Amber Beach

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Jake handed over the binoculars. Silently she took them, turned her back, and began examining the shoreline through as much magnification as her stomach could take.

  Slowly the Tomorrow made its way around a small headland. The opposite side of the headland was a very shallow cove that might have had a rough, rocky beach at low tide, but the tide wasn’t low at the moment. A light breeze played over the steep slope dropping down to the shore. Fir trees came all the way to the waterline and trailed their shaggy green arms in the sea.

  “Stop!” Honor said suddenly.

  Jake didn’t have brakes, but he did what he could. He shoved the shifter into neutral, then into reverse for a few seconds, then into neutral again. The boat began drifting. He corrected with the shifter rather than the wheel, holding the Tomorrow as nearly stationary as he could in the wind and current.

  The shore was less than thirty feet off the port side of the boat. The bottom was at sixteen feet. He watched Honor, the depth sounder, and the shore. Without removing the binoculars she fumbled open the side window and leaned out.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Go back to where that bunch of fir trees comes down to the water and get as close as you can.”

  He looked to her left and saw a dense growth of young trees. Gently he powered backward until the boat was opposite the firs. Abruptly the bottom leaped up to meet the surface.

  “That’s it,” Jake said, reversing. “There’s a reef. Any closer and I’ll be on the rocks.”

  With a frustrated noise, Honor leaned farther out the window, banging her elbows in her eagerness to get a better look. The shore was still ten feet away, the fir branches were rippling in the wind, and the boat was constantly adjusting to the restless, choppy water.

  “I can’t see if it’s a—” she began. She made an odd sound. “It’s a dive tank!”

  Jake couldn’t see anything but the back of her head and the rocky shore they were drifting closer to with every passing second. He looked at the bottom and made up his mind. This would have to do for short-term anchorage. At least they were on the lee side of the island, as long as the wind didn’t shift.

  He threw the controls into reverse, backed out, then switched to neutral. “I’m going to anchor here.”

  Honor barely noticed him going to the bow, letting down the anchor, and then backing the boat off to set the hook. The engine noise stopped. She kept staring through the glasses until her eyes ached, praying that she would see her brother.

  All she saw was an on-and-off glint of metal where the dive tank lay hidden in the thicket of fir trees.

  “Kyle!” Honor called. “Are you here? Are you all right? Kyle! Can you hear me?”

  Only the sigh of evergreens and the restless slapping of water against rock answered her.

  “Do you know how to shoot a gun?” Jake asked.

  Honor backed out of the window so fast that she rapped her head. “The basics, why?”

  “How basic?” he asked.

  “The end with the hole in it points toward the target. Don’t close your eyes when you pull the trigger.”

  “That’s pretty basic.” He bent down and opened a compartment beneath the table. “How good a shot are you?”

  “I’d probably do better tying the gun on the end of my fishing line and throwing it like a lure.”

  The corner of Jake’s mouth turned up in a reluctant smile. “I’ll bet you would.” He straightened, gun in hand, and headed for the stern of the boat. “I’ll take this with me.”

  “What?” She stared at the black weapon and then hurried to follow him out into the stern. “Why do you need one?” she demanded as he shoved the gun into a waterproof dive bag and clipped the bag to the webbing belt around his waist. “Kyle wouldn’t shoot you! Why are you carrying a gun?”

  Jake looked up. There was no smile on his face. “I’m not planning on shooting your precious brother. I promised you that I wouldn’t hurt him. My word might not mean anything to you, but it does to me.”

  “That isn’t what I meant,” Honor said, touching Jake’s arm. Cool neoprene covered it. “You’re in no danger from Kyle, so why take a gun?”

  “I’m the nervous type.”

  “Damn it, Jake, what aren’t you telling me?”

  He hissed a word under his breath and looked into Honor’s angry, anxious eyes. It would be so much easier for both of them if she just trusted him. But she didn’t.

  “According to Ellen Lazarus,” Jake said, “two Russians were sent to take care of Kyle. One killer washed up dead. The other one didn’t. Feel better now that I’ve told you what I wasn’t telling you?”

  “No.” Honor’s hands fastened around Jake’s upper arms. She was shocked by the tension and strength in him. “If there’s a-a killer waiting for you, don’t go ashore!”

  When Jake realized that she was worried about him as well as her brother, some of the tension eased from his body.

  “You’re not thinking very clearly, honey. Somebody has to check out that dive tank.” He bent and gave her a swift, hard kiss. “Don’t you get worried just because I am. I’m paranoid, remember? That means no more hanging over the rail and yelling for Kyle.”

  Unhappily she bit her lip, but she didn’t protest.

  “Stay here until I come back for you,” Jake said. “If you hear gunshots, get on the radio to the Coast Guard and stay on until you see them or the SEALs coming over the swim step. Don’t try to go ashore. Okay?”

  “Can’t I help you?”

  “Sure. If you see anyone but me or Kyle, hit the boat horn.”

  “I meant coming ashore with you. I can take the cold water for a few yards.”

  “You’d be surprised how quick it gets to you. But even if you could take it, I don’t want you to leave the boat.”

  “But—”

  “Remember the night the guy trashed Kyle’s house?” Jake interrupted.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t sneak up on me,” he said simply. “We’d both regret it. Okay?”

  “No, but I’ll stay on the boat anyway,” Honor said. “Unless you or Kyle is hurt and needs me. Then I’ll do what I think is best, up to and including going ashore.”

  It wasn’t quite the answer Jake wanted but it was better than an outright refusal. He went over the stern gunwale onto the swim step. The twenty feet to land wasn’t worth the trouble of putting on swim fins to cover. He lowered himself into the water and scissor-kicked until he could stand. When he got to the rocky shore, the reef shoes he wore were better than no protection at all, but they weren’t climbing boots.

  Cursing, scrambling over slippery stones, he pushed among the prickly, flexible young firs. It didn’t take him long to find the dive tank shoved back into the greenery. There was a name etched onto the cylinder: “Kyle Donovan.”

  Without moving, Jake examined the dense growth of firs beyond the air tank. There was no sign of breakage, no path battered through the stubborn growth, no primitive camp concealed beneath the boughs.

  No corpse, either.

  Mentally he reviewed the shoreline for places where an inflated Zodiac could be hidden. Zero. As for the island itself, he hadn’t noticed many places where a man could hide himself, much less set up a concealed camp.

  Jake backed out of the firs and headed uphill, using the shallow crease of a ravine as a trail. The ravine went all the way to the top of the island, which was about two hundred feet at its highest. He didn’t go that far. After a short, sharp scramble he pulled himself up to another row of wind-stunted trees.

  And found himself looking right into the barrel of Kyle Donovan’s twenty-two pistol.

  “If you shoot me,” Jake said harshly, “don’t shoot the next one up the hill. That would be your sister Honor.”

  Kyle’s eyes narrowed as he tried to see the man outlined against the bright sky. “Jay? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  A sweeping, predatory g
lance cataloged Kyle’s gaunt face, hollow eyes, and trembling hand holding the gun. His dark blond hair was streaked with dust and his green-gold eyes burned with fever. There was a tear in the shoulder of his dive suit that could have come from a fall, a knife, or a bullet.

  “What’s this about Honor?” Kyle asked hoarsely.

  “Honor is with me.”

  “Get her out of here.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s dangerous!”

  “You’re the only one I see holding a gun. Are you planning on shooting her?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “How about me? You planning on shooting me?”

  Kyle gave him a blank, disbelieving look. “Why would I do that? The only one I’m aiming for is the Russian who shot up my Zodiac after I put my elbow in his buddy’s throat.”

  “Was that about a week ago?”

  “I guess. The days kind of run together . . . .” Kyle’s eyelids lowered wearily. Adrenaline began to fade into the fatigue brought on by hunger and thirst and lack of sleep. “Do you have any water?”

  Jake glided closer, waiting for exhaustion to make Kyle careless. “I can get some water, but not with you holding that pistol on me.”

  Kyle looked at the gun as though surprised to see it was still in his hand.

  And then it wasn’t. It was in Jake’s hand and Jake’s arm was barred against Kyle’s throat, slamming him down against the rocks. Kyle thrashed once, then stopped struggling.

  “It’s a good thing I promised Honor not to hurt you,” Jake said through his teeth. “I don’t like having a gun held on me.”

  Abruptly he straightened, freeing Kyle, who struggled into a half-sitting position.

  “I didn’t know it was you,” Kyle said, shaking his head.

  Jake grunted.

  With a sigh Kyle slumped back into the rocky crevice where he had been hiding.

  Swiftly Jake finished his inventory of Kyle Donovan. In addition to the bloody gash high on the left shoulder, his dive suit was dirty all over and torn at one knee. The reef walkers he had on his big feet were ragged. His long-limbed, muscular body wasn’t up to its usual level of effort; obviously just sitting up taxed his strength. His hands were scraped and bruised, his color was bad, he looked haggard and pretty well used up, but he didn’t seem to be in danger of dying right away.

  Jake let out a silent breath. He really hadn’t wanted to face Honor over Kyle’s dead body.

  “About that water . . .” Kyle said in a hoarse voice.

  Instead of saying anything, Jake sat on his heels and grabbed the younger man’s wrist. The pulse was light, rapid. “Stick out your tongue.”

  “What?”

  “Jesus, you and Honor. Argue about the color of the sky rather than follow a simple order. Stick out your damned tongue.”

  Kyle smiled. His dry lips cracked and bled. He licked up the moisture hungrily and stuck out his tongue at Jake. “How’s it look?”

  “Bloody awful, but not dangerously dehydrated. When was the last time you had water?”

  “Did it rain last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it was last night. But it wasn’t enough.”

  “Didn’t you have any water with you?”

  “Some, but I didn’t plan on staying for a week.”

  “What about food?”

  “Shipwreck menu,” Kyle said huskily. His eyelids closed. “Shellfish and seaweed.”

  The sympathy Jake felt irritated him almost as much as having a gun held on him. “Where’s the amber?”

  “The stuff you signed over to me is at a Kamchatka fishing camp.”

  “What about the rest of it?”

  Kyle’s eyes opened. “What?”

  “The Amber Room,” Jake said savagely. “What about it?”

  Suddenly Kyle looked twice as haggard as he had before. “So you were part of it. Shit! I couldn’t believe you set me up to die!”

  “I didn’t, but you set me up to take the fall for the stolen amber.”

  “Like hell,” Kyle said, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t even know something was wrong until the driver I picked up tried to kill me.”

  “So you dumped his body and—”

  “He was breathing when I left him,” Kyle interrupted.

  “He wasn’t when they found him.”

  Kyle closed his eyes in a grimace of pain. He looked like a man who was reaching the end of his endurance.

  Jake sighed and swore under his breath. What had been a straightforward, if bitterly painful, assignment of blame for the theft of the amber had just gotten real complicated. Even so, Jake was relieved that Kyle had been fooled rather than crooked.

  “Don’t feel sorry for the bastard you chucked out of the truck,” Jake said. “He’s the one who jumped you, not the other way around.”

  Kyle didn’t answer.

  “When did you find out you had a panel of the Amber Room?” Jake asked.

  Slowly Kyle’s eyes opened. They were bleak and measuring, as though he regretted the loss of his gun. His whole body had changed. Despite his exhaustion, he could still gather himself for an attack. “How do you know about that?”

  “A former associate told me.”

  “Russian?”

  “American. Some of the folks I worked for before I started my own company.”

  “Oh. Them. Hell, this is a royal cock-up, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Do you have the amber?”

  Kyle nodded.

  “Here?” Jake asked.

  “Out there.” Wearily he waved at the water.

  Jake squeezed Kyle’s right shoulder reassuringly and stood up. “I’ll bring water. And Honor, no doubt. I should break your neck for not telling your family that you’re all right, but I promised not to touch you.”

  “Bring the water and then get her away from here.”

  “You’re not thinking very well. The lady doesn’t take orders any better than any other Donovan.”

  “And you do?”

  “Sure. I’m a regular little altar boy.”

  Kyle gave him a tired smile, winced, and fell back into an uneasy state that was neither consciousness nor sleep, more of a drifting that was broken by adrenaline-filled wakefulness at every unusual sound.

  The next thing Kyle knew, Honor was kneeling at his side, trying to get him to sit up.

  “Don’t pull on that arm,” Jake cautioned her. “It’s hurt.”

  “You said he was all right!”

  The anger, fear, and love in her voice made Kyle want to smile, but he knew better-his lips were too sore. Like his eyes. Dry and wanting to stay in the dark.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your brother that antibiotics, a glucose drip, and twenty-four hours’ sleep won’t cure,” Jake said. “You awake, Kyle?”

  “Sort of,” he said hoarsely. “Water?”

  “Right here. I’m going to help you sit up so you won’t choke.” Jake slid his arm under Kyle’s shoulders and lifted him.

  Breath hissed through Kyle’s teeth.

  “What is it?” Honor asked.

  “Ribs,” Kyle said. “Bastard kicked me.”

  “The driver?” Honor asked, remembering what Jake had told her as he hustled her into the Zodiac.

  “One of the Russians they sent after me,” Kyle said.

  “The one who washed ashore about a week ago?” Jake asked calmly.

  “Let him drink before you grill him,” Honor said curtly.

  She unscrewed the cap from a two-liter bottle of water and held it awkwardly to Kyle’s lips. At first more dribbled down his beard-stubbled chin than went into his mouth. But after a few swallows, he got the hang of it and began drinking greedily.

  “Slow down,” Jake said, pushing the bottle away. “If you keep gulping like that, you’ll get sick all over your loving little sister.”

  Sighing, Kyle closed his eyes and settled back against Jake’s arm, only to flinch when something touched his sore lips.

  “Eas
y,” Jake said. “Honor is just putting some goo on so you don’t bleed every time you smile.”

  “What is it?” Kyle asked.

  “Chicken manure,” she replied. “That way you won’t lick it right off.”

  He laughed, then hissed when his ribs caught him.

  “What happened to your arm?” Honor asked.

  Kyle looked at her as though wondering how little he could get away with telling her.

  “Forget protecting her,” Jake said. “She’s a lot tougher than you think.”

  “I got too close to a bullet,” Kyle admitted, “but the ribs hurt more now.”

  Honor made a low sound and bit her lip.

  “Hold still,” Jake said to Kyle. “I’m going to open up this sleeve for a better look.”

  He took his dive knife from its sheath and gently sliced fabric away from Kyle’s left shoulder. Honor took a steadying breath and leaned closer. Just below the shoulder, his arm and dive suit were crusted with a mixture of grit and blood. A finger’s width of skin was gone from the outer arm. Puffy flesh oozed where it wasn’t scabbed over.

  Very gently Honor touched the unbroken skin around the wound. It was hot. “It’s infected,” she said unhappily.

  “Not dangerously,” Jake said.

  “How do you know?”

  “No red streaks on his arm,” he said, looking at Kyle. “How does your stomach feel?”

  “Fine,” Honor said.

  “Not you. Kyle.”

  “Thirsty.”

  Jake looked at the sea and saw only what he had seen before-water, rock, islands. Yet he couldn’t shake the memory of the elusive blip on the radar and the Olympic that Conroy had talked about and Jake had never seen.

  “You can drink all you want once we get you aboard the boat,” Jake said. “We’re getting out of here.”

  “The amber,” Kyle said. “I have to-”

  “Tell me where it is,” Jake interrupted impatiently. “I’ll come back for it as soon as you and Honor are safe.”

  Kyle started to speak, then shook his head.

  “What is it?” Honor asked.

  “Can’t risk it,” her brother said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Kyle just shook his head. Underneath a month’s growth of bronze beard stubble, his face was set in the same unyielding lines Jake had come to recognize in Honor. Donovans were stubborn to the soles of their feet.