"I sensed the same sorrow in you the first time we met," her host said, fixing his penetrating eyes on her. "Do you weep for someone you've lost, Jordan? A relative? A friend? A lover?"
She fought a suddenly smothering need to yank her hand back, break the connection and kill the strange vibrations. Refusing to give in to the superstitious urge, she smiled at Greene.
"You're very perceptive, Bartholomew. The first time we met, I was thinking of someone I'd lost."
She flicked a glance at the security camera angled for a clear shot of her face. When she brought her gaze back to Greene, her smile was razor sharp.
"But I never wept for him. He wasn't worth my tears."
* * *
Inside the Security Operations Center, TJ stood with his legs spread and his arms folded. His gaze was locked on one of the monitors fed by the six surveillance cameras inside Greene's private vault. Jordan's voice came through the speakers clear and undistorted. So clear, each word cut into TJ with the sharp, clean slice of a scalpel.
His face impassive, he said nothing as he and the on-duty officer tracked every move of the three people inside the vault. Neither of them would breathe easy until Bartholomew escorted his guests out of the vault and reactivated the redundant alarms, although for very different reasons.
Greene kept a cool fifteen million in artifacts, jewelry and gems inside that concrete-and-steel bunker. All of it had been acquired legally, or so the insurance documents and transfer certificates alleged. TJ had verified every item on the inventory personally when he'd assumed responsibility for security and again during scheduled maintenance and system tests.
Not that Bartholomew listed all his treasures on the inventory. Unknown to his employer, TJ had tracked down the original architects, obtained a set of drawings and compared them to the schematics currently on file. Sometime between design and installation, several small compartments had been added to the vault. Compartments not even the chief of security was supposed to know about.
TJ had already taken a look inside those compartments. He'd found all kinds of interesting objects, including a World War II-era cipher stone and an emerald phallus large enough to service a bull elephant, but not what he was looking for.
He fully intended to go back in for another more thorough search, but Jordan's unexpected arrival—and unexplained activities—had put a crimp in those plans. Not to mention a severe dent in his ego.
He wasn't worth my tears.
The scathing comment bounced around inside TJ's head as he watched her join Bartholomew at a cabinet fitted with velvet-lined drawers. The drawers held Greene's collection of loose stones, categorized by size, cut and color.
"This is one of my favorites."
Bartholomew selected a heart-shaped emerald from its velvet nest and rubbed his thumb across its faceted surface. His eyes drifted shut. A dreamy expression came over his face. Making a low, throaty sound, he caressed the stone with the same sensual deliberation another man might stroke his mistress.
TJ's gaze zeroed in on Jordan. He thought he saw a flicker of revulsion cross her face. Or maybe it was derision. Whatever the emotion, it was gone when Bartholomew opened his eyes and offered her the stone.
"Try this one. See if it speaks to you."
She hesitated, reluctant to take the shimmering green heart. TJ didn't blame her. Bartholomew had practically ejaculated on the damn thing.
Instead, she curled a hand around the teardrop dangling from the thin gold chain.
"You know, I think you might have been right this morning. I didn't give this stone a chance. I'm starting to get attached to it."
"I was sure that was the right stone for you!" Pleased with her choice, Greene restored the heart to its velvet pocket. "You said you didn't cry over this lost love. If you let it, the teardrop will weep for you and ease the pain you carry inside your heart."
"It's not pain," she said, lifting her chin to speak to the camera. "It's disgust."
TJ stood stiff legged and tight jawed while the trio left the vault and the steel door whirred shut behind them. One by one, the alarms reactivated. His on-duty officer ran the checklist. When the last of the redundant systems came online, the retired cop blew out a breath.
"All systems up, boss. We're back in business." After noting the time in the computerized security log, he swiveled around in his chair. "I'm stuck here for another six hours. What are you doing with the rest of the night?"
The question was innocent. Far too innocent. With a sudden prickle between his shoulder blades, TJ turned.
"Why?"
The man's mouth cocked into a grin. "The guys on night shift have a pool going. So far the odds are on Liana Wu, but I may transfer my bet to that hot piece of tail in bungalow seven. The woman practically crawled all over you at the Jade Buddha last night."
"Ms. Waller-Winston is a guest. Don't ever let me hear you refer to her in those terms again."
Genial and slightly overweight, the officer took the reprimand with good grace.
"No, sir." His brows waggled. "So what are you going to do tonight?"
TJ snorted. You could take a cop out of the uniform but you could never take the morbid curiosity out of the cop.
"Well, I'll tell you," he drawled, still feeling the bite of Jordan's words. "I'm thinking about taking a bottle down to the beach and getting plastered."
Revved from her session in the vault and the news that Greene's Colombian contact was making a visit to the institute, Jordan had to swallow her impatience to pass the information to OMEGA.
Bartholomew escorted her from his residence to the Jade Buddha, where the guests mingled for a leisurely cocktail hour. Declining a virgin mango sunrise, she opted for an alcohol-free coconut daiquiri. The creamy drink went down smoothly, as did the seared poke served for dinner.
As Danny had promised, the fish was the best thing on the menu. It had been cut into cubes, marinated in sesame-seed oil, garlic and soy sauce, and pan seared to a cranchy 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 wh
o'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.
Chapter 7
TJ 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 kne
w 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 anticorruption 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.
Diamonds Can Be Deadly Page 7
