Diamonds Can Be Deadly

by Merline Lovelace

  "Do you mind if I smoke?"

  "No."

  "These are hand rolled for me in Cuba. They're quite mild. Would you care to try one?"

  Declining one of the thin black cigarillos, she leaned an elbow on the railing and waited while he lit up. The stiff ocean breeze blew the stream of smoke out to sea.

  "So, Jordan, we meet again."

  "So we do."

  "Are you truly here to conduct business with Bar­tholomew Greene?"

  "Why else would I be here?"

  "Why else, indeed?"

  He blew another thin stream and tapped a mani­cured nail on his silver cigarette case a time or two before setting it squarely on the railing.

  "You may speak freely. We won't be overheard."

  Jordan eyed the slim case, wondering if it emitted a signal strong enough to jam the transmit­ter in her earring. If so, Claire would not be happy. Nor would TJ.

  "You first," she said to Esteban. "Are you really working for the Colombians?"

  "I am."

  "Why?"

  "I have my reasons for infiltrating their organi­zation." He flicked an ash over the railing. "You will have to trust me that they are very much in concert with yours."

  "What makes you think I'm trying to infiltrate anything?"

  "You've established contact with Bartholomew Greene. You're now dealing with Garcia. You wish to discover if it is more than the buying and selling of emeralds from the Muzo mine that links them. So do I."

  Jordan wanted to believe him. According to the OMEGA rumor mill, Claire Cantwell and this sexy Latin had quite a history.

  'Turn that off," she said, jerking her chin at the silver case.

  Shrugging, he slid a finger along the edge of the case. Jordan hooked her hair behind her ear and spoke clearly enough to be heard over the wind and restless waves.

  "This is Diamond. Come in, Control."

  Esteban's glance skimmed from her face to her hands, searching for the hidden transmitter. Jordan didn't clue him in.

  "Go ahead, Diamond."

  "Did you copy that?"

  "Copy what? We've experienced some static. The airwaves just cleared."

  "Colonel Esteban informed me he's deliberately infiltrated the Colombian emerald cartel."

  There was a short, sharp silence. "Did he say why?"

  "No. Run him, Cyrene. Now. I'll stand by."

  At the mention of the code name, Esteban's eyes narrowed. "Are you speaking with Claire?"

  "I'm speaking with my controller."

  "How?"

  With a sense of deja vu, Jordan tapped the gold hoop with a nail. She'd played the same scene with TJ only last night. Frowning, Esteban tossed his cigarillo over the railing and moved in for a closer look.

  "I wish to speak with her."

  "Sorry, this is a restricted net. Anything you want to say to Cyrene, you say through me."

  Jordan felt a flicker of unease as the colonel's face hardened. She glanced over the rail at the long drop to the churning sea below. Danny's tale about the ancient Hawaiians tossing folks off Ma'aona Peak onto the wave-swept rocks flashed into her head.

  She coiled her muscles, fully prepared to take the sinewy colonel down if necessary. He read the warning in her eyes and held up both palms.

  "If you are as skilled as Claire, I know better than to risk my manhood by forcing matters. I shall, as you instruct, speak through you."

  He spread his legs, making himself even more vulnerable to a knee to the groin, and braced his hands on either side of Jordan's waist. His breath brushing her cheek, he spoke directly into her earring.

  "Buenos dias, mi amor."

  Jordan waited several beats, the small of her back pressed into the rail. "Did you, er, copy that, Control?"

  "Yes."

  The terse response sounded so un-Claire-like Jordan blinked.

  "Tell Colonel Esteban to stand by," her control­ler rapped out. "I'm running him now."

  Jordan dutifully relayed the message, although the Cartozan was close enough now to pick up the transmission himself.

  "She says to stand by."

  "Yes, I heard. What extraordinary clarity," he commented. "And what pleasure it gives me to hear your voice again, querida. We've been too long apart this time."

  His breath was rich with the scent of tobacco, his mustache silky where it tickled Jordan's cheek. She'd only encountered one other man who packed so much raw masculinity into his frame.

  As if the mere thought had the power to make TJ materialize, he came through the open door seconds later, moving with lethal speed and silence. Jordan glimpsed him over Esteban's broad shoulder. She also glimpsed murder in TJ's gunmetal-gray eyes.

  Oh, Lord! Like Claire, he must have missed some of the transmission. Jordan had no idea how much he'd heard or hadn't heard.

  "TJ, wait!"

  Her shout jolted Esteban into action. In a light­ning move, the colonel whipped a hand inside his suit coat, whirled around and aimed the muzzle of a blue-steel Glock at TJ's heart.

  Chapter 11

  It's okay! Luis, it's okay!"

  Her heart hammering, Jordan shoved away from the railing and leaped between the two men. The action precipitated a curse from Esteban and a snarl from TJ.

  Snagging her wrist, TJ shoved her behind him and thrust out an arm to keep her there. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt to keep him from lunging for the colonel.

  "Stand down! Both of you!"

  The two men remained squared off, taking each other's measure, anticipating the other's next move. Fearing the imminent outbreak of hostilities, Jordan thumped TJ between the shoulder blades.

  "Hey! Stand down, Scott! You, too, Esteban."

  The colonel lowered the gun slowly. "Who is this man, Jordan?"

  TJ answered for himself. "The name's Scott. Thomas Scott."

  Something flickered in the colonel's dark eyes. "So you are Scott. I have heard of you."

  Through Claire? Jordan wondered. Or through the underworld network? With her heart still pounding under the peach silk of her blouse, she stepped around her living shield.

  "Perhaps I should introduce myself." Thumbing the safety on his Glock, Esteban slid it back into his underarm holster. "I am—"

  "Colonel Luis Esteban," TJ rapped out, never taking his eyes off the man. "Former chief of the Cartozan Special Forces and now a hired gun for the Colombi­ans. I had you on-screen in the conference room."

  "Yes, I saw the cameras." The colonel spoke slowly, carefully. "Did you mount hidden cameras or listening devices out on this deck, as well, or may we speak freely?"

  "That depends on what you want to talk about."

  "Maria Fuentes."

  A sudden stillness gripped TJ. The air around Jordan seemed to crackle with a new tension, one that raised the fine hairs on her arms.

  "How did you know Maria?"

  "May we speak freely?" Esteban repeated.

  "Yes. Now tell me how you know Fuentes."

  "We were lovers."

  Uh-oh! Had Claire heard that? With all that had happened in the past few moments, Jordan had almost forgotten she was still transmitting. Obvi­ously Esteban hadn't. Darting a quick glance in the general direction of Jordan's left ear, he added a caveat.

  "It was long ago. Very long ago, when Maria and I attended Pompeu Fabra University in Barcelona. We saw little of each other in the years since, but remained good friends. I am godfather to her son."

  Luis and this Fuentes woman must have been very good friends, Jordan thought, for her to name an ex-lover as her son's godfather. Wondering about TJ's connection to the woman, she jumped into the conver­sation.

  "Who is this Fuentes?"

  Esteban bit out a reply. "She was an agent for the Organization of American States Counter-Smug­gling Initiative."

  "Was?"

  The federales gunned her down a few years ago. They didn't know she was undercover or that she was working an op with your DEA. Few did, includ­ing her family." />
  There seemed to be a lot of that going around, Jordan thought with a small huff.

  "Maria told me about you." Esteban's intent gaze returned to TJ. "She said you were a good man. She said you were to be trusted."

  "Funny, she didn't say the same about you. In fact, I don't recall that she ever mentioned your name."

  "She would have no reason to. As I said, we saw each little in recent years and I prefer to operate in­dependently since my retirement from the military."

  "We have a name for cowboys like you."

  Esteban permitted himself a small smile. His lips curving under the thick black mustache, he dipped his head in acknowledgment.

  "I've heard them all. If we must resort to labels, I prefer soldier of fortune."

  "Is that why you're on the payroll of the emerald cartel? To make your fortune?"

  "And to avenge Maria's death."

  "You said federales killed her," TJ reminded him. "You planning to exact vengeance from the Colom­bian government?"

  "I plan to confirm the identity of the man who lured her into that trap and kill him."

  The colonel said it with such complete assurance that Jordan didn't doubt his quarry would be ferti­lizer in a matter of weeks, if not days.

  "It would appear, Scott, that my goal coincides with yours. And," he added with a nod toward Jordan, "that of the so delightful, so lovely Dia­mond."

  TJ's gaze sliced to Jordan. "He knows your code name? The organization you work for?"

  She could see he didn't appreciate the fact that Esteban was apparently privy to highly confidential information he’d only learned last night.

  "As far as I know," she said, "Luis is one of the good guys. We're running a screen on him now, but I can tell you we share a number of mutual acquain­tances. Very high-level, very important people. If they vet him, he's good."

  She thought of her Washington contacts, remem­bered how they'd opened their home to the colonel. Lightning knew the man, too. And Claire, who’d, worked an op with him in San Antonio. Surely people with their keen instincts couldn't all be wrong in their assessment of the man.

  TJ wasn't impressed by her conditional endorse­ment. His brows snapped together and a steely look came into his eyes. As it turned out, he was ques­tioning more than Esteban's credentials.

  "Judging by the way the colonel was sucking on your neck when I arrived on the scene, I'd say you've shared more than a few mutual acquain­tances."

  The remark pulled Jordan up short. With her mind still churning and her blood pumping from the near shoot-out, she hadn't thought about how that clinch must have appeared to TJ.

  "We were just testing the communications."

  That sounded as lame to her as it did to TJ. He didn't exactly sneer, but he came close.

  "Yeah, sure."

  "We were." Jordan didn't particularly like being made to feel like a teenager caught half-naked in the backseat of a car. "And even if we weren't, I don't owe you any explanations."

  "You're right. I don't know why I thought last night might have changed things."

  Heat crept up Jordan's neck. "Watch it, Scott."

  That didn't go down any better than the commu­nications bit. His eyes as flat and cold as iced-over steel, TJ reminded her of their supposed partner states.

  "Our respective bosses instructed us to cooper­ate with each other, remember? So cooperate. Tell me why you let the man Garcia described as his hired gun crawl all over you."

  "He did not crawl. He just got close enough to talk to Cyrene. My controller," she added in a terse explanation, "who is gathering information and will, hopefully, get back to me at any moment."

  "I'm here, Diamond." Claire's cool, crisp voice filled her ear. "Are you ready to copy?"

  "Thank God!" Hunching a shoulder, Jordan cupped a hand over her ear. "What have you got?"

  "Some rather interesting information. Almost as interesting as what you've just imparted to me."

  With both TJ and the colonel glowering at her, Jordan decided to take Cyrene's report in private. She walked a few feet away and turned her back on the two men.

  TJ shot silent, angry bullets at her back, fighting for control. Tension still ratcheted through every inch of his frame. He suspected it wouldn't go away any time soon. The woman was going to kill him!

  Last night, she'd knocked him off his rails—lit­erally and figuratively. He'd just about recovered from her disclosures about her secret life when she decided they should blow away old hurts and left­over desire with sex. Just sex.

  Sometime between midnight and dawn, TJ had realized that he wanted a whole lot more than sex from this woman. What, he didn't know. He was still trying to figure that out when the fire alarm went off this morning and the security cameras had kicked on to reveal Jordan kneeling beside a choking, gasping boy.

  TJ had seen another side of her then. Coolheaded, rock steady, in control. He hadn't had time yet to as­similate this new Jordan, get her fixed in his head.

  Now he had to factor in a whole new aspect that centered on an agent with the code name Diamond. TJ had just about busted a gut when the woman had ignored his relayed order and strolled out on the deck with Garcia's cohort. Not two minutes later, her supposedly secure transmission had erupted into static.

  He'd waited, his heart measuring every second, then decided to go in. He wouldn't forget the sheer terror that had knifed into him when he'd spotted Jordan bent backward over that rail, fighting off an attacker.

  Only he hadn't been an attacker.

  And she hadn't been fighting.

  His jaw locking, TJ turned to Esteban. He didn't buy that bull about the Cartozan being Maria's old lover or wanting to avenge her death. Maybe because he didn't want to buy it. What he wanted was to make raw hamburger meat out of the man's face.

  The suspicion and hostility emanating from TJ in waves didn't seem to concern the colonel. Smiling, the older man retrieved a silver cigarette case from the railing behind him and clicked it open.

  "If it makes a difference," he said amiably, holding out the case, "I didn't know Jordan was your woman."

  "Now you do." Selecting one of the short, thin cigarillos, TJ rolled it between his fingers. "I suggest you keep that in mind next time you decide to, how did Jordan phrase it? Test communications."

  Chuckling, Esteban selected a cigarillo for him­self and sniffed the outer wrapping appreciatively before lighting both his and TJ's.

  "This controller Jordan speaks with. Cyrene. She is my woman. Or will be, when I convince her she cannot continue to hold me at bay."

  The information put a lid on some of TJ's instinc­tive hostility. His suspicion remained intact until Jordan rejoined them. Her attention was all on Esteban.

  "Cyrene got hold of the chief of the OAS's Counter-Smuggling Task Force. He says he's had no contact with you about Special Agent Maria Fuentes."

  Unperturbed, the Cartozan exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "That's true. He has not."

  "But Chameleon has."

  "Ahhh, Chameleon." A smile warmed the man's chocolate-brown eyes. "Were it not for Cyrene, I might yet try to tempt the delectable Chameleon to sin."

  "Like that's going to happen," Jordan retorted.

  TJ had had it with all these code names. "What's the bottom line here?" he asked impatiently. "Is the colonel playing a double game with us or his Colom­bian bosses?"

  "According to my bosses, he's working his own agenda, but we can trust him."

  If TJ had learned anything during his years un­dercover, it was never to take a stranger's word for anything. But this word came from Jordan, who he did trust. Mostly.

  He couldn't shake the nagging little worry that this hunger for her had clouded his judgment. And the bigger worry that he was fast losing control of this op. There were too many players in the game now. So he wasn't real happy when Jordan announced another.

  "Just so you know," she said to Esteban. "Cy­rene won't be acting as my controller for this mission any
longer."

  "May I inquire why?"

  "She's going into the field."

  TJ swore under his breath. That's all he needed. Another new arrival at the Tranquility Institute he'd have to keep on his radar screen. Esteban didn't appear to like the news any more than TJ did.

  "Why does she go into the field?" the colonel asked, frowning.

  "She thinks she might be able to get close to one of Bartholomew's clients. The man left the institute suddenly this morning, still hauling unresolved grief issues over the death of his wife and son. Cyrene's flying out to L.A. and will intercept him at the airport when he lands."

  Esteban's frown deepened. "She goes to intercept a courier for Bartholomew Greene?"

  "We don't know he's a courier. We just want to know why he left the institute so suddenly. He booked the last seat on the turnaround of the flight you and Garcia arrived on."

  The colonel let loose with a string of Spanish oaths. His jaw tight, he shot his cigarillo over the railing.

  "Tell Claire she must not intercept this man!"

  Jordan's brows lifted. "I beg your pardon."

  "Tell her she puts herself in danger. Tell her..." With an impatient shake of his head, he reached out and snagged her arm. "No, no. I will tell her myself."

  "Hey!"

  Ignoring her protest, he pulled her closer. The move jolted TJ into action. He was damned if he was going to stand there and let this man bury his face in Jordan's neck again.

  He'd taken a single step in their direction when he picked up the sound of voices in the conference room. Moving fast, he clamped a hand over Este­ban's forearm.

  "Back off, Colonel."

  "I know she is your woman. I merely wish to protect mine."

  "Hey!" Jordan said again. "You need to watch those possessive adjectives."

  "Garcia's coming," TJ hissed.

  Muttering another curse, Esteban released Jordan and assumed a casual pose at the railing. When Garcia, Myers and Greene strolled out onto the veranda a few seconds later, the colonel was relating a story from his days as head of the Cartozan Special Forces.

  "So, I sent a heavily armed Delta squad against the intruders who had breached our supposedly im­penetrable defenses. Imagine our chagrin when the squad surrounded two boys on a donkey. Los mu-chachos had managed to find the one centimeter of perimeter where our very expensive, very sensitive sensors did not overlap."