Jade Island

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Honey, darling, sugar, baby, love, buttercup,” Kyle said. “What do you think is possible?”

  Lianne wanted to scream or snarl at the lover’s knowledge in Kyle’s eyes and the gentle, implacable intimacy of his hand. The charade of mutual interest had been exposed, yet he wouldn’t stop pretending it was real. Last night she had gone to sleep alone on the couch and awakened in the middle of the night in his bed, in his arms.

  She could take the questions and the distrust, but not the offer of loving refuge where nothing existed but a need to pry knowledge out of her, knowledge that would be used against the only family she knew, the family that had betrayed her.

  Betrayal. Everywhere she looked, everywhere she turned. Betrayal. But nowhere did it enrage her as much as in Kyle’s beautiful, lying eyes.

  Archer’s eyes narrowed at the emotion vibrating in Lianne. Either she was a fine actress or she really wanted to take her coffee mug and cram it down Kyle’s throat.

  “The Neolithic blade and the camel aren’t the only substitutions made in Wen’s collection,” Lianne said.

  “We know that,” Archer said. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

  “Wen used to own the same jade suit that Farmer has now.”

  After a moment, Archer whistled through his teeth in shocked surprise. “You’re certain?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Kyle asked at the same time.

  “Why should I?” she retorted. “You didn’t tell me why you were screwing me.”

  “I was screwing you because you got me so hot I didn’t know which end was up. I’m still picking splinters out of my butt from the dock. Wasn’t I a gentleman, sweetheart? You only got splinters in your knees.”

  Archer lifted his eyebrows and smiled down into his coffee cup. He would have laughed out loud, but there was too much anger in Kyle’s voice. His brother was baiting Lianne every way a man could. Only fair. She was baiting him the same way.

  “I got you so hot,” Lianne said, her voice rising. “You son of a bitch! I didn’t even know people could do it that many ways, much less that it would feel so—” Abruptly she remembered that there was another person at the table, and that person was Kyle’s brother. She flushed from her breasts to the top of her head. “Never mind,” she muttered. “It has nothing to do with jade.”

  “Coffee, anyone?” Archer asked blandly.

  No one answered. He poured the rest of the coffee into his cup, drank, and put the finishing touches on his reassessment of Lianne Blakely.

  It didn’t take long. Archer had his faults, but stupid wasn’t one of them.

  “You’re sure about that jade suit?” he asked.

  “Yes. I saw it twice in Wen’s vault.”

  “Why didn’t you mention it sooner?”

  “I gave my word I would never speak about the burial suit to anyone except Wen. But now…” Lianne stared down at the yellow scraps of omelet scattered across her plate. A little piece of green pepper gleamed like precious jade against the stark white plate. “Jades are missing. Wen thinks I’m a thief. Somebody is stealing from Wen and blaming it on me.”

  Archer nodded. “Why didn’t you tell this to the government? Mercer said the Feds know their case against you is circumstantial at best. They offered to cut you loose if you would cooperate with them about the Jade Emperor.”

  “I’m innocent. The Feds can go screw themselves.”

  Archer smiled slightly. “I admire the sentiment, if not the logic.”

  “No matter what Kyle’s reasons,” Lianne said, “he saved my life—”

  “You fought for your life,” Kyle said.

  “—and then he got me out of jail,” she finished, ignoring him. “If I can help out the Donovans, I will.”

  Archer’s smile widened. This was a logic he understood, the logic of personal loyalty. Lianne might not like being in debt to the Donovans, but she accepted it.

  “What do you know about Wen’s suit, the one you say Farmer has?” Archer asked.

  “It’s styled after the Han burial suits, but since I’ve never examined it, I can’t guarantee its age. The shroud is nephrite rather than serpentine.”

  “Back up,” Archer said. “You lost me.”

  “Serpentine is softer, easier to carve, and not as rare as jade,” Kyle explained, understanding what his brother wanted. “Before the nineteenth century, a lot of what the Chinese called jade wasn’t even nephrite, but a bunch of other ‘virtuous’ stones.”

  “Okay. Go on, Lianne.”

  “Not all jade burial suits are made of nephrite. The imperial workshops had a monopoly on artisans and materials; only the upper crust of royalty was permitted the best. Serpentine was a common substitute for jade in burial shrouds because it was more easily carved and more readily available.”

  “But Wen’s suit was the real thing,” Archer said.

  “Yes. The jade was extraordinary—a translucent, deep green with cloud markings over the most important organs of the body. A piece of art as well as a summation of Chinese beliefs in life, death, and the hereafter.”

  “You’re certain that Farmer has the same suit that Wen did?” Kyle pressed.

  She hesitated, then accepted what she knew to be true. “Yes.”

  “And that it’s true jade?” Kyle asked.

  “As certain as I can be without a chemical analysis. It felt right. Looked right. Took the right polish. There was none of the wear at the corners you would expect from softer stone. And Wen’s attitude toward the suit was reverent. He had a modern preference for nephrite over other kinds of ‘jade.’”

  “Why would Wen sell Farmer that suit?” Kyle asked.

  “Money,” Archer said succinctly. “Millions.”

  “Not good enough,” Kyle said. “Wen is a collector. Parting with that suit would be like selling his soul.”

  Archer looked at Lianne.

  “He’s right,” she said simply. “Of course, if the family of Tang was desperate…” Then she sighed and shook her head. “No. Wen would have used his entire jade collection as collateral on a loan before he would sell any of it, much less the jade shroud.”

  “Maybe he did take out a loan,” Archer said. “Maybe he defaulted and the bank sold off the collateral.”

  Kyle got up and paced across the kitchen to the stove. Lianne watched him go from sunlight to shadow and back to sunlight again, and couldn’t decide which was more beautiful to her—the golden-green blaze of his eyes in the darkness or the shimmering gold of his hair in the light. But in light or dark, what drew her was his intelligence, his humor, the promise of strength in his easy stride.

  Too bad all he wanted from her was information and sex, Lianne thought bitterly. In that order. Yet, to be fair, he gave as good as he got. And he had saved her life.

  “Lianne?” Archer said. “What do you think about the loan scenario?”

  She blinked and forced herself to look away from Kyle. “Unlikely.”

  “Why?”

  “It would be impossible to keep such a loan quiet. First, the collection would have to be appraised. That alone would start a furor in the jade world. Whoever appraised the pieces would have friends, associates, lovers, rivals. No matter what vows of silence were sworn to, word would get out simply because the Tang jades are unparalleled. It would be like…” She hesitated, trying to think of an analogy Archer would understand. “Like De Beers getting the contents of their London diamond vaults appraised for a loan.”

  Archer grunted. “That would set off shock waves.”

  Kyle looked up from measuring coffee. “Would anyone in the Tang family have a reason to set Farmer up for a fall?”

  “I don’t understand,” Lianne said.

  Archer did. He gave Kyle an approving look. The boy definitely was not thinking with his dick.

  “Farmer is getting into bed with SunCo,” Kyle said. “What does that do to the Tangs?�
�

  “Nothing good,” Lianne said, frowning. “The Suns have much better mainland access than the Tangs. Three of the Suns have married ’red princesses.’ Sun Sen, the granddaughter of the Sun patriarch, is engaged to Deng Qiang, a grandnephew of the dead leader and one of the most powerful men in China today.”

  “The new aristocracy,” Kyle said, disgusted. “The ultra-privileged children and grandchildren of Mao’s cohort intermarrying with the most successful criminal entrepreneurs of the twenty-first century.”

  “In other words,” Archer said, “the Tangs have ample reason to want to undermine the Suns’ success.”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with Farmer and the jade shroud?” Lianne asked.

  “Remember the old saying, ‘Grasp the stinging nettle firmly’?” Kyle said, coming back to the table.

  She nodded.

  “Well,” he continued, “making a fist around the stingers is one way of doing it. Very direct. Very Western.” He slid into the breakfast nook and sat close to her again. Hip to thigh. “Like me.”

  Lianne smiled in spite of herself.

  “Better yet,” Kyle said, smiling slowly at her in return, “you get someone else to grab the nettle for you. Then it doesn’t matter how the damn thing is grasped. Nothing’s stinging you.”

  “Very indirect. Very Eastern,” Lianne said. “Quite clever, actually.”

  “Yeah, it’s great…unless you’re the guy stuck with a double handful of nettles.”

  She looked at her own hands, wrapped around the empty coffee mug as though it was some kind of lifeline. Slowly she forced herself to let go of it. Then she stared into the dregs as if she could read her future in it.

  Archer started to speak, but stopped at a look from Kyle.

  “You’re saying that I was deliberately set up by the Tang family for the purpose of making Dick Farmer or SunCo lose face?” Lianne asked.

  “I’m wondering if it’s possible,” Archer said.

  “Why?” she asked starkly.

  “I’m looking for a convincing motive for someone else to steal those jades.”

  Kyle’s eyes narrowed. He studied his oldest brother as though he had never seen him before.

  “Why?” Lianne asked again, surprised.

  “Because he finally woke up and smelled the coffee,” Kyle said. “He believes you didn’t do it.”

  She stared at Kyle, then at Archer.

  “Right,” Archer said. “But believing isn’t proving. We need something that will convince the Feds. That will let both her and us off the government hook.”

  “Why are you on the hook in the first place?” Lianne asked.

  “It’s a long story about Russian czars and amber,” Kyle said. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, our problem is finding a convincing suspect whose name isn’t Lianne Blakely.”

  “There’s a whole world out there,” she retorted.

  “We only want the ones who have motive, means, and opportunity,” Kyle said.

  “Always a good starting point,” Archer said. “At the moment, the Feds know that Lianne had the means and opportunity to rifle the Tang vault.”

  “But no motive,” she said.

  “Wrong, sweetheart,” Kyle said. “Revenge.”

  Her eyes widened. Then her expression closed down, revealing nothing except wary, whiskey-colored eyes watching him. “I see. Bastard daughter gets even with the legitimate Tangs by stealing them blind. Is that how the scenario goes?”

  “Yes. But since you didn’t do it, we need to look at everyone else who has access to the Tang vault.

  “Wen, Joe, Daniel, me.”

  “That’s it?” Archer asked. “No wives or girlfriends, no household staff, no lock maintenance people or pest inspectors or electricians or household security?”

  Lianne shook her head. “No one. You have to understand; by American standards, the Tang family is paranoid about protecting itself and its wealth. By Chinese standards, the Tangs are simply prudent. Deeply secretive.”

  “What kind of security system does the vault have?” Kyle asked.

  “The locks are old. Very solid, mind you. Just not high-tech. They’re the kind you would find in late-nineteenth-century banks.”

  “Damn,” Kyle said. “Tumblers and dials and no electricity. Sounds like your meat, Archer.”

  “Locks like that get cranky without maintenance. Who keeps them oiled?” Archer asked.

  “Wen used to,” Lianne said. “I assume he taught Joe, but Joe is rarely in Vancouver, so Daniel has been doing the maintenance.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Wen told Daniel when I mentioned that one of the locks was getting sticky.”

  “Daniel isn’t real fond of you, is he?” Kyle asked quietly.

  She lifted her chin and didn’t answer.

  Kyle brushed the back of his hand down her cheek in a gentle caress. “I know you don’t want to point any fingers at your half brother, but who else is there? He had to be the one who told Wen about the missing jades.”

  Lianne fought the dry, hot burning behind her eyes. She didn’t like to think of anyone setting her up. Thinking of Daniel doing it, Daniel with her father’s eyes and smile…Her stomach rolled.

  It was such an intimate betrayal.

  “What about Wen himself?” Archer said. “Would he do it?”

  “He’s blind,” Kyle said without looking away from Lianne. “He’s frail. I’ll bet he can’t even get into the vault without help, much less sort through the jade. Can he, sweetheart?”

  She shook her head and tried not to lash out at the logic box that was being so carefully built for her. And the cage that had already been built.

  Someone had stolen the jades and made certain that she took the blame.

  “What about Joe?” Archer asked.

  “He doesn’t know the difference between nephrite and soapstone,” Lianne said, her voice low. “Whoever did this had to know which pieces to steal, which to ignore, and how to find substitutes. Even if Joe had the knowledge, why would he do it? It’s his own inheritance, his own personal wealth, the pride and soul of the Tangs. The Tang Consortium is held by the whole family. The jade vaults have been passed down to the First Son’s First Son since the first piece was collected.”

  “Which leaves Daniel,” Kyle said gently, relentlessly. “The third—or is it fourth?—son of Johnny, who is the third son of Wen Zhi Tang. Danny boy is a long way from inheriting the keys to the jade kingdom, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” she whispered unhappily.

  “How long has he had the combination to the vault?” Archer asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ten years? Five? Two?”

  As though cold, Lianne pulled the silk lapels of her robe closer. “I…a year. Maybe less. Whenever Wen couldn’t see or feel the combination anymore and Joe wasn’t there to open the vault for him.”

  “In other words,” Archer said, “Daniel has had plenty of time to cream the jades.”

  “Yes. But…”

  “But what?” Kyle asked.

  “Why would he hate me enough to set me up? I haven’t done anything to deserve that.”

  “Wrong assumption,” Archer said. “Hatred might have nothing to do with it. Deserving sure as hell doesn’t. Pragmatism would explain choosing you.”

  She looked at Kyle as though asking him to counter his brother’s relentless logic.

  “It’s a lot easier for Daniel to pin a stinking rose on Johnny’s illegitimate daughter than on Wen’s Number One Son,” Kyle said quietly. “Isn’t it, sweetheart? There’s no one to protect you, no patriarch to rise up in righteous fury if you’re threatened. You’ve lived your whole life out on the end of a Tang limb. Now someone’s sawing it off right next to the trunk.”

  Lianne’s chin came up a notch. She didn’t like Kyle’s logic, but it made a horrible kind of sense. There was only one thing wrong with it.

  “Daniel doesn’t have the combination to the inne
r vault,” she said. “The one that held the jade shroud.”

  “Can you prove that?” Kyle said instantly.

  “No.”

  “Can Daniel prove that he didn’t know the combination?” Archer asked.

  “How do you prove a negative?” Lianne retorted with bitter satisfaction, for she was in the same position—trying to prove that she had not stolen any jades.

  “You can’t,” Kyle said. Then he smiled as coldly as Archer ever had and turned to his older brother. “We don’t have much, but it might be enough to shake something loose. Time to call Uncle?”

  Archer’s eyelids lowered until his eyes were no more than glittering, steel-colored slits. Then he got up and went to the phone.

  Chapter 21

  Displayed by a television screen that was no thicker than a debit card and no smaller than a chair, three heads spoke in measured terms about the volatile international situation. Sitting in his circular work area, Dick Farmer watched PBS with part of his attention and scanned several computer screens with the rest.

  “What effect do you think this will have on international monetary markets in the near, semi-near, and long term?” asked the host, Helen Coffmann, a woman of average looks, manly tweed jacket, and impressive cheekbones.

  “In the short run, it’s hard to say with total assurance,” Ted Chung, the resident Asian specialist said. “A lot will depend on the reaction of overseas lenders and China’s non-American trading partners. If trade barriers go back up, there is little chance of an economically painless resolution. The ripple effect will be very costly, especially in China.”

  “Then it’s to China’s best interest to find some means of defusing the situation,” Helen said.

  “Economically speaking, yes. But we must remember that China is and always has been ruled by symbols. It is very difficult for Westerners to understand, yet I have no doubt that China would sooner invite economic turmoil than be seen as bowing to America’s will, much less to Taiwan’s.”

  “Lev, what do you think?” Helen asked, turning toward the other man.

  “It will be a disaster,” Lev Kline, the guest economist, said bluntly. “China and the United States are at a crucial juncture in trade talks. Three days ago, we were at the point of agreeing on allotments of automobiles in exchange for clothing imports, among many other items, plus an agreement to ensure that Chinese banks follow international…”