Her eyes widened. “Take you out?”
“The way Len was taken out.”
“Are you saying that Sam Chang . . . ?” she whispered.
Archer shrugged. “He could have, but the Chinese don’t have a corner on doing business the jugular way. Whenever commerce slides over to become political leverage, things get dirty real quick all over the world.”
She let out a breath in a rush of air. No matter how she felt about Ian Chang and his many mistresses, the thought of him being involved in Len’s death made her sick.
“Anyway,” Hannah said, swallowing hard, “nothing has changed. Not really. I knew I was in trouble when I called you.” Yet even as she spoke, she was shaking her head in slow denial of her own words. “No, that’s not quite true. I was afraid when I called you. Now I know. Thank you for—”
“Don’t thank me,” Archer cut in, watching the elevator again. “If I wasn’t your partner, you would have sold out to Ian when he offered the first time. You would be out of the game.”
“No.”
Archer looked back at her. “Why not?”
“I wouldn’t sell to anyone who might have benefited from Len’s death. To anyone who might have practiced— What did you call it?”
“Jugular business.”
“Right.” Hannah smiled crookedly. “Every time I think I’ve escaped my childhood, it comes back to haunt me.”
“What do you mean?”
“At my core I believe that personal honor matters and murder shouldn’t go unpunished.”
Archer agreed, but all he said was, “Acting on those kinds of beliefs could get you killed.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I don’t want to die. And I don’t want to live if I can’t look at myself in a mirror.”
He wanted to hold her, to tell her that everything would be all right. He knew better. Yet it was like a knife turning in him.
“The Donovan family will do what it can about the first,” he said evenly. “The rest is up to you.”
The elevator doors opened. A man and a woman walked out. They were of average height, dressed in average business clothes, and had uncommonly alert eyes. They spotted Archer the same instant that he spotted them. Without pausing, they walked to the nearest booth and began looking at pearls.
“Is that them?” Hannah asked.
“Our government tails?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Why are they following us?” she muttered.
“Because America has a stake in the outcome of the pearl game.”
“Who do they want to win?”
“Today? I don’t know, but I suspect it’s not us. Tomorrow?” He smiled thinly. “Who knows? Some diplomats could exchange cables, some new international business deals could be made, and bingo, today’s hero is tomorrow’s scum, and all bets are off.”
“That’s depressing.”
“That’s politics.”
“I prefer pearls.”
“So do I.”
She took his arm. As she did, she tried not to notice his heat, his strength, everything about him that was male. “Show me some pearls, Archer.”
The simple pressure of her fingers went through him like electricity. It brought a tingling awareness that heightened each of his senses. Taking a slow, hidden breath, he clamped down on his body’s intense, unruly response to this one woman.
As though they had nothing more urgent than browsing on their minds, Hannah and Archer went from booth to booth, commenting on the rarities they saw. One booth specialized in South Seas baroque pearls. Some were the size of peas. Others were the size of marbles. A few magnificent ones were the size of a man’s thumb.
Archer stopped at the booth. “Hello, Sun. How’s the new granddaughter?”
The man with sparse silver hair and a face like a well-used map looked up from a table where he had been studying pearls. When he saw Archer, he leaped up with a grin. “Archer! I missed you the last time you were here.” He reached into his pocket, brought out a worn black wallet, and pulled out a picture. “My new granddaughter is as bright as the sun and more beautiful than a spring moon.”
Archer looked at the picture and couldn’t help smiling back. The newborn baby’s black eyes were clear and very intent. Her little hands were fisted. “Look out, world. This one’s a tiger.”
Sun Seng laughed. “She will run her brothers ragged. High time, too. We had all but given up hope of a granddaughter.”
“Congratulations,” Archer said. “You’re a very lucky man.”
Seng grinned like a boy as he put the picture back in the wallet. When Archer introduced Hannah, Seng shook hands and watched her with barely concealed curiosity. Archer had never brought a woman to the Pearl Exchange before.
“Are you looking for anything special today?” Sun asked, glancing from one to the other.
“Do you have anything special?” Hannah countered easily, smiling.
Seng laughed approvingly. The first rule of trading was to keep your true desire to yourself. “My life is consumed by special pearls.”
“Baroque pearls, from what I can see,” Hannah said.
“Round pearls are so boring,” Seng said, his voice bland and his eyes as intent as his granddaughter’s. “I prefer pearls that call to my imagination rather than my greed. Faith understands that.”
Archer smiled. “In this case,” he explained to Hannah, “Faith isn’t a belief. Faith is my other sister, Honor’s twin. She makes incredible jewelry from baroque pearls. Seng is one of her best sources.”
“It is my pleasure,” Seng said simply. “Someday her jewelry will be as famous as Georges Foquet’s or Rene Lalique’s.”
“Uh-oh,” Archer said. “I hear prices going up. Yours, to be exact.”
Seng smiled. “For Faith, only the best.”
“Translation: most expensive,” Archer said dryly. “Okay, show me what it’s going to cost.”
“It’s her birthday,” Seng said.
“Christmas is sooner.”
“Whatever.” Seng opened a drawer and pulled out a velvet-lined box. “This will make Faith smile. When I saw it, I thought of her eyes. That odd silver-blue . . .”
“Thank God it’s not a diamond,” Archer muttered.
Hannah looked at the ring on her finger and wondered again how much it had cost. Certainly too much for her to buy, which was a pity. It was the first faceted stone she had seen that appealed to her as much as a fine pearl.
“Here we are.” Seng came back to the glass counter that ran along the front of his booth. He set the box down and opened it carefully. Nestled in pale blue satin was a semicircle baroque pearl. It was nearly three quarters of an inch long and half an inch wide at its center.
“May I?” Hannah asked, reaching for the pearl.
“Of course.” Seng lifted the pearl out and put it on Hannah’s palm.
“Cool, smooth, heavy,” she murmured. “Very heavy. It’s either a natural or came from a seeded shell that got lost for a few years. Most likely a natural. It has the sheen of fresh water rather than salt.”
“I should have known you were in the business,” Seng said ruefully. “This came from a little creek in the deep South whose name is my secret. I’ve seen no other shade quite like it.”
“Neither have I,” Hannah said.
“The New World’s freshwater pearls are famous for their regional variations in color,” Archer said. “But you’re right, Sun. I haven’t seen one this shade.”
“Considering its rarity, the price is quite reasonable. Two thousand dollars.”
“Six hundred is reasonable,” Archer said.
“Plus one thousand. That would be sixteen hundred.”
“That would be bull dust.”
“Excuse me?” Seng said.
“Ask Hannah. Seven hundred.”
“But its rarity—”
“Will make it nearly impossible to match,” Archer cut in. “As a solo in the hands of s
omeone less skilled than Faith, the delicate shade of the pearl would be overwhelmed by the setting, and the result would look like chalk. Eight-fifty and I’m out of here.”
“You’re breaking me,” Seng said, giving Archer a distressed look. “Think of my granddaughter’s college fund!”
“Don’t believe him,” Archer said to Hannah.
“I don’t. But I believe this pearl could be set against rose gold like an Arctic moon set against dawn.”
Seng turned quickly toward her. “You’re a designer, too, like Faith?”
“No. Just someone who loves pearls.”
“Nine hundred,” Seng said without looking away from Hannah.
Archer sighed. “Nine hundred.”
They shook hands.
“I have something else to show you,” Seng said to Archer. “It’s not for sale, unfortunately.”
“That’s a relief.”
Seng laughed and went back to the locked desk. He pulled out another ring box and opened it. The pearl was as big as a Georgia peanut, black as midnight.
Rainbows swirled just beneath its surface.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Seng asked.
“Not for sale?” Archer asked, his voice neutral.
“I sold it today. I would have shown it to you six weeks ago, but I missed you.”
Hannah reminded herself to breathe. She didn’t dare reach for the pearl because she knew her fingers would tremble.
“Then a few minutes ago this Hong Kong gentleman saw it and bought it on the spot,” Seng continued. “As soon as his bank faxes confirmation, he’ll take delivery of the pearl.”
“Ian Chang,” Archer said.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“We met a few days ago. Do you have any other pearls like that one?”
“I wish I did. But no.”
“Have you ever seen others?”
“I’ve heard rumors about such pearls for several years, but this is the first one I’ve seen.”
“The person who sold it to you—do you know him or her well?”
Seng frowned. It was unlike Archer to pry into another trader’s contacts. “Why?”
Archer hesitated, thought of the new granddaughter, and decided that secrets killed more people than knowledge did. “The man who developed these pearls died recently. He never sold a single black rainbow. Not even the baroque ones.”
“Are you saying that this was stolen?” Seng asked, looking unhappily at the beautiful gem.
“Very likely. The rightful owner won’t pursue the issue, but it would help a great deal if you could give me the history of the pearl as you know it.”
“Who is the owner?”
“We are,” Archer said, indicating Hannah.
Seng’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t doubt you, but I don’t understand.”
“The pearl is Australian,” Hannah said. “My late husband developed the strain of oysters that produces these black rainbows. He kept it as secret as he could. Now that he’s dead . . .”
“I was Len’s partner,” Archer said, picking up the thread. “Mrs. McGarry asked my help in tracing the stolen pearls.”
Sighing, Seng closed the box and handed it to Hannah.
“No,” she said, pushing the box back across the counter. “It’s our gift to your granddaughter. But if anyone comes to you with pearls like these, please call us immediately.”
“Don’t tell anyone else what you know about rare black pearls,” Archer added. “Gems like these—”
“—are to die for,” Seng finished dryly. “I understand.”
“If anyone comes to you with a handful of these pearls, or an unstrung necklace of matched spherical pearls, pay whatever you have to,” Archer said. “Just get those pearls. Better yet, call me and let me take care of it. You’ll get a generous finder’s fee.”
Seng measured both Archer’s restraint and his intensity, and nodded.
“Whatever you do, Seng,” Archer continued softly, “be careful. No pearl, however rare and beautiful, is worth dying for.”
Again Seng sighed. “Tell me. Are the rumors true? Is there such a necklace as the Black Trinity?”
“Yes,” Hannah said before Archer could decide. “Two people have seen it. One is dead. The other is on the run. Do you want to try your chances?”
Seng crossed himself and shook his head. “What I want is to see my granddaughter grow tall enough to look me in the eye.”
“Then call me if you hear anything,” Archer said. “If other people come to you with rumors, call me.”
“I bought the black pearl from Jason Taylor,” Seng said. “He had a bill of sale from a pearl farm I’d never heard of, owned by Angelique Dupres.”
Hannah was glad Seng wasn’t looking at her. She didn’t think she had managed to conceal her shock very well. Angelique Dupres was Coco’s half sister, who had stayed in Tahiti to have babies and run a tiny pearl farm for the family.
“What’s the name?”
“Moonbeam Limited.”
Archer almost smiled. “After the old legends?”
Seng smiled. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He saw another customer approaching. “Is there anything else?” he asked Archer politely.
“Nothing that we haven’t already talked about.”
“I will be in touch,” Seng promised. Then he smiled at the elegantly dressed, very large woman who was looking into the display case. “Mrs. Janzen, thank you for taking time from your busy schedule to see me. Is your family well?”
Leaving Seng and his formidable customer to exchange greetings, Archer and Hannah drifted off to another booth.
“Unless there are two women named Angelique Dupres—” Hannah began.
“Later,” Archer cut in softly.
She looked around. While no one was close enough to overhear what they were saying, that could change at any moment as people wandered from booth to booth.
“Okay. What’s this about moonlight and legends?” she asked.
He took the change of subject without a pause. “Some folks—Pliny the Elder was among them—believed that pearls were formed when oysters swam up to the surface of the sea at the full of the moon, opened themselves, and were delicately impregnated by moonbeams.”
The tension in Hannah’s face dissolved into a smile. “Talk about the ridiculous and the sublime . . .”
“It gets better. In India, where pearls have been pursued for thousands of years, both Buddhists and Hindus have a category of god called nagas. They’re snakes that have a human head.”
“I think I’ve met them,” Hannah said wryly.
A smile flickered over Archer’s mouth. “Nagas are guardian gods. They guard pearls, drops of rain, and the elixir of immortality.”
“Maybe Jung was right about all those archetypes running around in human brains,” she said. “Not to mention Freud. He would have a lot to say about snaky phallic symbols and pearly drops and all.”
This time Archer’s smile stayed on his lips. “I can imagine.”
So could she. And what she was imagining made heat slide into her blood. She wanted to hold Archer like that again, only this time she would taste as well as touch the liquid pearls that escaped his restraint.
He saw the small shiver that coursed through her. “Do you want Honor’s jacket?”
“What?” she asked, dragging her mind away from the image of him naked and potent as she bent down to him.
“This,” he said, holding up the jacket that had been folded over his arm. “You’re shivering. You’re used to temperatures a lot warmer than the open floors of the Pearl Exchange.”
Rather than tell him that the goose bumps coursing over her came from thinking about getting him naked, Hannah let him settle the jacket over her shoulders like a cape. The casual touch set off another shiver.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were cold?” he asked, rubbing her arms briskly, careful to keep the jacket as a barrier to direct touch.
“I didn’t notice
.”
He gave her an odd look.
She looked straight ahead and wondered how other women dealt with being ambushed by passion in public places. Especially when they were with a man who was doing everything but walk on the ceiling to avoid touching her, skin to skin.
“Angelique Dupres is Coco’s half sister,” Hannah said in a low voice.
He simply nodded and filed the information away.
Side by side, not touching at all, Archer and Hannah went to every booth in the room. They traded off asking about the special black pearls. Some people had heard of them. No one owned any. Or if they did, they were keeping it secret.
“Here they come again,” Hannah said under her breath.
“Our shadows?”
“Um,” she agreed. “What would they do if we walked up and introduced ourselves?”
“Chat with us until backup arrived. Then we’d have to go to the trouble of picking the new bureaucrats out of the crowd.”
“Better the devil you know, is that it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is this one of those times?”
“So far.”
“And when it changes?”
“We’ll lose them.” He looked at his watch.
“You’re really angry underneath all that calm, aren’t you?”
Archer looked at her with steel-colored eyes. The realization that she could see so well into him made him even more angry. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Someone told the Changs where we were. When I get my hands on her—”
“Her?” Hannah cut in.
Archer thought of April Joy: beautiful, intelligent, and above all, ruthless. “Her. Definitely.”
Twenty-one
Fred and Rebecca Linsky were in their eighty-first year of life and their sixty-second of marriage. Despite, or perhaps because of, that, they were known as the Battling Linskys. Lean, white-haired, childless, no taller than five and a half feet, they ruled their small pearl kingdom with a firm hand and an eye toward their employees’ offspring. The lustrous pearls that had passed through the Linskys’ hands had paid for many college educations. Their doctor, who lived next door in one of Seattle’s many waterfront condominiums, made house calls at least once a week and never charged them a fee; her entire education had been paid for with Linsky pearls.
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