“The manager of my Hong Kong store called. He has seen a black pearl unlike any other. It has all the colors of life and the dark transparency of time.”
“Did it come from Pearl Cove?” Ian demanded.
“No. From the American gambling city of Las Vegas.”
“Where is the pearl now?”
“The swine would not sell it at any price. His wife wanted an entire necklace of such pearls.”
Sam muttered in disgusted Cantonese about stupid dogs and bitches in heat. “First Son, you went to Stanford in California. Tell me. Why do American men let their women run free? It is against all common sense.”
“If I knew the answer to that, I would understand the West. I do not.”
Sam lit a cigarette, drew hard, and blew over the mouthpiece of the phone, setting up an odd rushing-whistling sound. “You know the answer to nothing. Why have I been cursed with seven daughters and a worthless son?”
Ian didn’t know the answer to that question either.
Archer was up and working long before dawn. Lawe and Justin’s suite was laid out like Archer’s, with a sitting room just off the hall. Because the “boys” shared the living quarters, there were two smaller, adjoining bedrooms with big beds. Thanks to the modern, angular style of the condo building, every room had privacy and some kind of a view.
But even when dawn started sending pale streamers of light over the city, Archer didn’t look up from the computer screen in front of him to admire the sight of the sleeping city coming awake. It wasn’t the computer that kept his attention from the cloud-shot sunrise. There wasn’t anything exciting on the screen. He had been over and over the information, seeking patterns, finding them, discarding them.
Nothing new.
At the moment, the list of telephone numbers that Len McGarry had frequently called glowed on the screen. There was a name and an address beside each one. Most of the numbers traced back to pearl farms in Western Australia. Another number led to one of the Tahitian pearl farms owned by the Chang family. Archer ignored those listings. None of Len’s competitors or professional “friends” had the secret of the black pearls.
A handful of numbers belonged to high-end jewelry stores such as Sea Gems. Five numbers belonged to pearl dealers whose reputations were no better than they had to be to stay out of jail. Two numbers led back to midlevel bosses of the Red Phoenix Triad.
“What were you up to, Len?” Archer muttered. “Or were you just stirring the pot to see what floated to the top?”
Len had been good at that. The man was a trouble magnet, and he took the devil’s own delight in it. If trouble didn’t exist, he poked and kicked until it boiled up around him. And then he laughed, because life never rushed through him so hotly as it did when he was rocketing down the greased skids to hell.
The computer cursor blinked patiently, waiting for its human master to do something.
Archer clicked the mouse and a new screen appeared. On it was a long list of names and dates, quantities, and enigmatic entries along the margin. The names and quantities related to pearl-production allowances, shell quotas, and pearl sales. He had studied enough raw data in his past service with Uncle Sam to see very quickly that the allowances and quotas had no obvious relation to the size or productivity of the pearl farms.
Some growers get a higher quota than others, according to a formula only the government can understand.
Hannah’s sardonic words echoed in his mind, distracting him. He didn’t want to think about her. Thinking would make the pain worse, not better. All he could do was find Len’s killer and get Hannah out of his life. Maybe the ache and emptiness would go with her.
Maybe.
But he wasn’t betting on it.
He dragged his mind back to the task at hand. There was nothing he could do to change what he had done in the past or her fear of him in the present.
You’re like Len! Damn you, you’re like Len!
Ruthless. Cold. Unworthy.
For a moment Archer’s eyes closed, as though being blind would somehow make the agony less. It didn’t. He accepted that, too. He had lost Hannah to Len. Twice. This time he had lost her before he ever had a real chance to win, but not before he had learned the razor stroke of love against his undefended soul.
Accept it.
Get over it.
Get on with it.
Archer’s eyes opened. He stared at the information on the screen. Nothing new emerged. Pearl Cove, along with other rebellious pearl farms in every pearling zone of Western Australia, had been systematically given the short straw when it came to allotments of wild shell. The allotment of “domestic” shell, the amount of oysters a farmer could breed and raise on his own farm, had also been curtailed.
The only loophole was “experimental” shell, those oysters devoted to improving the breed. Not surprisingly, Len had designated forty percent of his farm as experimental. The truth was closer to seventy percent, a fact that even Hannah hadn’t known. The shortfall in pearls was made up in Tahitian gems from Sam Chang’s farms.
Nothing new there, either. No matter how much Archer might wish it, he no longer believed that the answer to who killed Len McGarry lay within Len’s computer. Len had made enemies the way the ocean makes waves—effortlessly, inevitably. But only one of those enemies had killed him. Only one of them had the Black Trinity.
Find the Black Trinity and he would find Len’s killer.
Archer rubbed his face as though to wake up some brain cells. His growing beard grated over his palms, bringing a surge of memories like molten glass.
Why do they call it beard burn when you only get it from a man who shaves?
I’ll throw away my razor.
Lovely.
Tell me that in a week.
Okay.
Abruptly he shoved back from the computer and stood. He stretched hard, hoping to release the tension that kept tightening his body until he felt like he was being squeezed by a boa constrictor. He looked at his watch and wondered if Jake was up yet. He hesitated, then punched a number on the intercom.
“Yeah?” The voice was rough, relaxed, and alert.
“It’s Archer. How’d you like to go one on one?”
“Only if we keep Lianne out of it. She dumped me on my butt last time. Lord, that female is quick.”
Archer smiled and felt the coils of tension loosen. “Ten minutes?”
“Five. I’ve been awake for an hour.”
Archer heard Honor’s sleepy voice in the background, followed by Jake’s soothing murmur. “No, don’t get up, honey. I’m just going to hammer your brother into the exercise mat.”
“Kyle?” Honor asked, surprised into wakefulness. “At this hour? Kyle never gets up before eight unless the place is burning down.”
“Not Kyle. Archer.”
“Archer’s here?”
“Morning, sis,” Archer said clearly. “How’s my favorite little redhead?”
“Summer?” Honor yawned. “She’s asleep in the next room. Must have inherited Kyle’s genes, thank God.”
“She sure got your temper.”
“Ha. That temper is Jake’s all the way.”
Conversation faded into the indistinct, soft sounds of lovers saying good-bye. Archer tried not to think of Hannah and the warm pleasures of sleeping and waking with her in his arms.
“One hour,” Honor said clearly. “Then we’re coming to get you.”
Hannah awoke, murmured sleepily, and searched for Archer’s warmth. Then she remembered his icy, brutal instruction.
If you want protection or sex, punch number six.
Emotions shot through her, too many and too sharp to name. Nor did she want to name them. She didn’t have to in order to shove the unruly mass down and cage it in darkness. To survive. She had had a lifetime of practice at surviving emotion.
Angrily she told herself that there was nothing she could have or should have done differently last night. She wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of the past
. The purpose of pain was to teach you not to go there again. The greater the pain, the deeper the lesson.
Len had been a world-class teacher.
Hannah got up and went to the bathroom. It was clean, cool, done in a refreshing mix of navy blue, sunshine yellow, and white. The tub was big enough for two. She ignored it and headed for the shower.
She discovered that it was disconcerting to look out over the slowly thickening traffic while you showered, even when you knew the glass was one-way. Even more unsettling was the shampoo she lathered all over herself.
It smelled like Archer.
Trying not to think about him, she toweled herself dry with quick efficiency, raked her fingers through her hair by way of styling it, and climbed into the underwear she had rinsed out in the middle of the night when she hadn’t been able to sleep.
The clothes she put on were the same ones she had worn in Broome—white slacks and a flowered shirt. The slacks had a tea stain on one knee. The blouse had stains, too, but they didn’t show through the bright flowers. The sandals, at least, were her own. They looked as worn and ragged as she felt. She thought of makeup, then flinched at the memory of Archer applying it to her face, his eyes intent and his mouth smiling as he proved how waterproof the stuff was by kissing her deep and long.
She didn’t bother to look in the mirror on her way out of the bedroom. She had done the best she could with what she had. Stomach growling, she set off down the hall in search of food. The smell of coffee led her to a big kitchen that managed to look cozy despite its size. A woman with gold-streaked chestnut hair and graceful hands was sitting at the breakfast bar, eyes closed, nursing a redheaded baby. Not wanting to intrude, Hannah began edging back out of the room.
Naturally, she bumped into something.
“Lianne, are you up, too?” the woman said, turning toward the sound. “Oh, hello. You must be Hannah McGarry.”
“Um, yes.”
“I’m Honor Mallory, Archer’s sister. Kyle’s, too, but I try to keep that a secret.”
The mischief in Honor’s voice and her striking, green-gold eyes put Hannah at ease instantly. “Good morning, Honor. Sorry to disturb you. I’ll come back later.”
“When Summer’s nursing, you couldn’t disturb her with a ten-ton bomb. She has her daddy’s focus.”
Hannah thought of Archer, the laser intensity of his eyes and mind when he wanted something. “Or her uncle’s.”
“You mean Archer?”
“Right.”
The flavor of Australia made Honor smile. “She certainly has Archer’s eyes.”
Drawn by the contented baby, Hannah walked closer. As though sensing her presence, Summer opened her eyes and stared. An odd, silvery feeling went through Hannah, part pleasure and part pain. No matter what problems it might bring, the thought of holding Archer’s baby called to her at a level too deep to deny.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “The baby has Archer’s eyes.”
“If Summer gets his discipline along with it, she’ll be the first female president of the United States.” Honor yawned. “If she gets my discipline, she’ll be hell on wheels.”
Summer released the nipple with a distinct pop and waved her little hands at her mother.
“All through, pumpkin?” Honor asked, laughing softly as she tucked herself back into her clothes. “Lord knows you ate enough cereal for both of us.”
For the first time Hannah noticed the tiny gobs of cereal splattered here and there on the counter. And on Honor.
“The counter ate enough to be full, too,” Hannah said, laughing. “Where’s a rag?”
“There’s a clean sponge in the sink, but you don’t have to wipe up after my messy daughter.”
“You can pay me back by letting me hold her. Unless she doesn’t like strangers?”
“She’s never met a stranger. They’re all just big toys to her. Here, take the butterball and give me the sponge.”
Though Honor’s words were casual, her eyes were intent while she handed over the baby. When she saw Hannah’s easy expertise as she supported and cuddled Summer, Honor relaxed and began mopping up after the arm-waving baby who was determined to feed herself and everything else within range.
“I can see Summer’s in good hands,” Honor said. “Do you have kids?”
The pain was accustomed, but still sharp. “No. At first my husband didn’t want any. Then . . . it wasn’t possible.”
“I’m sorry. My tongue wakes up a lot sooner than my brain. Jake said something about you losing your husband recently.”
The sympathy in Honor’s eyes made Hannah feel like a fraud. She wondered how she could possibly explain her relationship with Len. Or more precisely, her lack of one.
“For the last seven years, Len and I shared a name and a place. That’s all.”
Honor looked at the other woman’s dark indigo eyes, saw the lines of tension and unhappiness around her mouth, and felt even worse.
Summer waved her fists, caught one of Hannah’s hands, and began gumming it enthusiastically. When she got to the big silver-blue diamond, she settled down to gnaw in earnest.
“Teething, aren’t you?” Hannah murmured, smiling.
“Uh-oh, the drool factory is in full cry. Here, you don’t have to put up with that.”
“Don’t worry. My hands are clean.”
Honor blinked, then laughed. “I wasn’t worried about that. She cut her first tooth on a fish cosh.”
“What’s that?”
“A blunt instrument used to put fish out of their misery as soon as we get them aboard.” Honor smiled and looked hopefully at the other woman. “Do you like to fish? I can’t get Faith out on our boat. Faith is my twin sister.”
“The only thing I’ve ever ‘fished’ for are oysters, so I don’t know if I like to fish.” Hannah nuzzled Summer’s fine, fiery hair and inhaled the paradoxical scent of a baby—fresh powder and wet diaper. She had skin that made a petal look like sandpaper. Eyes as wise and mischievous as a monkey’s. “The Yanomami tribe we lived with were land people. Monkey hunting, slash-and-burn agriculture, that sort of thing. No fishing. Although some tribes hunted Amazon catfish that were bigger than men.”
“Yanomami? Are we talking Brazilian rain forests?”
“Right.” Hannah shifted Summer onto her hip, giving the baby a better grip on her hand, and herself a better grip on the baby. The motions were unconscious. Along with every village girl over the age of five, she had been a baby-sitter for the younger children while the mothers worked in the small, burned-over fields. “From the time I was five years old until I ran off to get married at nineteen, I lived with the Yanomami. My parents were missionaries at the time. My father still is.”
“If anyone ever took me away from the sea, I’d miss it. Do you miss your rain forest?”
“No.” The curt reply echoed, making Hannah wince. “I missed the place where I had spent my first five years—Maine and the kaleidoscope of seasons. But there were some good things about the rain forest. The scent of the air at dawn, the flash of butterflies bigger than my hand, the incredible liquid light after a rain, campfires at night, the laughter and mischief of the children . . . ” She nuzzled Summer again. “But I never felt at home there. Not like my parents. I suspect that they loved the rain forest and the Yanomami even more than they loved God. I know that they loved their tribe more than they did me.”
Honor laughed. Then she realized that the other woman had spoken the simple truth.
“Mother was forty-four when I was born,” Hannah said calmly. “They had lived among the Yanomami for twenty years. They called me a gift from God, and accepted that they had to leave the rain forest for my first few years. The risk of childbirth and babyhood in Stone Age conditions is just too great. It must have been terribly hard on my parents to leave the land and people they loved. They gave me five years to grow strong before they went back. They were very dutiful parents.”
“But not to be loved,” Honor prot
ested.
Hannah shrugged. “Their love and loyalty was unselfish, given to God and humanity rather than to a selfish personal concept of family.” She rubbed her cheek against the sweet, soft baby. “I’m not that generous. I want to love and be loved, to have a family of my own.”
Summer looked up at Hannah. Archer’s eyes, clear and gray, hints of green, a whisper of blue; another layer of pain growing in Hannah like an oyster creating a pearl, layer after beautiful layer, growing in silence and darkness, waiting . . .
The shadows in Hannah’s eyes made Honor wish she could go to her, hug her, tell her everything would be all right. Whatever everything was. But Honor was old enough to know that a lot of things didn’t turn out all right. She looked at the clock and stood up quickly.
“Time to get Summer’s daddy,” she said. “Come with me and meet the monster’s maker.”
When Honor reached for Summer, the baby frowned, gnawed harder on Hannah’s ring, and clung more tightly to her prize. Hannah laughed.
“I’ll carry her,” she said to Honor.
“She weighs a ton.”
“That’s the nice thing about healthy babies. They’re an armload.”
Honor coded their way into the elevator and out at a lower floor. The smell of a swimming pool greeted them as soon as they stepped out of the elevator. Along with chlorine came the musky odor of a well-used gym.
“Ah,” Honor said, making a wry face, “the sweet scent of men.”
“Women don’t sweat?” Hannah asked, her dark eyebrows raised.
“Of course not. We glow like the delicate little flowers we are.”
Hannah was still laughing when they rounded a corner. The double doors leading to the gym were wide open, giving a good view of the various instruments of torture that were the hallmark of a well-equipped gym.
She barely looked at the collection of bars, barbells, pulleys, rowing machines, and the like. Her whole attention was fastened on the two big, physically well-matched men who looked like they were doing their best to kill one another. Hands, elbows, knees, and feet moved in blurs of speed as the men sparred—dodging, weaving, luring, trapping, and escaping in a deadly ballet. Blows landed, a man grunted and spun away, only to return with flashing speed.
Pearl Cove Page 24
