thugs who are wanted in the United States or other countries.”

  “Cozy,” Honor said. “How is the United States doing on extradition treaties with the Russian Federation?”

  “We’re working on it,” Ellen said. “But the Organizatsiya and the mafiya aren’t the only players to be reckoned with when it comes to the Amber Room. There are several, legal, factions of the Russian government in the competition. There’s the Yeltsin faction, of course. One of his closest advisers is a born-again Russian nationalist. For him the Amber Room is the Holy Grail, a rallying point for the consolidation of Russia.”

  Honor grabbed the pepper grinder and went to work on what was left of her sandwich. But she was listening carefully, and Ellen knew it.

  “This adviser will do whatever he has to, however he can, in order to secure the Amber Room,” Ellen said. “And he has the backing of the legal government. The second major faction is run by the communists. They long for the bad old days. Anything that helps Yeltsin hurts them.”

  “The communists would just as soon the Amber Room stayed lost?”

  “For now, yes,” Mather said. “Definitely. That could change if—”

  “We’ll worry about that changing when it does,” Ellen interrupted. “For now, we’ve got enough snakes on our plate.”

  “Two kinds of legal Russian factions, two kinds of illegal ones,” Honor said. “Plus Lithuanian liberationists. Does that about cover it?”

  “That only covers the obvious ones,” Ellen said. “There are at least five more Lithuania-first groups. None of them agree on anything except burying the local competition and then mopping up on the international scene. All across the former Soviet Union there are similar groups, both legal and not, motivated by nationalism, tribalism, religion, survival, vengeance, and/or simple greed.”

  Honor grimaced. “You can’t tell the players without a scorecard.”

  “In the new Russian Federation,” Ellen retorted, “they can’t print scorecards before the players change.”

  Instead of responding, Honor took a bite of sandwich. None of what she had heard so far sounded like it would make finding Kyle any easier.

  “At this time in the Baltic states and Russia,” Mather said, “the Amber Room is a very powerful cultural symbol. It means something different to each group, but it means something to every group. Anyone who wants to curry favor with or force concessions from the Russian state wants the Amber Room as a bargaining tool.”

  “And you think my brother stole it.”

  “No matter who stole it,” Ellen said quickly, “Kyle is the one who stuck the hot potato in his truck and took off, leaving a dead Lithuanian driver behind.”

  “Which means you think Kyle killed that man.”

  “He didn’t die of a heart attack,” Mather retorted.

  Honor’s mouth flattened. She took another small bite of her sandwich. Salt and pepper improved the taste of the salmon salad, but nothing was going to take the dryness of fear out of her mouth. She sipped soda from the can, waited for the fizz to settle in her mouth, and swallowed again.

  “Look,” she said, “Kyle hasn’t called me. He hasn’t written me. He hasn’t sent me a piece of the Amber Room.”

  “What about your family?” Ellen asked.

  “If they knew where Kyle was, they wouldn’t leave me dangling, wondering whether he was alive or dead or hurt or . . .” Honor’s voice faded. She swallowed hard and set the half-eaten sandwich aside.

  Ellen’s expression said she wasn’t as sure about the Donovan clan as Honor was, but she didn’t argue the point. “Why did you come here?”

  “Archer asked me to.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Mather muttered something that sounded like “a real cluster fuck.” Beneath all the pinstripes lurked the soul of a pottymouth street cop.

  Honor didn’t even look his way. She had heard it all before, in preschool.

  “Did you ask Archer?” Ellen said.

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He didn’t tell me.”

  “So you packed your bags like a good little sister and came running, is that it?” Ellen asked sarcastically.

  Honor went back to her original idea: Ellen, a big cliff, and a long drop.

  “Yes,” Honor said through her teeth. “It may be hard for you to understand, Ms. Consultant, but I love my brothers even though they often drive me nuts. That’s the way love works. When you love people, you don’t demand long explanations and justifications. You simply do what you can when they need you. It’s called loyalty.”

  “It’s called stupidity,” Mather said.

  “Only if you always come out holding the slimy end of the stick,” Honor retorted. “So far, the score is about even in that department, although I will never admit it within hearing of my brothers.”

  “But—”

  “Give it up, Ellen,” Jake said from the living room. “It’s the Donovan clan and to hell with the rest of the world.”

  Honor and Mather looked toward the living room. Ellen gave a heartfelt curse before she turned around.

  Jake looked like he had rolled around in a mud puddle.

  “What happened to you?” Honor asked.

  “I like walking in the rain.”

  “Next time take some soap and do your clothes.”

  Smiling, Jake walked between the two agents and stopped in front of Honor. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He framed her face in cool hands and kissed her. Honor stiffened, but she didn’t draw back. She sensed that he was sending a message to the U.S. government that had nothing to do with sex.

  She was right. And she was also wrong. Jake’s eyes might have been remote, but he was fully aroused beneath his muddy jeans.

  The stark hunger of his body, the tenderness of his kiss, and the watchfulness of his eyes undermined Honor’s certainty that all he wanted from her was a means of getting to Kyle. Off balance, almost disoriented, emotionally and physically exhausted by the past few weeks, she held on to Jake’s forearms to steady herself.

  He kissed her again, less gently, more completely. When he lifted his head, his eyes were as hot and hungry as his body. There were muddy streaks on her face from his hands.

  “You were right,” Mather said to Ellen.

  “Told you, babe,” she said. “That slow, eat-you grin of Jake’s gets them every time.”

  Honor flushed. Jake put his thumb over her mouth in a gesture that was both caress and warning.

  “Sorry I was late,” he said to her, ignoring the agents. “If I’d known you had company, I would have taken a shorter walk.”

  “How long have you been here?” Honor asked.

  Jake looked from her generous mouth to her breasts with their nipples hard against the soft bronze sweater, to her hips leaning toward him . . . and he smiled slowly, all but licking his lips. “Ellen is wrong. There’s nothing ordinary about your body.”

  Honor knew she shouldn’t laugh, shouldn’t feel pleased, shouldn’t do anything but throw all three people out of her life; and she knew she wouldn’t. If she had to trust one of the three, there was no doubt which one it would be.

  Until she found Kyle, she was bound to Jake Mallory as surely as if she had spoken vows.

  And afterward? Honor asked herself silently.

  The answer came immediately and without comfort. She would deal with the afterward mess the same way she was dealing with the Kyle mess. One disaster at a time.

  She drew a s
haky breath and ran her fingertip over Jake’s mustache. “You,” she said huskily, “are a very bad dog.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to spank me?”

  His hopeful look dragged a broken laugh from Honor’s throat.

  Despite the laughter, Jake saw the bleakness in her eyes and knew how close to falling off the edge she was. He caught her palm against his mouth, kissed her, and turned to look at the two agents.

  “Any more questions?” Jake asked.

  “Cooperate with us,” Ellen said, “or we’ll take you both out of the game.”

  “If you thought that would do any good, you’d have done it already,” Jake said. “Next threat?”

  “Damn you,” Ellen snarled. “You think you’re God Almighty.”

  “No, you do. That’s why you get pissed off when everyone doesn’t kneel on command.” He looked at Mather. “You have anything else to add?”

  “Just curious. Why won’t you work with us?”

  “What makes you think we won’t?”

  “What?” Ellen and Mather demanded as one.

  “Think about it. And while you’re thinking, check on Petyr Resnikov.”

  Mather looked at Ellen. She was watching Jake like a barefoot hiker would watch a snake rustling through the nearby grass.

  “What about Resnikov?” she asked bluntly.

  “If I show you mine, will you show me yours?” Jake asked.

  Ellen laughed curtly. “Babe, we don’t have anything new to show each other.”

  “As long as we keep our clothes on, we just might.”

  Honor flinched and looked at her feet. She knew it shouldn’t bother her that Ellen and Jake had been lovers, but it did. Ellen was just too damned sexy for any man not to regret losing her. Even more depressing, there was obviously a very agile brain running Ellen’s Playmate-of-the-decade body.

  Brutally Honor told herself it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have to worry about a lifetime of unhappy comparisons in Jake’s mind. She and Jake were, as Ellen would put it, on a short clock.

  “Did you know that Pete was going to buy me?” Jake asked.

  “Did he try?” Ellen asked.

  “What do you think?”

  She took her time answering, obviously thinking through the implications and possible outcomes of answering or not answering Jake’s question.

  “All right,” she said. “Resnikov couldn’t buy you so he got cute. What happened?”

  “Is he yours?” Jake asked again.

  “He’s ours the same way Russia is our ally in this brave new world.”

  “Neutrality most of the time, favors some of the time, and trust none of the time,” Jake summarized.

  “That’s it. What happened?”

  “When I wouldn’t agree to outright purchase, I found one of his men in my cabin planting stolen amber artifacts.”

  Honor snapped her head around toward Jake so fast that her hair flew out. “What happened? Is that how you got muddy? Are you all right?”

  “Were the artifacts from the Amber Room?” Mather demanded.

  Jake laced his grubby fingers through Honor’s and squeezed gently, silently telling her not to worry.

  “Nothing that modern,” Jake said. “Stone Age artifacts. Very, very nice bits of work. They defined ‘museum quality.’ One of them even had an inventory number inked on the back.”

  Mather pulled a cellular phone out of his pocket and began punching in numbers.

  “Where are the pieces now?” Ellen asked.

  “I sent them back to Pete with a message.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.” Bright red nails tapped on navy blue leather. She glanced at Mather, who was speaking softly into the phone, but not so softly that the others couldn’t overhear.

  “Forget it,” Mather said. “We already know that the primary subjects are back together.”

  Jake bent and said against Honor’s ear, “How does it feel to be an official primary subject of the U.S. government?”

  Gooseflesh rippled on her arms as the warmth of his breath stirred her hair, yet the knowledge that she was being watched so closely made her stomach lurch.

  “Is Resnikov still eating clams?” Jake asked.

  There was a long silence while Mather listened.

  “Stay with them,” he said finally. “Tell the SEAL to stay with the boat. We’ll be in touch.”

  Honor looked at Jake. “The seal? As in bark-bark, give me a fish?”

  “As in navy commando,” he said softly, and hoped he wouldn’t have to meet Ellen’s SEAL up close and personal.

  Mather flipped the phone closed and stuffed it back in his pocket.

  “Well?” Ellen asked him.

  Uneasily Mather looked at Jake.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Jake said. “I already figured out that every time Pete takes a crap one of your men is sitting in the stall next to him. So your guy just told you that two muddy clowns turned up at the Chowder Keg and told Pete what he already knew—no sale. Again. As for the SEAL waiting around for you, he’s the squared-away, buffed-up, hell-on-two-feet dude who’s getting the best out of that Bayliner every time we go out on the water.”

  “Did Jake miss anything?” Ellen asked Mather.

  “Just what Resnikov said to the men.”

  “Yeah?”

  Mather shrugged. “It was in Russian, but our guy could tell that Resnikov wasn’t pinning medals on them and kissing their hairy cheeks.”

  Ellen resumed tapping her fingernails against her purse.

  “Did you eat all the salmon salad?” Jake asked Honor.

  “How did you know I made salmon salad?”

  He bent down, kissed her, and whispered, “I tasted it.”

  “It’s in the refrigerator,” she muttered.

  “What kind of bribe would I have to offer to get you to make a sandwich while I shower?”

  “Get rid of our guests. I’ve had it way past up to here.”

  “Okay.” Jake straightened. “Good-bye, Ellen. Take your friend with you. When I have something I want to share, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Ellen’s red-lacquered nails went still. She looked at him for a long moment and decided it was the best deal she was going to get right now. She turned to Mather. “C’mon. Let’s see where Marju Unpronounceable is staying.”

  The front door had barely closed behind them when Jake turned to Honor.

  “Start packing,” he said.

  “I don’t want to go anywh—”

  She stopped talking. No one was listening. The back door had already closed behind Jake. Hands on hips, she watched him trot down the path to the boat. A minute later he reappeared with a nylon duffel in his hand. Clean clothes, no doubt.

  Before he reached the door, Honor was in the kitchen making a salmon salad sandwich. No matter how irritated she was, a deal was still a deal.

  But if Jake wanted any packing done, he could damn well do it himself.

  20

  WHEN JAKE EMERGED from the bathroom he was wearing fresh jeans, a clean wool shirt, and boat shoes.

  “What happened at your cabin?” Honor asked the instant he walked into the kitchen.

  “Just what I told Ellen. Nice necklace you’re wearing. Did you design it?”

  “Yes. What didn’t you tell Ellen?”

  He gave up the idea of changing the subject. “The men were from the Seattle branch of the Organizatsiya. That’s the—”

  “—overseas mutation of the Russian mafiya,” Honor finished impatiently.

  Jake raised his eyebrows.

  “Ellen mentioned them,” Honor said. “How did you know who the men were working for? Were they carrying membership cards or special guns or something?”

  “I asked them.”

  “And they told you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked softly.

  Honor looked at Jake’s eyes. There was a lot more dar
kness than silver in them.

  “Right,” she said. “Next topic. Does that mean your good friend Pete is mafiya?”

  “Not necessarily.” Jake finger-combed his wet hair. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. Crooks are politicians and politicians are crooks and everyone swaps favors and whores when they think no one is watching.”

  “Charming worldview you have.”

  “Thank you. It’s the result of a lifetime of study. Are you planning on eating that sandwich or does it have my name on it?”

  She handed over the sandwich and a paper towel to serve as a napkin.

  “Are you packed?” he asked.

  “I was too busy being domestic in the kitchen.”

  Jake chewed, swallowed, and watched Honor very closely. She had turned away and was rinsing a mayonnaise-covered spoon in the sink.

  “Good sandwich,” he said. “I’ll clean up here while you pack.”

  “No need.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not going anywhere that I’ll need a change of clothes.”

  “It’s always a good idea to have a change of clothes aboard the boat.”

  “I’m not aboard the boat.” Honor looked out at the blue-white, wind-tossed sound. “Thank God.” She looked back at Jake. “Or is the wind supposed to drop?”

  “Not today.”

  She bit her lip. Relief that she wouldn’t have to go out on the rough water warred with the chill dread that never stopped gnawing on her: Kyle needed help and she was the only one in a position to give it.

  Jake had no trouble following the direction of Honor’s thoughts. Her face was almost as expressive as her body had been while he made love to her. He set the sandwich on the counter, dipped an edge of the paper towel in the running water, and turned Honor into his arms.

  “What—” she began, startled.

  “You have dirt on your cheek. Since it’s my fault, it’s only fair that I clean you up.”

  Honor’s breath caught at the cool touch of the paper towel as Jake wiped off the smudges his muddy fingers had left on her face when he kissed her earlier. He hesitated, then kissed her again. This time when he lifted his hands her face was clean and flushed.

  “I didn’t have any mud on my mouth,” she said.

  “Sure you did.”