Diamonds Can Be Deadly

by Merline Lovelace

  "We're talking millions of dollars collected from thousands of pushers," he growled, making the attempt. "If Greene's accepting that kind of cash, laundering it through a series of banks and convert­ing it to pesos for his South American friends, it has to funnel in somewhere."

  "An isolated tropical resort surrounded by enough security to protect the U.S. national gold reserves seems like a pretty good place to make the drop."

  "You'd think. As I said, we've monitored everyone arriving and departing the institute. If any of the guests acted as a courier, I haven't found evidence of it yet."

  "What about McShay?"

  "The Silicon Valley king? We scrubbed him with a wire brush. He came up clean." TJ's glance sharp­ened on the woman next to him. "Why? Did he say something that made you suspicious?"

  Her face was little more than a pale blur, but he could hear the frown in her voice.

  "It wasn't so much what he said, but how he said it. McShay gave me the distinct impression he owed Bartholomew his soul."

  "He does. From all reports, Greene pulled the man back from the brink of suicide."

  Despite his suspicions about the psychotherapist, TJ had to admit the man seemed to know his busi­ness. The files included case after case of people claiming Bartholomew had helped them come to grips with everything from eating disorders to the death of a loved one.

  "I still want to talk to McShay," Jordan said. "Maybe I can get him to open up."

  Swallowing a bone-deep reluctance to let an outsider jump into the middle of his op, TJ shrugged. "Go for it."

  "I assume you've also scrubbed the institute's employees? Duncan Myers? Liana Wu? Danny the driver?"

  "We're pretty sure Myers is skimming corporate profits, but we haven't been able to link him to drug money. Danny is clean. So is Wu."

  A mental image of the delectable spa director formed in TJ's mind. Liana had dropped several hints that she wanted to get together and discuss more spa security. He'd been interested—and not just for the information he might elicit about Greene—but had sidestepped her subtle invitations to get up close and personal.

  James Bond could tumble suspects into bed. The DEA tended to frown on that sort of thing. TJ had a feeling his bosses wouldn't be happy knowing he'd tumbled an undercover operative into the sand, either.

  Now that he was thinking with his head instead of his heart, he wasn't particularly thrilled about it himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let down his guard like that. Anyone could have strolled across the beach and put a gun to his head. He would have died happy at that point. The problem was, Jordan might well have died with him.

  Cursing his brief descent into insanity, TJ made a swift, silent vow not to put her at risk again. That glorious session in the sand might have healed some old hurts and opened new areas for exploration, but they couldn't sink into that kind of near oblivion again. Not here. Not until they'd nailed Bartholo­mew Greene and his accomplices.

  Afterward...

  No, better not go there. He had too much at stake right here, right now, to indulge in fantasies about the unforeseeable future.

  "What about the local businesses who supply goods and services to the institute?" Jordan wanted to know. "Someone could be hauling in truckloads of dollars along with tons of pineapples and kiwi. Or hauling it out for distribution to various banks on the island."

  "We've worked the locals. We've also worked the banks here on Kauai. There aren't enough of them to absorb the kind of deposits we're talking about without hitting the ten-thousand-dollar trig­ger."

  "So the deposits have to be going into banks on the mainland."

  "That's our best guess."

  "But Greene spends most of his time in Hawaii."

  "I know," he said dryly. "That's why I'm here."

  "'Scuse me?"

  It took a moment to click. "Sorry. That's why we're here."

  Accepting the correction with a nod, she pursed her lips in concentration. An aftershock jolted through TJ when he remembered how those lips had been all over him just moments ago.

  Dammit! He had to get that session in the sand out of his head. Get everything out of his head but Greene and friends. One friend in particular had his special interest.

  "You know Greene's primary emerald supplier arrives tomorrow?"

  "Myers told me," Jordan replied. "Alejandro Garcia. My people are checking him out."

  TJ hoped her people could dig up more on Garcia than his had. Not even the undercover operative who'd infiltrated the mine at Muzo had been able to tag the slick and very successful salesman as a go-between.

  "Myers has set me up to meet with Garcia and as­sociates," Jordan said. "He thinks he can cut a special deal for me and the institute."

  "Where's the meeting to take place?"

  "I don't know. I'm assuming the conference room in the main corporate offices."

  "The meeting might start there. If Greene and Garcia decide to conduct any private business, they'll do it away from the security cameras in the conference area."

  "Have you bugged every private alcove and office?"

  "What do you think?"

  "I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

  "I can't get a wiretap or install unauthorized lis­tening devices without a warrant, and I can't obtain a warrant until I convince a judge there's probable cause. Right now, I'm depending on the security system already in place to collect info."

  Jordan pooched her lips again. "I'll see what I can get out of this Garcia."

  "Just stay where I can keep you on the monitors. This guy's a slick operator."

  "I don't need big brother watching me. I'll signal you if I require assistance."

  "How?"

  "This is how."

  Hooking back her tangled hair, she flicked the gold hoop in her ear.

  "The transmitter inside this baby emits a signal that can't be intercepted or interpreted except at OMEGA. My controller can relay any SOSs to you via your cell phone or the phones at your security operations center."

  Incredulous, TJ squinted at the gold hoop. "You've got that kind of technology packed in there?"

  "Yep."

  "I need to talk to our techies," he muttered.

  "You do that. In the meantime, I'll meet with Garcia, Myers and, if he joins the party, Greene. I also want to talk to McShay. Why don't we get together tomorrow afternoon and compare notes."

  TJ didn't particularly care for the way she'd rel­egated him to the sidelines but accepted her sug­gestion with a shrug. He also had a few things that needed doing between now and the scheduled arrival of the Colombians. None of them involved Jordan.

  Or so he thought until she pushed to her feet, plucked at her dress to untangle the folds and shook off a shower of sand. The moon put out just enough glow to silhouette her legs against the wet, almost transparent fabric.

  The memory of those slim thighs and calves wrapped around him such a short time ago hit TJ like a power jab to the jaw. Smothering a curse, he scooped up the remnants of his six-pack and reordered his priorities. The first thing on his agenda had to be a long, cold shower.

  Chapter 9

  Jordan woke the next morning primed for her meeting with Alejandro Garcia. When she tilted the plantation shutters to let in the dazzling light, anticipation hummed along her nerves and stirred up her senses.

  The hibiscus crowding the lanai smelled sweeter, stronger. The ocean chanted a surging rhythm. Refusing to dwell on how much of her supercharged energy stemmed from that incredible, insane session with TJ last night, she washed, dragged a brush through her hair, slapped on a minimum of makeup and dressed.

  Thank God for the resort's elegant boutiques and well-stocked gift shops! She'd augmented the lim­ited wardrobe she'd packed into the carryall with strategic purchases, one of which had bitten the dust last night. The white-on-white sundress sat in a plastic laundry sack, crying for cleaning. The gauzy shorts and turquoise halter top would work for the morning group session, but n
ot the meeting with the Colombians. She settled for freshly laundered linen slacks and a sleeveless silk blouse in a soft peach that brought out the highlights in her deep auburn hair. Draping a multistrand link belt with hundreds of dangling charms around her hips, she reached for the finishing touch.

  The emerald teardrop felt cool when she picked it up, warm when it nestled against her skin. She stood still for a moment, frowning at the odd sensa­tion that seemed to emanate from the stone. Not a vibration, exactly. Not an out-and-out quiver. Just a small tremor, as if it was absorbing her energy.

  "Don't get crazy, Colby. Remember, it's a trick."

  With that stern admonition, she left her cottage and joined the guests who'd gathered for the break­fast buffet at the Jade Buddha. Harry McShay wasn't among them, Jordan saw in a quick sweep of the tables. Swallowing her disappointment, she fol­lowed the hostess past ice sculptures, juice fountains and a waffle station sporting a wicked array of toppings to a table set beside the three-tiered pool.

  "Just coffee," she told the waiter before helping herself to slices of fresh pineapple and a toasted bagel. The waffles were screaming her name, but old habits died hard. She'd added a thin spread of low-fat cream cheese to one half of the bagel and was ready to chow down when TJ appeared.

  Her hand halted halfway to her mouth. He looked like she felt, she thought as her stomach performed a ridiculous little flip-flop. Relaxed on the outside, yet moving with a stride that suggested a coiled energy on the inside. He also looked so good she had to remind herself to breathe.

  His hair was slick and dark from his shower. His knit shirt clung to his powerful shoulders and torso. Remembering the feel of that body pressing hers into the sand, Jordan gulped.

  "Morning, Red."

  Pulling out a chair, he joined her. The tangy lime scent of his aftershave drifted across the table as he helped himself to the other half of her bagel and smothered it with a thick layer of cream cheese.

  "Alejandro Garcia and friends took the red-eye shuttle from Bogota via Miami and LAX. They arrive at the Kauai airport at nine-twenty."

  "I know. I got word late last night."

  Claire had passed her the news when Jordan had contacted OMEGA to confirm she'd established liaison with TJ. She hadn't specified just how close a liaison. Headquarters didn't need such minor details.

  "Do you also know Harry McShay checked out of the institute?" TJ asked as he crunched into the toasted bagel.

  "No! When?"

  "A half hour ago. Danny's driving him to the airport as we speak."

  Dammit! She should have tracked the man down last night. She would have, if she hadn't become otherwise occupied. That's what came of giving in to old hurts and new hungers. Thor­oughly disgusted with herself, Jordan reached for her coffee cup.

  "McShay booked a first-class seat on the turn­around of the same flight bringing in Garcia and company," TJ said, his voice low. "They'll pass each other at the gate."

  The quiet announcement sent her cup clattering back onto the saucer. Her thoughts racing, Jordan darted a quick look across the table.

  "The timing could be coincidental."

  "McShay was scheduled to remain at the institute for another week."

  "Maybe he got called back to the mainland on business."

  "If so, the call didn't come through the central switchboard."

  Her mind scrambled, trying to fit the pieces together. "We need to get him under surveillance."

  "It's done."

  "Not just at the Kauai airport. You said Garcia and pals flew via Miami and Los Angeles. They could have left something for McShay with one of the flight attendants. Or at the L.A. airport. A key, an envelope, a map, anything. We need someone on the man from the moment he deplanes."

  "It's done, Jordan."

  She sat back, eyeing him with grudging respect. "Sounds like you've been busy. Anything left for me to do?"

  "You've got group this morning, right? Feel out the other guests, see if they know anything about McShay's abrupt departure. And get me on that net you told me about last night. I want to test the re­ception before you waltz into your meeting with Garcia."

  Jordan tipped him a mock salute. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Anything else, sir?"

  "Not at the moment." His grin slipped out, quick and slashing and all TJ. "Something might come to me later."

  Scarfing down the rest of her bagel, he pushed back his chair.

  Jordan sensed a difference the moment she walked into the large, airy room at the Meditation Center.

  Yesterday the group members had exhibited friendly curiosity. Today, the atmosphere felt consid­erably less convivial. Felicity paced the room with a restlessness that matched her disgruntled expres­sion. Edna slouched in her chair, looking querulous. The poker game must have run late, Jordan thought, eyeing the tired slump to the widow's shoulders.

  Even Davy seemed more withdrawn, if that was possible. The boy hunched in his chair, legs tucked under him, and worked his Game Boy with both thumbs. His sandy hair fell forward over his fore­head and his breath came in small, quick wheezes.

  "Hi, Davy. What are you playing?"

  He didn't glance up. "Yu-Gi-Oh TrailMaster."

  "Are you winning?"

  "I always win." Another wheeze whistled up from his thin chest. "This is a dumb little kid's game, but my mom won't let me buy Ice Nine."

  Concerned by his uneven breathing, Jordan hes­itated by his side. "You feeling okay?"

  His shoulders drew up around his ears. He seemed to want to fold in on himself and refused to meet her eyes.

  "Ignore him," Felicity said with sharp impa­tience. "He's just in one of his bratty moods because he's stuck here at the institute with a bunch of losers instead of being in school with other kids."

  Edna took exception to her sweeping indictment. "Speak for yourself, young lady. I for one am no loser. I cleaned up last night. Just ask Harry how much he lost on that last flop."

  "Harry McShay?" Jordan dropped the name casually. "Did he join your poker game?"

  "Sure did. Bet a bundle on a full house and lost it to my four eights."

  "Maybe that's why he left so early this morning. You cleaned him out."

  Edna's eyes widened. "Harry's gone?"

  "Didn't he mention leaving to you last night?"

  "No."

  Jordan wanted to dig deeper but just then Davy erupted into a fit of coughing. His Game Boy dropped to the floor. His thin chest heaved in and out. Between the hacking coughs, he gasped for breath.

  "Omigod!" Felicity's impatience morphed into alarm. "He's having one of his attacks. Where's Bar­tholomew?" She threw a worried glance around the room, as if she could conjure the absent psychother­apist out of thin air. "Why the hell isn't he here?"

  Jordan knew nothing about asthma attacks and had no idea what triggered this one. She had to do something, though, and fast. The boy's face was now brick red and his breath came in strangled gasps. She spun around and spotted a fire alarm on the wall beside Edna's chair.

  "Pull that fire alarm! We need some help here."

  Edna shot off her chair as if fired from a cannon and yanked the white lever. A thin, pulsating wail filled the air as Jordan dropped to her knees beside the panting boy.

  "Do you have your medicine with you? Davy! Listen to me! Do you have some medicine on you?"

  The boy was bent almost double, coughing and wheezing. His movements jerky, he dragged a plastic inhaler from his pocket, shook it a few times and jammed it in his mouth. His desperate pumping produced nothing but air.

  "No...albuterol. Forgot...to change...canister."

  Hell!

  "Someone find his mother," Jordan shouted over the wail of the siren. "Now!"

  One of the men took off at a run. The other group members crowded around, helpless, while Davy's tear-filled eyes pleaded with Jordan to do some­thing, anything. She tried to think, tried to shut her mind to the screaming siren and the boy's wheezing.

  "M
editation!" Felicity pressed forward, wanting to help. "We can try meditation! Bartholomew's been working with Davy on the techniques."

  The blonde slapped a hand to the emerald pinned to her right shoulder and began a low, discordant chant. The others jumped on her suggestion. Hands dug in pockets and produced emeralds. Eyes shut tight. Murmurs rose to compete with the wail of the fire alarm and Davy's heartbreaking pants.

  Jordan didn't see any other option. Until help arrived, all she could do was try to calm the boy and, hopefully, ease the panic restricting his air passages.

  She searched her mind for the ritual steps Bar­tholomew had taken the group through yesterday. The stone! First he'd had them grasp their healing stones.

  "Davy! Do you have your emerald?"

  "Right...here."

  His motions spastic, he pointed to his shirt pocket. Jordan fished out his emerald and pressed it into his palm.

  "Okay. Close your eyes! Come on, close them." What came next? What the hell had come next? "Take a deep..."

  She bit that back. No way the kid could pull a deep breath into his starved lungs.

  "Think about the world around you." She kept her voice as low and calm as she could and still be heard over the pulsing siren. "Pretend you're taking a walk on the beach. Can you hear the waves? See them rolling in? Washing over the sand? Retreating? They're so smooth. So green and sparkling. Do you see them, Davy? Here they come again. In and out. In and out."

  Smoke and mirrors. Oh, God, please don't let this all be smoke and mirrors!

  Jordan closed her fist around the emerald teardrop dangling between her breasts. The pointed tip dug into her palm as she forced herself to continue the rhythmic chant.

  "Walk along the beach with me, Davy. Squeeze the sand between your toes. Feel the sun warm your face. Here comes another wave. There's another one right behind it. In, out. In, out."

  Felicity crouched beside them, her face twisting with fear and hope. "He's breathing easier!"