Amber Beach

by Elizabeth Lowell

Jake replaced the statuette without performing any tests on it other than simply weighing it in his hand and running his fingernail over its surface.

  “Is it real?” Honor asked.

  “It looks right, feels right, and didn’t scratch beneath my nail. In any case, it’s too big for the containers I brought.”

  “No hot needle?” she asked.

  “Bite your tongue.” Then he looked up from the statuette and smiled slowly at her. “Never mind. I’ll do it for you later.”

  “I’m breathless.”

  The words didn’t carry quite the sting Honor wished. There was something about Jake’s smile that could disarm a tank. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, she was made of much softer stuff than armor plate.

  “Superb,” Jake said, touching the figurine delicately as it lay in the box. “Art, artifact, and gemstone in one. Literally priceless.”

  “Everything has a price,” Resnikov said. Though he said nothing more, his attitude made it obvious that he included Jake in the things that were for sale.

  Honor held her breath, expecting him to go for Resnikov’s throat. Instead, Jake smiled. It wasn’t the kind of grin that made a woman feel all warm and tingly.

  “I’m listening,” Jake said, packing up his small suitcase as he spoke.

  “If you agree to work for me, Emerging Resources will once again be welcome in all of the Russian Federation.”

  Jake’s hands stilled for an instant, but no more. It was his only reaction to being offered exactly what he had been looking for—a means of removing his company from the Russian least-wanted list.

  “When you successfully complete your task,” Resnikov continued, “you will become the sole representative to the world of all Baltic amber, whether raw or worked. If you wish, every single piece of Russian Federation amber will pass through your own hands before it is sold.”

  Honor drew in a swift breath at what Resnikov was offering to the man who loved amber more than he loved anything else. Yet when she looked at Jake, he was closing up his suitcase as though nothing important had been said.

  “Whether or not you are wholly successful in your task,” the Russian added, “you will receive one hundred amber artifacts that equal or exceed the quality of those which you have deemed genuine tonight. You will be allowed to choose them yourself from a selection of four hundred museum-quality goods.”

  Jake’s eyes widened fractionally, then narrowed. “Then you’re still working for the Russian government.”

  “Does it matter? No matter who is my employer, the quality of your payment is assured by your own pertise.”

  Silence. Then Jake asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Find the panel from the Amber Room that Kyle Donovan stole in order to—”

  “My brother didn’t steal anything!”

  Resnikov gave Honor a hooded glance and a smile that was no deeper than the enamel on his teeth. “Of course. Forgive me. I will modify my request.” He looked back at Jake, who was closing his suitcase. “Find the panel of the Amber Room that was hidden in the shipment that Kyle Donovan drove from Kaliningrad to Russia. The panel is intended to be a bona fide for the sale of the entire room. I believe sixty million U.S. dollars was mentioned as a beginning price in the auction.”

  Honor made a startled sound.

  “What makes you think I didn’t steal the amber panel and set Kyle up to take the blame?” Jake asked blandly.

  “You?” The Russian laughed. “You are too—how is it said?—honorable as a long day?”

  “As honest as a day is long.”

  “Yes.” Resnikov nodded quickly. “That is it precisely. Even if you were less honest, betraying a friend is not your style.”

  The Russian’s certainty irritated Honor. “Just how long have you known Jake?”

  “Many years, both as ally and, shall we say, competitor. I have intimate experience with his lack of desire to betray friends.” He looked back at Jake. “What do you say?”

  “Whose interests do you represent?” Jake asked.

  “The amber you will receive has no blood on it. Each piece was dredged from lagoons behind Samland sula.”

  “Recently?”

  “No. Many museums donated pieces to the owner who had this box made.”

  “ ‘Donated,’ huh? Nice of them.”

  “The Soviet Empire was once quite large and wealthy.” Resnikov shrugged. “Now it is smaller and much poorer.”

  “It happens.”

  For a moment longer Jake looked at the incredible pieces of art that had been carved in reverence and awe by human hands so long, long ago. Slowly he reached out, closed the lid of the box, and fastened its gold catch.

  “No thanks, Pete. I only work for one friend at a time.”

  Resnikov went very still. “I cannot believe that you are part of Kyle Donovan’s scheme.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why do you refuse to work with me? Our countries are no longer enemies.”

  “It has nothing to do with politics.” Jake’s big hand closed around Honor’s. He lifted her cool fingers to his lips. “I’m working with Miss Donovan. We’re . . . very good friends.”

  She couldn’t hide the shiver of response that went through her as his breath warmed her skin. Nor could she hide her relief.

  Until that instant, Honor hadn’t known just how alone she would feel if Jake left her to search for Kyle by herself.

  “You do not have to answer me tonight,” Resnikov said through tight lips. “Think about it for one day. Do not let your stiff neck rule your mind, Jacob. You are not strong enough to own the Amber Room.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  The Russian looked at Jake for the space of four long breaths, then nodded, believing him.

  “In that event, I have an alternative suggestion,” Resnikov said smoothly. “Take your lovely friend to Paris or Rome or London at my expense. Stay for at least a month.” Deliberately he opened the box of amber once more. “No matter your decision after that month, keep these as a small token of our friendship.”

  Tucked among shadows, ancient amber gleamed with time and mystery and the yearnings of people long dead.

  Jake stood up, pulling Honor with him. “It won’t be any different tomorrow. No sale and no time-outs. Do you understand?”

  Slowly Resnikov nodded. “And you, J. Jacob Mallory, do you understand?”

  “You can bet your life on it. Say good-bye, Honor.”

  Jake handed her the suitcase, grabbed her arm in his left hand, and headed for the back door.

  “When you change your mind,” Resnikov said clearly, “I can be reached at the Ana Curtis Hotel.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I believe you will. My employers can be very persuasive.”

  Jake kicked the chair from beneath the door handle and pulled Honor out into the alley. She didn’t realize he was holding a gun down along his right leg until he let go of her, pulled the truck keys out of his pocket with his left hand, and tossed them in her direction.

  “Drive.”

  For once she didn’t argue.

  17

  “TURN HERE,” JAKE said. “We’re going to my cabin.”

  “You may be,” Honor said, ignoring his instructions, “but I’m going back to Kyle’s cottage.”

  He turned his head to look at her. Her stubborn chin was tilted up, as though to meet the darkness head-on.

  “Allow me to explain what happened back there,” he said softly.

  “I was there, remember?”

  “Your body was. Your brain wasn’t, or you would know how silly you sound talking about going alone to Kyle’s cottage.”

  Honor’s instincts told her that Jake was right, but she had no intention of sharing that gut feeling with him. She felt too off balance to trust herself to keep her distance if he reached for her in the darkness of a shared cottage.

  Or if he didn’t.

  “Resnikov believes you won’t betray me,”
Honor said. “But then, he doesn’t know what happened, does he?”

  “What happened is that I spent the past hour examining some world-class amber artifacts, artifacts that—”

  “I was there, remem—”

  “—could only have come from Russian state museums. That means one of several things. Pete could be representing the official government in an official, but covert, capacity. He could be tied into the branch of the Kaliningrad mafiya that controls, or hopes to control, the mining and distribution of amber in the Baltic States. He could have stolen the pieces we saw tonight and hopes to bribe me with them in order to get his hands on even more valuable goods.”

  “Like the Amber Room?”

  “Or information about who stole it and how it was smuggled out of Russia and, most important, why.”

  “Greed,” she said succinctly.

  “Of course. But greed for what? The amber itself? Money? Revenge? Political power? Pete could be after any or all of them. He’s neither timid nor stupid.”

  Honor glanced quickly at Jake. In the pale light washing between clouds, there wasn’t anything inviting about his expression. He looked as remote as midnight. Uneasiness flickered through her. This was the Jake she didn’t know, the one who could hold a gun with the safety off and every intention of pulling the trigger if he had to.

  “Who do you think stole the amber?” she asked.

  “Kyle signed for the shipment and drove it out of Kaliningrad. I traced him as far as Russia before Donovan International started slamming doors in my face.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just what I said. Donovan International has more pull than I do. They didn’t want me asking questions.”

  “That’s ridiculous. We want to find Kyle as much as you do. More. We love him.”

  “Yeah. That’s why your family doesn’t want me to find him.”

  “Look,” Honor said through clenched teeth, “Archer told me that the evidence against Kyle was just a bit too pat to believe. As if he had been set up.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t very clever about what he was doing.”

  “Why can’t you believe that he might be innocent?”

  “Because that would make me guilty. No thanks, buttercup. I’m not hanging for your brother’s sins.”

  “Couldn’t someone else have stolen the damned panel and hidden it in with the legitimate stuff? Why does it have to be you or Kyle?”

  Jake muttered something under his breath. He looked in the mirrors for the tenth time in two minutes. Still no one following them. He flicked on the safety and put his gun in the glove compartment.

  “Your brother was in lust with a Lithuanian freedom fighter—or terrorist, depending on your politics.”

  “Lust? Love is a four-letter word, just like the others you use. You can say it. Your tongue won’t rot.”

  “Crap.”

  “That’s another four-letter word,” she agreed coolly. “Unlike some men, Kyle is capable of love as well as lust.”

  “Is that another shot at me?”

  “It’s a fact. Take it and tuck it.”

  “Consider it tucked. Now here are a few facts for you. You aren’t going to like them any more than I liked being set up to take Kyle’s fall.”

  Honor’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  “I own a company called Emerging Resources,” Jake said. “The major part of my business is advising First World corporations on how to work with the Russian Federation, which is teetering between Second World status and the toilet.”

  She threw him a quick look. He was watching the mirror on the passenger side.

  “With intelligence and sweat and luck,” he said, “Russia can be kept from sliding into fiscal and social chaos—and dragging a big chunk of the world down with it. Hard currency is one key to any country’s survival. In Kaliningrad and Lithuania, I ended up as an unofficial adviser on how the government could get the most hard currency out of their amber. Do you understand the difference between hard and soft currency?”

  “A hard currency can be traded for any currency in the world,” Honor said tightly. “A soft currency can’t. Outside the country that issued it, soft currency can be less valuable than good toilet paper.”

  “You’re a Donovan,” he said, smiling thinly. “You understand international business. Without hard currency to buy goods on the world market, not much is possible for Russian Federation countries but charity, poverty, stagnation, and ultimately revolution. Sensible people know it and design national policies accordingly.”

  “So where does theft and the Amber Room come in?”

  “Not under sweet reason, that’s for sure.”

  As Honor turned onto Marine Drive, clouds swiftly ate the light, leaving behind a deeper gloom.

  “The Amber Room comes under greed, revenge, and politics,” Jake said. “For Russia it’s a symbol of Nazi greed, Russian blood, and the agony of World War Two, plus the greatness of a czarist Golden Age that Russians are afraid they’ll never know again. Communism gutted the economy and the people’s spirit worse than the czars ever did.”

  Honor remembered the intense conversations she had had with the Donovan when she first suggested that she and Faith do business outside of First World countries. He hadn’t been thrilled, despite the fact that the Donovan males were doing just that.

  “Dad says pretty much the same thing,” she said. “It’s the one thing he and Archer agree on. But why would the Russian government steal its own Amber Room?”

  “Same reason the Italian mafia stole one of Italy’s great paintings—The Nativity by Caravaggio. Competing interests. Crime and legitimate government may overlap, but they aren’t the same. Yet.”

  “You said something about Lithuanian terrorists. What would they want the Amber Room for? To swap it for arms?”

  “That’s one possibility. If they were really smart, they would use it as a lever to pry themselves farther apart from Russia and get their own currency, a real rather than a toothless local government, real autonomy, that sort of thing. Unfortunately, right now Russia can’t afford to turn loose any more pieces of its former empire without inviting total collapse.”

  “What about the woman? What’s her interest?”

  “Marju?”

  “No. The one in the red coat.”

  “Oh. That’s Ellen Lazarus. We used to work for the same outfit.”

  “The U.S. government?” Honor asked evenly.

  “Part of it. Nobody works for all of it, not even the president. As for Ellen, it’s simple. She wants the Amber Room.”

  “Why?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Guess.”

  “Politics. International leverage. You stroke mine and I’ll stroke yours and we’ll all have a fine time for as long as it lasts.”

  “Jake Mallory’s First Principle,” Honor said sardonically. “For as long as it lasts.”

  “Beats fairy dust about love, life, or country ever after, world without end, amen. Nothing lasts forever, honey.”

  “Even amber?” she challenged.

  “Even that. It comes close, though. When you hold a Neolithic figurine in your hand, time peels away until you can almost touch the yearnings of the people who put their own souls into a simple carving . . .”

  The husky resonance of Jake’s voice shivered through Honor. He loved ancient amber the way she had always dreamed of being loved by a man.

  Yet he had turned down the very thing he loved so deeply.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you refuse Resnikov? Didn’t you believe he would follow through with his promises?”

  “It didn’t matter. I only work for one employer at a time.”

  “Yourself?”

  “Mostly. Lately I’ve found myself working for a sharp-tongued buttercup.”

  “Who has found herself the employer of a lethal darlin’,” she retorted.

  “Sometimes flo
wers just don’t get the job done.”

  Carefully Honor let out a breath that kept trying to break. She wanted to stay close to Jake so much that it scared her. She was in over her head in every way that mattered. She would survive falling in love with the wrong man.

  She wouldn’t survive trusting the wrong man in a deadly game of greed and amber.

  “If it helps,” Jake said, “as your official ginteras, I come with the Donovan International seal of approval.”

  “What?”

  “Unlike a certain razor-edged buttercup, Archer figured out real fast that I wouldn’t hurt his little sister. He offered to whitewash me if I’d take you away from the line of fire.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No shit,” he said roughly.

  She bit her lip against the scalding words crowding her tongue. A tirade wouldn’t help right now, even though it would feel almost as good as shaking Jake Mallory until his big white teeth rattled.

  “Let me get this straight,” she said neutrally. “Archer offered to clear your name if you would take me away from here?”

  “Yes.”

  Honor didn’t know what to say.

  “You don’t believe me,” Jake said, watching her.

  “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Ah, the lady learns.”

  “Listen, you smug—”

  “Sorry,” he said over her words. “I’m a little edgy myself, okay? If I didn’t know you were damned intelligent, I would have stuffed you in a kennel cage and mailed you back to the Donovans C.O.D.”

  “Thanks, I think. You turned down Resnikov and you turned down Archer. Why?”

  “I don’t trust Resnikov.”

  “Do you trust Archer?”

  “In all but this. When push comes to shove, it’s me or Kyle. I know how any Donovan will choose.”

  “Archer wouldn’t go back on his word to you.”

  “He loves you and he loves Kyle. Only a fool asks a man to choose between two things he loves equally. You can’t predict the outcome.”

  Honor opened her mouth and then closed it without making a sound. She knew that Jake was right. If she had to choose between siblings . . . she couldn’t.

  Rain started spitting down. She turned on the headlights and finally found the windshield wiper control. Road dirt smeared across the window until Jake reached over and turned on the washer. The glass cleared into two curved views of a gray universe.