Jade Island

by Elizabeth Lowell

  She shivered and wished she hadn’t taken off her jacket and jeans. The thong-bikini underwear and blouse she wore didn’t offer much in the way of cover or warmth. But she made no move to get closer to the nearest source of heat—Kyle Donovan.

  He made an impatient sound, rolled onto his side, and pulled Lianne close against his chest.

  “I’m not cold,” she muttered.

  “I am.”

  It was a lie. The man radiated heat like the sun. She tried not to let his warmth seep into her, but it was impossible. Slowly her body began to soften against his.

  “That’s it, sweetheart,” he said against her hair. “Sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

  She sighed, relaxed more, then stiffened as her hips brushed against him. He was fully aroused.

  “Don’t worry,” Kyle murmured against her ear, the words a bare thread of sound. “Much as I’d like to, Jake has ears like a fox. So just snuggle in here and we’ll both make the best of a cold bed.”

  No longer worried about revealing his own arousal, he pulled her hips against his, wrapped his arms around her, and told himself he wasn’t really torturing himself, he was just keeping her warm. The fact that one of his hands ended up tucked between her breasts was an accident.

  The fact that her nipples were hard was a revelation.

  Gently he skimmed them with his thumb, first one nipple, then the other, just for the sheer pleasure of hearing her breathing change, of having her body acknowledge the desire she wouldn’t speak aloud. He didn’t mean to spread his hand wide, to caress, to stroke, to unbutton and tease and arouse; but he did each of those things, over and over, while she remained motionless but for the wild beating of her heart.

  Very, very slowly, his touch moved down her body like the sun sliding over a mountain peak and then down to the darkest valley, probing every shadow, even the deepest one. Especially the deepest one, the one that only his aching flesh could fill, the one that gave softly, generously as he parted her and pushed into the endless heat, the wellspring of feminine mystery that pulsed slowly, rhythmically, soundlessly around him even as he spilled into her, and they gave themselves in a prolonged, silent unraveling that was like nothing either had ever felt before.

  They fell asleep that way, silent, motionless, joined.

  Chapter 25

  The wind blew hard all morning, churning the water, bringing unpredictable bursts of rain. By the time the wind began to die down, it was raining steadily. Neither wind nor rain kept Kyle from showing Lianne how to handle the Zodiac, operate the short-range location system the divers would wear, and breathe underwater using the government’s high-tech equipment.

  While Kyle ran Lianne through her paces, Archer and Jake took turns scrambling up the narrow ridge that separated Jade Island into two unequal halves. The top of the ridge gave them a view of Farmer Island, just over three miles away. Braced against the wind, shielding the lenses from the rain, Archer and Jake traded off keeping watch through powerful binoculars.

  They saw no unusual activity, no sign that Farmer was planning a party or hosting an unpublicized conference. Even after the wind dropped to a whisper, no boats arrived and no planes landed. Nor was there a plane tied down along the private runway. Apparently Dick Farmer was still in Seattle playing hardball with China and Uncle Sam.

  “No change,” Jake said, sliding down the last few feet of the slope and handing the binoculars to Archer. “If anyone noticed us coming in last night, or the Zodiac zipping around earlier today, they’re not worried enough to come looking.”

  Archer glanced at the angle of the sun and then at Kyle, who was methodically testing the rebreathers one last time. Unlike standard scuba gear, the rebreathing apparatus didn’t let loose a stream of air bubbles every time the diver exhaled. It was a useful feature; if you happened to be diving in hostile waters on a clear, calm night, a trail of bubbles could get you killed.

  “How does the water look between here and there?” Kyle asked Jake.

  “Lively, but no problem.”

  Kyle looked at the sky. With luck, there would be a nice, steady drizzle to conceal the Zodiac while they played hide-and-seek with Farmer’s guards.

  “The gear is ready,” Kyle said, standing and stretching.

  “What about the electronics?” Archer asked.

  “In a dry bag clipped to my dive belt.”

  “You sure that damned key works?” Jake asked.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Archer said.

  “Have a little faith,” Kyle told his brother. “Remember the gizmo snitch. Not to mention Honor’s alarm clock.”

  “Please, don’t mention it,” Jake muttered. “The first time I heard it go off, I thought someone was murdering her. I came running up from the dock to your cabin buck naked and waving my gun.”

  Kyle snickered. “I wish I could have seen Honor’s face.”

  “It was dark.”

  Kyle looked at the sky again. The west was incandescent with colors. The east was a peaceful twilight blue condensing into night. “Let’s suit up.”

  It was easier said than done, especially for Lianne, who had had little practice pulling on the clinging, stubborn neoprene. Even with the minimum underneath—a bikini swimsuit—she didn’t think she would make it this time. But with a generous amount of talcum powder and a lot of wriggling, she finally got the suit on.

  When she turned to take the path to the narrow, rocky strip of beach where the Zodiac had been hauled out of the water, Kyle was standing there, watching her with laughter and frank desire in his eyes.

  “Sweetheart, that would make a hell of a nightclub act.”

  She ignored him. “Where’s my rebreather?”

  “In the Zodiac. But you won’t have to use it. The rain will give us plenty of cover to beach the boat so you can walk ashore.”

  “You hope,” she muttered.

  And so did she. Driving the Zodiac around was a cinch. Climbing back into it after a dive wasn’t. Karate training had given her coordination, but hadn’t done much for the upper-body strength required to lever herself out of the water and into the Zodiac while wearing diving gear.

  Jake and Archer were waiting by the Zodiac. Enough rain spit down to darken the sky, dampen the land, and dimple the surface of the water. In the late-day gloom, the men loomed huge in their unmarked black wet suits and scuba gear. Finding a pure black wet suit for Lianne had been impossible, so Kyle had taken black shoe polish to the bright coral slices of neoprene.

  Lianne went to the bow, perched on the fat gunwale, and wrapped her neoprene-covered fingers around the straps, which would keep her from bouncing out at the first wave. She hoped.

  The men waded into the dark gray ocean, taking the Zodiac with them. Archer and Jake rolled aboard with the ease of men who had done it hundreds of times before. Kyle quickly followed. Sitting on the flat red metal gas tank, he revved up the engine, checked that everyone was set, and headed for Farmer Island.

  By the time they got there, it was dark and Lianne’s hands ached from hanging onto the straps. Despite the sulky rain dribbling over his night goggles, Kyle didn’t even need a compass to show the way. The rugged shape of Farmer Island was like a black beacon.

  He checked his dive watch. Quarter of seven. Well within their time limits. Walker wouldn’t even take off from Seattle until ten.

  Kyle throttled the outboard back to a bare mutter and crept closer to the island. They were at the opposite end to the marina and the compound. Here there were no buildings, no lighted paths, no voices calling. The headland looked like a wall, which it was, unless the tide was out. Then a boat with a very shallow draft could reach one of the thin, rocky beaches that clung to either side of the headland.

  The landing spot the men had chosen was lost in darkness, unless you happened to be the man wearing the night goggles. Just beyond the rocky rubble of the beach, the black mass of the forested headland rose steeply against the barely lighter sky.


  “You’re up,” Kyle said to Archer in a voice that carried no farther than his brother.

  “Sixty minutes,” Archer answered in the same voice.

  “Check the locator.”

  Archer switched on the miniature transmitter that would tell Kyle exactly where to pick him up in an hour.

  The small receiver in Kyle’s hand stirred to life and pointed toward Archer.

  “It’s hot,” Kyle said. “Go.”

  Archer turned off the transmitter, lowered himself into the water, and began swimming toward the beach with powerful, invisible motions of his dive flippers.

  Kyle turned the Zodiac and headed for the next drop-off point. It began to rain in earnest. No one in the open boat noticed. Wet suits were hard to get on or off, but they made world-class rain gear.

  A light blinked on the console. When that wasn’t enough to get the guard’s attention, a beeper complained in rapidly rising tones.

  “Now what?” the guard muttered, setting aside his magazine. “If that moron gardener is sneaking out in the bushes to ball the maid again, I’m going to personally rip off his cock and stuff it down her throat.”

  But the warning light wasn’t in the servants’ sector. It came from the dirt road at the far end of the island, near the runway. It could be deer. They had some on Farmer Island. Or it could be something on two legs.

  The guard hit an intercom switch that connected him to staff quarters. When there wasn’t a conference or a party scheduled, there were only two guards for the whole island. Usually it didn’t matter, because the place was so quiet that the only danger was falling asleep on the job. The guards split the day into twelve-hour shifts, 6 A.M. to 6 P.M. When Murray was on duty, Steve was off—unless something happened.

  Something had just happened.

  “Steve!” Murray snapped. “Get your ass up here. We got a live one on the east side, sector six.”

  “Hell, Murray. You sure it isn’t Lopez humping that lazy slut again?”

  “Not unless they took a walk to the far end of the runway to do it.”

  “Five to one it’s a deer.”

  “Five to one you’re fired if you don’t haul ass out there and take a look.”

  With a disgusted curse Steve pulled on a rain jacket and headed for the Jeep. Five minutes later he roared up to the far end of the island. His headlights and searchlight showed nothing but empty road and rain. He picked up the radio mike.

  “Murray, this is Steve,” he said curtly. “Nothing on the road. Not even deer tracks.”

  “Try the beach.”

  “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

  “That’s why you’re getting paid fifteen bucks an hour.”

  Steve got out of the Jeep, slammed the door, and went to the point where the road fell away to the tiny beach thirty feet below. Using a powerful flashlight and slow, methodical sweeps of his arm, he lighted up swath after swath of night. Rocks gleamed wetly in the rain. A stunted pine clung to a ledge just out of reach of the salt water. No boat was hauled up on shore or anchored within reach of his light.

  Rain trickled coldly down his jacket collar. His shoes were wet. So was his face. His leather gloves were getting clammy. He climbed back into the Jeep, slammed the door, and picked up the mike again. “Murray, Steve. Nothing but rain and rocks.”

  “That’s what I figured. C’mon back.”

  As the lights of the Jeep vanished into the rain, Archer surfaced invisibly on the black breast of the sea. He checked the dial of his dive watch. Jake should be landing on the other side of the headland in a few minutes.

  “I’ve got you on the grid,” Kyle said softly to Jake. “Go.”

  “Fifty minutes.”

  “Check.”

  Jake rolled off the gunwale and into the water on the southwest side of the island, perhaps a roundabout thousand feet from the point where Archer had gone ashore. Even as Jake vanished into the rainy darkness, Kyle turned the Zodiac and headed out into the strait to watch the fun from a safe distance.

  When the intercom came on again, water was still dripping off Steve’s jacket, which was hung over the shower rod in his small quarters.

  “Got a light again, Steve.”

  “Where?”

  “Same sector.”

  “Same piece of it?”

  “Nope. Other side of the headland. Southwest. Unless the sensors are getting cute. They do that sometimes in the rain.”

  Which, in the Pacific Northwest, meant the equipment wasn’t really reliable.

  “It’s probably more of what was there the last time,” Steve said. “Nothing.”

  “Fifteen bucks an hour, remember?”

  “Crap. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  Nervously Lianne watched Kyle prepare to go into the dark water. She clutched the receiver with its odd-shaped aerial and small, lighted dial.

  “Test it,” she said.

  Kyle switched his transmitter on.

  “Okay,” she said. “You’re on the grid.”

  He switched off.

  “Twenty minutes,” she said.

  Kyle grabbed the back of Lianne’s neck and swiftly kissed her mouth. It was the one part of both of them that wasn’t covered with black neoprene. Then he rolled out of the Zodiac and into the cold water.

  Lianne drove the Zodiac farther out into the sound. Alone on the restless, mysterious water, she settled in to wait for the longest twenty minutes of her life. Night-vision goggles helped her to make out the island. Once she even thought she might have seen something move across a patch of winter-killed grass that looked pale against the darker rocks and forest.

  From her right came a sudden whoosh-gasp, as though a nearby diver had surfaced, blown out air suddenly, and sucked it back in just as fast. She turned toward the sound so quickly that she nearly lost her balance in the rocking Zodiac.

  She saw nothing except the smooth surface of the water, oddly luminous through the night goggles. She heard nothing except the slap of water against the boat. Just when she thought she had been imagining things, the sound came again, closer this time. Her heart beat wildly as she imagined a diver stalking the Zodiac.

  Silently a black shape rose out of the water, climbing higher and higher until it was a triangular fin taller than Lianne. The rapid gust and suck of air pulsed in the night. A twist of vapor, a whisper of white markings on black, and the killer whale disappeared into the sea with the same immense, mysterious power as when it had appeared.

  Awe prickled over Lianne in a shower of tiny needles. She held her breath, listening, but the whale didn’t surface again.

  Headlights swept down the island toward the shallow, rocky cove where Kyle had gone ashore. Lianne strained forward, waiting for the headlights to stop. But the vehicle kept going to the far end of the island, where Jake and Archer were taking turns setting off sensors.

  She let out her breath in a relieved sigh. Archer had guessed right. Dick Farmer hadn’t thought the bleak little cove was inviting enough to be worth putting sensors in to warn of trespassers. After all, Farmer was worried about kayakers, bird-watchers, and picnickers parading around the island, not an armed invasion.

  Twenty minutes after Lianne had dropped Kyle off, the locator lit up. She turned the Zodiac and headed at a sedate speed for the invisible piece of flotsam that was Kyle Donovan.

  She came so close to him that she nearly ran him down and had to circle back, cut the engine, and drift. The Zodiac hesitated, then rocked hard as Kyle pulled himself aboard. Salt water cascaded off him.

  “I’ll take it,” he said, reaching for the steering arm of the outboard. “Go to the bow.”

  In an hour the sensors recorded eleven hits, three of them while Steve was still parked on the headland. Nothing ever showed up when he ran his searchlight or flashlight over the landscape. By the time he got fed up with running back and forth, he was wet to his underwear, cold, and thoroughly disgusted.

  When he returned to the compound, he didn’t bother
to go to his quarters. He went straight to the security room, where Murray sat dry and warm and watched Farmer’s idiot electronics go ftzz in the night.

  “There’s gotta be a bug in the system,” Steve said in disgust. “Water, probably. I’m sopping wet and haven’t seen anything but rain.”

  “Get a cup of coffee. I’ll have a report to Maintenance first thing in the morning.” A light flashed on the console in front of him. “Well, shit.”

  “What?” Steve asked.

  “Sector three just lit up.”

  “And you think I should check it out, just like I did four, five, and six.”

  “Fifteen bucks an—”

  “Easy for you to say,” Steve interrupted angrily, “sitting on your ass all warm and dry while I’m chasing my tail in the rain. If there isn’t something in my flashlight beam this time, I’m going to bed and you can sit here and jack off all over the blinking lights.”

  When Steve got to sector three, nothing was there but rocks, trees, and an empty dirt road. No boats. No people. Not even a damned deer.

  “Murray, Steve. Not a fucking thing out here but me. Why the hell didn’t Farmer get some dogs? They don’t go nuts from a little rain.”

  “Farmer hates dogs. Won’t have them on the place.”

  Steve didn’t bother to answer. He was on his way back to the compound and he was mad enough to kick something. Murray’s lazy ass was first on his list.

  By the time ten o’clock came, both guards were sitting at the console, betting on which sector would light up next. Neither man bothered to check out each hit physically anymore. After three hours of running around in the rain, both guards were ready to pull the plug on Dick Farmer’s security system.