Whirlpool
Page 35
“I don’t understand,” Laurel said.
“Some unforgiving soul sent a complete dossier of Ms. Toth’s activities as an unregistered agent of a foreign government—”
“A spy?”
“In a word, yes. Every major newspaper in the world received the dossier. It was translated where appropriate, of course. Excellent translations, if I do say so myself.”
Laurel looked around the office with its racks and rows and display cases of books in every major language on earth. She didn’t doubt that every treacherous nuance of Toth’s career had survived all the various translations.
“That ‘unforgiving soul’ has my gratitude,” Laurel said. “Too bad the murderous bitch wasn’t taking those rejuvenation treatments.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. The older you get, the more you realize there are worse things than death.”
“For instance?”
“Eating ice cubes in a Siberian gulag for the rest of your miserable life.”
Laurel turned swiftly to the map. The glowing, golden-orange line of the terminator had moved on, leaving Siberia in the blue-black zone of night.
“How did you get Toth on the plane?” Laurel asked.
“Aleksy took care of that little matter for us. It was your father’s idea.”
“Dad? I didn’t know that. But then”—she smiled thinly—“I know very little about my father.”
“He knew Ms. Toth better than any man. He knew exactly what she would hate the most.”
“He was more generous to her than I would have been. I would have put her on death row for what she did to him.”
“Actually, Jamie was planning to kill her for what she’d done to you,” Redpath said. “But I pointed out the limitations of that approach. The publicity, for one. A jail cell, for another. He finally agreed.”
“You talked Dad out of something? I’m impressed. How did you do it?”
“I simply asked him to design a particular, personalized hell for Ms. Toth. He did. Mr. Gapan located it and sent her there.”
Laurel was almost afraid to ask, but curiosity got the better of her. “What is Ms. Toth’s personal and private hell?”
“A life sentence in a gulag where the ground never thaws, the cells are heated by burning manure mixed with straw, and the other inmates are homosexual males or pederasts. Every single one of them.”
Silence followed Redpath’s words.
Then Laurel let out a long sigh. “May she have a long, wretched life.”
“Amen,” the ambassador said quietly. “How is your father, by the way?”
“Much better. They expect a nearly full recovery. He’ll never be as strong as he was, but he’ll be able to lead a normal life.”
“Excellent. Is he considering my offer of employment?”
“He didn’t say anything about it.” Laurel closed her eyes for a moment. How like him. Always another secret up his sleeve.
“That’s what I appreciate about your father. A man of many secrets, all of them worth keeping.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Laurel’s voice was clipped, her eyes restless as they measured the room. “Was Gapan in on this from the start? Is that why he helped you?”
“Is that what your father said?”
“No. It’s what you said. My father designed Toth’s hell. Gapan helped you by finding it.”
Redpath’s eyelids half lowered, concealing the fierce intelligence in her green eyes.
“I’ve had plenty of time to think about the Ruby Surprise,” Laurel said. “Someone had to be helping Dad on the Russian side. Someone who—”
“Why?” Redpath interrupted swiftly.
“What?”
“Why do you say that your father had a Russian partner?”
“The second ruby.”
Redpath waited, silently pressing Laurel to continue.
“The ruby that Dad substituted in the egg when he made me leave my workshop in Cambria. The ruby that fooled the lethal Ms. Toth. The ruby that looked, felt, measured, and weighed exactly the same as the first one.”
Redpath’s eyelids lowered a fraction more. The green that remained was intense, almost incandescent. “How do you know that?”
“Easy. Dad isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t substitute trash that could be discovered by anyone with eyes, calipers, and a scale.”
Saying nothing, Redpath waited again.
Laurel could have kept silent, but she didn’t care anymore. All that mattered was getting out of Karroo as soon as possible.
“It follows that the substitution was planned in advance, by someone with access to the Ruby Surprise,” Laurel said. “That means either Gapan or Novikov. Given Novikov’s actions, I suspect that Gapan is the one who hired Dad to steal the egg in such a way as not to lead back to Gapan and his supporters in the government.”
“Impressive,” Redpath said, looking at Laurel directly.
Laurel shrugged. “I had a lot of time to think about it.”
What she didn’t say was that it had been easier to play with the pieces of the puzzle called the Ruby Surprise than with the jagged pieces of a closer, much more personal puzzle called Cruz Rowan.
“Is there more?” Redpath asked.
“Sure. The tricky part was in figuring out what the ruby really was.”
Stillness gathered around Redpath.
“Shall I go on?” Laurel offered coolly.
“Please do,” the ambassador said.
And meant it.
“Despite what Cruz said about people killing people for no reason at all,” Laurel said, “governments are motivated, and power is their goal. In modern societies, information is power. That’s what espionage is all about.”
Laurel waited, searching Redpath’s face for some sign of agreement or disagreement. There was nothing in the ambassador’s expression but intense interest.
“So I thought about that for a while longer,” Laurel said. “Then I remembered some articles I’d read years ago, about lasers and synthetic gems and the possibility of information storage in crystal lattices. Information retrieved by a beam of focused light, just like in your garden-variety CD player.”
Again Laurel paused, searching for some sign that Redpath agreed or disagreed with the speculations.
There was no sign of anything either way.
“But instead of a very, very thin film used for information storage, like on a CD,” Laurel said, “a ruby has three dimensions. It’s one of Mother Nature’s very own crystal lattices. The amount of material that could be stored is staggering, like carrying the Library of Congress around in your hip pocket. If the information happened to be state secrets—military, technical, espionage, that sort of thing—you’d have something worth killing for. Wouldn’t you, Ambassador?”
“Indeed you would.”
Laurel waited.
Redpath had had a lifetime of practice at outwaiting, and outwitting, negotiators.
“If your group was out of power at the moment, but not necessarily out of the fight,” Laurel said, “control of such files might be particularly valuable.”
Redpath made a neutral noise.
“So…” Laurel hesitated, then shrugged. “So I decided that the Russian old guard probably swiped the files and tried to turn them into money and/or influence. The new guard wanted them back but didn’t have enough power to just walk in and take them.”
Redpath managed to look interested and uninterested at the same time. It was the diplomatic version of a poker face.
“In fact,” Laurel said, “I’ll bet the new guard didn’t even know what the Ruby Surprise really was before the egg was fabricated and sent out of the country with the rest of ‘The Splendors of Russia’ exhibit.”
“And what is the Ruby Surprise, really?” Redpath asked softly.
“The most beautiful information storage and retrieval system ever made by man.”
A long silence followed Laurel’s words.
“I begin to think I hired th
e wrong Swann,” Redpath said finally. “Did your father teach you this kind of analysis?”
“No. It’s rather like designing a piece of jewelry. One central gem and a host of fascinating possibilities. You study it. Live with it. Dream with it. Then, one day, patterns emerge and it all falls into place.”
“Is that why you turned away from Cruz? The pattern displeased you?”
“Is that what he said?”
“Cruz has said nothing at all.”
“What a coincidence,” Laurel said sardonically. “That’s what he said to me at the emergency room. Not one damn thing. I was talking to the doctor about Dad, I looked around to ask Cruz a question, and all I saw were strangers. Cruz was gone.”
“Perhaps he thought you’d blame him for what happened to your father.”
“Not likely. Cruz knew I loved him. I suppose he was trying to be kind. A clean, quick cut and all that.”
“I think you’re missing the pattern.”
“I don’t.” Laurel stood up. “Goodbye, Ambassador. Thanks for satisfying my curiosity.”
“Won’t you at least stay for dinner?”
“No. Being here reminds me that I can’t compete with the bitch goddess adrenaline for a man’s loyalty, much less his love.” Swiftly Laurel turned away.
And slammed right into Cruz Rowan.
She made a shocked sound as he grabbed her, setting her back on her feet.
“Perhaps now you’ll believe me,” Redpath said acidly to Cruz, “rather than digging your grave in that damned slot canyon.”
With a crisp, almost military stride the ambassador walked around her desk.
“If either of you tries to leave the office in the next thirty minutes,” Redpath said, “the sergeant-major will throw you bodily back in here. With great relish, I might add. Gillie is as heartily sick of Cruz’s noble mulishness as I am. Now, children, negotiate.”
The door shut quite forcefully behind her.
58
Karroo
Thursday afternoon
Cruz’s eyes never left Laurel’s face. She was too pale, her mouth was too drawn, her pulse beat visibly in her temple, and her eyes—her eyes looked like his, too many memories cutting at her until she bled.
“Laurel, I never meant to hurt you. That’s the last thing I wanted. That’s why I left you.”
She closed her eyes, shutting him out.
But nothing she did could shut out the feel of his hands on her arms, the strength of him, the warmth.
“Let go of me,” she said hoarsely.
“No.”
Her eyes opened, shocked.
Cruz’s smile was so sad it made her heart turn over.
“I can’t,” he said simply. “I tried, God knows I tried. I thought it would be best for you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know what love is. I’ve never loved a woman. I didn’t even know if I could. I still don’t know. All I do know is I keep seeing you out of the corner of my eye, hearing your voice behind me, and my heart hammers and I turn around and you aren’t there and…”
His voice frayed into silence. His fingers were wrapped too tightly around her arms but he couldn’t let go.
She didn’t care. She was looking in his brilliant, shadowed eyes and seeing herself.
“I turn around and you aren’t there,” he said huskily, “and I discover all over again how much I miss you. I thought I’d get used to it. But each time is like the first time, except that it hurts more. Is it that way for you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I can’t look at water without remembering the canyon pool and feeling you like fire in my body. I can’t lick my lips without tasting you. I can’t close my eyes without seeing you give yourself to me. I can’t breathe without hearing your breath close to me, broken with passion, calling my name. Is it that way for you?”
“Yes.”
“The nights are the worst,” Cruz said raggedly. “Just as I fall asleep, I feel the warm weight of your body curled next to mine, feel the softness of your breath against my skin, feel a kind of peace that I found only with you. Then I wake up.”
He closed his eyes and fought for control.
She breathed his name and lifted trembling hands to his face. Her fingers traced his eyebrows, his nose, his mouth, the strong line of his jaw, the glistening darkness of his eyelashes.
A tremor went through his strong body.
“Laurel?”
“Yes,” she said huskily. “It’s that way for me too. As painful as it is beautiful. It’s called love.”
His eyes opened, brilliant with emotion. He started to speak, couldn’t, and simply pulled her close, burying his face in her hair, holding on to her like she was life itself.
She held on to him the same way.
After half an hour by the clock, the sergeant-major walked away from the office door, whistling softly. He found Cassandra Redpath sitting beneath the ramada’s lacy shade, looking out over the desert.
“Well?” she asked.
“There will be four for dinner, mum.”
About the Author
ELIZABETH LOWELL's acclaimed suspense novels include the New York Times bestsellers Always Time to Die, Die in Plain Sight, Moving Target, Running Scared, and four books featuring the Donovan family: Amber Beach, Jade Island, Pearl Cove, and Midnight in Ruby Bayou. Lowell has more than thirty million BOOKS in print. She lives in Seattle, Washington, with her husband, with whom she writes mystery novels under a pseudonym. Visit her website at www.elizabethlowell.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Praise for the novels of
ELIZABETH
LOWELL
“Romantic suspense is her true forte.”
Minneapolis Star-Tribune
“Lowell manages to balance the right amount of intrigue [and] romance…. [Her] characters come alive.”
Columbia State (MD)
“Lowell is adept…at writing gripping suspense.”
Stuart News (FL)
“I’ve read at least a dozen books by Lowell, and I can say with confidence that I would crawl on hands and knees across carpet tacks if I thought it would get me a few hours with almost any one of her heroes.”
Akron Beacon Journal
“Lowell’s keen ear for dialogue and intuitive characterizations consistently set her a cut above most writers in this genre.”
Charlotte News & Observer
“I’ll buy any book with Elizabeth Lowell’s name on it.”
Jayne Ann Krentz
By Elizabeth Lowell
WHIRLPOOL • ALWAYS TIME TO DIE
THE SECRET SISTER • DEATH IS FOREVER
THE COLOR OF DEATH • DIE IN PLAIN SIGHT
RUNNING SCARED • MOVING TARGET
MIDNIGHT IN RUBY BAYOU • PEARL COVE
JADE ISLAND • AMBER BEACH
WINTER FIRE • AUTUMN LOVER
ENCHANTED • FORBIDDEN • UNTAMED
ONLY LOVE • ONLY YOU
ONLY MINE • ONLY HIS
EDEN BURNING • THIS TIME LOVE
BEAUTIFUL DREAMER • REMEMBER SUMMER
DESERT RAIN • WHERE THE HEART IS
TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH • LOVER IN THE ROUGH
A WOMAN WITHOUT LIES • FORGET ME NOT
And in Hardcover
THE WRONG HOSTAGE
Copyright
This book was originally published, with the author writing under the name Ann Maxwell, as The Ruby by HarperCollins in January 1995 and reissued May 1999.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHIRLPOOL. Copyright © 1995, 2006 by Two of a Kind, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright C
onventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition October 2006 ISBN 9780061756047
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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