The phone pinged again. With a vicious oath, TJ finally popped the cell phone's lid and shouted over the wind rushing around the Jeep's windshield.
"Scott! Go."
The same voice that had been feeding him GPS coordinates and confirming the movement of the vehicle ahead rapped out what he'd prayed to hear.
"Diamond just contacted us."
The pressure in TJ's chest eased enough for him to drag in a long whistle of air. It was his first full breath since he'd shoved the emerald into his pocket.
"Where is she?"
"In the trunk of the vehicle ahead of you."
"Is she hurt?"
"She took a whack to the back of the head but swears she's fully functional."
Christ! Jordan didn't go down easy and when she did, she didn't stay down long.
"What about weapons? Is she armed?"
"I asked the same question," the stranger on the other end drawled. "She says she's got a tire iron and knows how to use it."
"Tell her I'm—Hang on!"
TJ whipped the Jeep around a hairpin curve, almost screwing the phone into his ear in the process. His heart dropped back into his rib cage about the same time the left wheels connected with the pavement again.
"Tell her I'm ten minutes behind her and closing fast."
"Will do. Over and—"
"Hey! Pal!"
"The code name's Rigger."
"Right." His fist tightened on the cell phone. "I need you to tell Diamond something else for me, Rigger."
"I'm listening."
"Tell her I love her."
Silence thundered above the shriek of the wind. "Did you copy that?"
"I did. So did Lightning and everyone else here in the Control Center."
"Screw 'em. Just pass my message to Diamond."
Chapter 16
Jordan had been in more desperate situations but none more bizarre. Here she was, with her knees doubled up to her chin, gripping a tire iron with lethal intent. The back of her skull still throbbed and she had to take shallow breaths to filter out the fumes. Yet the message Rigger had just relayed drove everything else out of her head.
TJ was ten minutes behind.
He was closing fast.
He loved her.
Jordan thought for a moment the carbon monoxide had gotten to her. She was sure of it when she croaked out a hoarse reply.
"Advise Scott that goes both ways."
"Roger, Diamond."
Chuckling, Rigger switched to the alternate net. She could hear him passing her message and smiled in the stuffy darkness, anticipating TJ's reaction. Before Rigger could relay it, the driver hit the brakes.
"Rigger!" she hissed into the stuffy darkness. "We're slowing down."
She waited, her body a coil of tension, while the vehicle made a turn. The going got rougher then. Jordan set her teeth as the car bumped and rattled over what could only be a dirt track.
She could smell the jungle now. The thick, rich scent of dirt and spongy vegetation seeped into the trunk, overpowering even the exhaust fumes. Long moments later, the driver swung the vehicle in a slow, tight circle, backed up and cut the engine.
"We've stopped."
"I see that, Diamond."
"The front door just slammed," she hissed. "You'd better go no-com."
She couldn't take the chance her abductor would hear Rigger's faint transmissions. She'd continue to transmit from this end, though, so she could send Rigger a verbal ID of the bastard.
Thrusting her arms behind her, Jordan locked her fingers on the tire iron. A few seconds later she heard two high-pitched beeps, like those made by a signal from a key chain remote.
The trunk popped open. Sunlight flooded in. Blinded, Jordan squeezed her eyes to slits, until the dancing black spots resolved into the silhouette of a man.
Duncan Myers. Jordan ID'd Bartholomew's financial adviser by the glare bouncing off his bald head even before she took in his jogging shorts and white T-shirt. The automatic gripped in his right hand didn't waver when she propped herself up on one elbow.
"Duncan!" she exclaimed for Rigger's benefit. She didn't have to work too hard to inject outrage and confusion into her voice. "What in the hell is going on?"
"You shouldn't have lied to me."
She struggled up another few inches. "When did I lie to you?"
"This morning, when you said I must have heard wrong, that Edna didn't mention her daughters to you."
"I refuse to gossip about an upset, confused woman," Jordan gasped, letting her words spiral into incredulity, "and you knock me unconscious?"
"We both know there's more involved than gossip."
"I don't have a clue what you're talking about!"
She had to spin this out, keep Myers talking, until she could get close enough to take him down. Or until TJ arrived. He was ten minutes behind her. Seven or eight by now.
"You can cut the act," Myers bit out. "I've had my eye on you since the day you arrived. You're a very curious person, Jordan. Too curious. You've asked a lot of questions. And not just of the other guests. Liana Wu told me you pumped her for information about the institute."
"Of course I pumped her. I'm looking at a multimillion-dollar deal. I want all the information I can get about my prospective collaborators."
Myers wasn't buying it. Nor was he moving any closer to the vehicle. Standing well back, he issued a terse order.
"Sit up, swing your legs over the edge of the trunk and hop out."
Jordan made a show of thumping around to gain sufficient leverage. In the process, she slipped the short end of the tire iron inside the stretchy waistband of her shorts. The long end she kept firmly in her grasp as she wiggled upright and swung her feet out of the shallow compartment.
Metal ridges cut into the backs of her legs, but the vehicle was close to the ground. She planted her feet, steadied herself and pushed upright.
The dancing black spots came back. Dizzy from the fumes and pain, Jordan sucked in deep breaths and gave silent thanks the strands of tape still binding her ankles had held. She needed Myers unsuspecting and closer before she could neutralize his weapon with hers.
Stalling for time, she threw a swift glance around the small clearing. Dense undergrowth and trees dripping long, tangled vines shrouded it on three sides. The fourth side was nothing but open air. Swallowing a quick gulp, Jordan saw that Myers had backed the car almost to the edge of what looked like a three-thousand-foot drop. "Where are we?"
"On the grounds of Ma'aona State Park."
Oh, God! Ma'aona was the sharp peak she could see from her bungalow, the sacred mountain Danny had told her about—the place ancient Hawaiians came to toss rule-breakers onto the rocks below.
"Unfortunately for you," Myers said with a thin smile, "this section of the park is closed to tourists. Nor is this trail on any of the park maps. I found it by accident when I was up here jogging one day. It proved quite convenient for disposing of another person who asked too many questions."
Jordan shot another look at the jungle-covered ravine almost lost in the mists below her. At least now authorities would know where to search for the body of the DEA agent who'd disappeared months ago.
They'd be searching for hers, too, if she didn't watch herself. Her fingers slick with nerves, she slipped the iron rod free of her waistband.
"Dammit, Myers, what's this about?"
"It's about a quarter of a million dollars that was supposed to be deposited into accounts set up under the names of Harry McShay's wife and daughter. It's also about another half million we planned to funnel into blind trusts set up under the names of Edna's four daughters. All my associates at the other end needed was her signature on the paperwork to open the accounts."
Well, that explained why the OMEGA and DEA scrubs of the Tranquility Institute guests had turned up no anomalies. Myers and friends weren't using the guests themselves as couriers or depositors. Instead, they opened accounts in the names of the g
uests' relatives, living and dead. The relatives wouldn't know the accounts existed. Nor would deposits to those accounts raise red flags because they would come in under the ten-thousand-dollar trigger.
Slick. And disgusting.
Jordan's arms ached from holding them behind her back, but she had to keep Myers talking.
"A half a million dollars, Duncan? To be distributed among a number of fake bank accounts? Something tells me you were skimming off more than just a percentage of the institute's profits."
"How very astute of you."
"Where's the money coming from?"
"From my friend Alejandro."
"You and Garcia are siphoning money from the emerald trade into fake accounts?"
"Don't play the fool! You know very well the emerald trade is a convenient blind for the big drug cartels."
Bingo!
"It's a very simple operation, really."
Jordan managed to keep from sneering. Barely. Here it came. Like so many criminals, this one couldn't keep from bragging about how brilliant he was.
Get this all on tape, Rigger.
"Alejandro contacts me when a drop is ready to be made. We negotiate an exchange rate and he arranges to have the dollars delivered to various bank accounts I've set up around the country. Once the dollars are in the bank, I feed the funds back to Alejandro and his bosses in Colombia by using them to make what looks like legitimate purchases of emeralds."
"With grossly inflated prices," Jordan finished for him, feigning outrage and fear. "Were you going to suck me into your operation, Duncan? Make me an unknowing accomplice?"
"Of course. Alejandro and I had already set the mechanisms in place and negotiated my brokerage fee. As for making you an unknowing accomplice..."
A cold, deadly menace came into his eyes.
"I confronted Edna after I saw you two together in the restaurant. She told me you kept asking why she was so afraid. She also said you promised to protect her. How did you plan to do that, Jordan? Who do you work for?"
"Myself. I design eyewear. That's what I do."
Among other things. She knew her cover was solid. If Myers had ferreted out her OMEGA connection, he wouldn't be asking this question.
"Who do you work for?" she fired back. "Is Bartholomew behind these fake accounts you've set up?"
Her abductor curled his upper lip. "All Bartholomew cares about are his pretty, green stones. Alejandro and I keep him happy by supplying the emeralds he wants—legally or otherwise. He reciprocates by allowing me to manage his business affairs as I see fit."
"What do you get out of this? Why are you risking prison, or worse?"
"I've got millions waiting for me in those fake accounts, Jordan. Enough to get me off this damn island and set me up for life. I won't let you jeopardize everything I've worked for. You or Edna."
"This is crazy! Two women can't just disappear from the institute. How will you explain it?"
"Only you will disappear. Edna, unfortunately, will suffer a stroke brought on by heat exhaustion. She was already feeling the effects of the sun when I assisted her to her bungalow a little while ago."
"Where she's now lying with her mouth, wrists and ankles taped," Jordan said grimly, "waiting for you to come back and finish the job."
"As I said, you're very astute. Now I must ask you to move away from the car."
"So you can shove me over that precipice? I don't think so."
Her desperate bravado wasn't completely feigned. Matters were fast getting to the crunch point.
"I'll shoot you if I have to, although I would prefer you go over the edge without a bullet in you."
"Why? So forensics can't trace it back to you?" She straightened, tensing her calf muscles, calculating the distance. He was still too far, dammit. "What about the DNA you deposited on this masking tape?"
"If anyone ever finds your remains in the ravine below, I'm confident the wild pigs and other creatures rooting around down there will have consumed the tape."
Along with the rest of her carcass. The fact that Myers could paint such a calm verbal picture of animals gnawing on her flesh told Jordan he'd gone over the edge himself. She injected more urgency and a note of panicky pleading.
"They'll find my rental car! They'll know where to look for me."
"They'll find your car on the far side of the island. Naturally I'll run it through a car wash before I abandon it to remove all traces of soil or vegetation that might track back to this locale."
The murdering bastard was brilliant. Jordan gave him that much as she spilled out seemingly frantic entreaties. She had to get closer. Just a few yards. That's all she needed.
"Listen to me, Duncan." She hopped toward him, praying the tape would hold. "Please, just listen! You don't need to do this!"
"Unfortunately, I do."
Another hop. Another desperate plea.
"You can set up accounts in my name, Duncan. Move money in and out. I wouldn't say anything. I couldn't! I'd be in as deep as you."
"I might have considered that if you hadn't made that rash promise to 'protect' Edna. Sorry, Jordan, I can't trust you."
He started toward her, circling around for the right angle to shove her over the edge.
Jordan was ready for him. More than ready. Super-high octane pumped through her veins as she gauged the distance to the gun gripped in his white-knuckled fist. She'd have only one chance to connect with the tire iron.
C'mon, you bastard. One more step. Just one more.
"Hey! Myers!"
The bellow erupted from the dense jungle and swung the would-be murderer's head around. His hand jerked. Only an inch or too. Just enough to throw off his aim when Jordan split the tape on her ankles, dodged right and put everything she had into the vicious swing.
Myers's shot went wild. TJ's hit high and to the left. A small, bright flower blossomed in the accountant's white knit shirt a half a heartbeat before metal crunched bone.
The combined force of bullet and tire iron sent Myers staggering toward the precipice. He teetered on the edge, his eyes rolling back in his head.
"Oh, hell!"
Jordan leaped forward, made a wild grab, snagged a fistful of his white knit shirt.
She tried to yank him clear of the edge. She honestly tried. But he was already pitching backward. She could either let loose of his shirt or go over the side with him. A definite no-brainer in Jordan's book.
He didn't make a sound on the way down. Judging by the way his eyes had glazed, she figured he was already unconscious or dead. Just as well. It looked like a bumpy ride to the bottom of that ravine.
The thud of pounding footsteps signaled TJ's imminent arrival. He dragged her away from the edge with one hand and shoved his weapon into an underarm holster with the other.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
Aside from aching shoulders, a throbbing skull and the ringing in her ears from the shot Myers had fired from less than a yard away. Not to mention the bruises she'd acquired while bouncing around in the trunk.
TJ saw the bruises, if not the ringing and throbbing. With murder in his eyes, he drew Jordan into his arms.
"Good thing that son of a bitch took a dive."
They stood locked together, knees bumping, heart hammering against heart, while their muscles slowly uncoiled and the tension seeped away like dirty drain water.
"I got most of it," he said, his voice low and rough. "Your controller—Rigger—relayed your transmissions."
"He relayed yours, too."
Which reminded her...
She leaned back in his arms until she could see his face. "I was particularly interested in your last message. The one Rigger passed along just before he went no-com."
Creasing his forehead, TJ played dumb. "Which message was that?"
"I believe Rigger mentioned the word love."
"He did?"
"Yes, he did. If you don't mind, I'd like to hear it from the source."
>
A smile came into his eyes, and Jordan's heart picked up speed again.
"Okay, here it is, right from the horse's mouth. I love you, Red."
She was almost certain he meant it. She was also pretty certain the emotions rolling around inside her chest matched his. But she'd fallen for this man once and he'd walked away from her.
Granted, it was to go undercover. Still, Jordan just wanted a few assurances what he now felt went more than skin deep.
"Are you sure?" she asked, searching his face. "Tight situations like this, the adrenaline starts to pump."
And kept pumping. The syndrome had a name.
Several, in fact. Claire said the medical community termed it post-situational sexual response. Mackenzie called it the post-op hots. Whatever the label, it hit every agent at one time or another.
Some version of it had certainly hit TJ. His smile tipped into a wicked grin. "Trust me on this, Red. I'm definitely pumping right now, but it's more than just adrenaline."
"Okay. If you're sure..."
She slid her arms around his neck and had started to drag his mouth down to hers when an amused drawl rumbled in her ear.
"Control here. You might wanna cut this transmission, Diamond."
"Roger, Control. Over and..." She thumbed her earring, brushing TJ's lips with hers. "Out."
Chapter 17
The taxi ferrying Jordan and TJ from D.C.'s Reagan National Airport cut in and out of the afternoon traffic with careless abandon. A sharp turn onto Constitution Avenue sent Jordan thumping into TJ's shoulder.
He steadied her, grumbling as he did so. "I still don't see what the big rush was. We could have taken a few days to wrap things up in Hawaii and sent that thing back by armed courier."
That "thing" was the Star of the East. The emerald lay cushioned inside a velvet-lined case that was tucked inside another, innocuously labeled box. The package sat squarely on Jordan's lap, where it had rested throughout the long flight to the mainland. She hadn't let it out of her sight since the communique from Lightning, directing her to jump on a plane immediately and hand-carry the emerald to D.C. TJ had been instructed to ride shotgun.
Diamonds Can Be Deadly Page 16
