Len had played his power games with too many dangerous people. He had won millions of dollars. Then he had lost his life.
“Chérie?”
Coco’s soft, husky voice slid through Hannah’s concentration. As always, the beautiful Tahitian woman was just on the edges of whatever happened, watching and listening and waiting for whatever it was she waited for. Hannah didn’t know. She didn’t care. Len valued Coco’s eerie skill in seeding oysters. When it was Coco’s delicate hands working on the oysters, the pea crab that lived within each shell survived. Without that pea crab, the oyster died.
“Yes?” Hannah said. She turned toward the sound, confident that none of her bleak reverie showed on her face. Living with Len had taught her how to hide everything, especially fear. It was a simple matter of survival. Not easy. Just brutally simple.
“You come inside, yes?” Coco said lazily. “You not born to stand under this sun at noon.”
“Was anyone?”
“My mama is.” Coco’s smile flashed whiter than any pearl against the rich brown of her skin, legacy of her half-Polynesian mother. “My papa isn’t. Sun finally burned him down.” She stretched her hands toward the sun. “Sun won’t hurt me. I am born for it. My half sister is same.”
Hannah would have smiled at Coco’s confidence, but she was afraid that her smiles had become more and more like Len’s, a feral warning to the world to keep its distance. Not that she would, or could, hurt Colette Dupres of the smooth skin and cat-graceful body. Even Len in his blackest moods hadn’t ruffled the Tahitian. She simply had laughed and walked away, giving him an eye-level view of the best ass in Western Australia.
“Ian come soon,” Coco said, watching the other woman closely for a response at the mention of Ian Chang’s name. There was none. She gestured to the dive fins, mask, and snorkel piled at Hannah’s feet. “Shower and dress nice for him, yes? You look like a diver after twelve hours down.”
“Only one in my case, and I wasn’t really diving.”
“Find anything?”
“What’s to find?” Hannah answered, turning aside the question. “More wrack and ruin?”
“Is bad, but not as bad as it looks.”
It’s worse. But Hannah didn’t say it aloud. She wanted to trust Coco, wanted to believe that her beautiful tan hands hadn’t been among those scrambling after stolen pearls.
Hannah’s mouth thinned into a savage smile when she listened to her own foolish thoughts. So much of the child still surviving. Still hoping. Still stupid.
It could be the death of her.
“Even if bad,” Coco added with a casual, Gallic shrug, “Ian fix ever’thing for you.”
“Why would he do that?”
Coco’s laughter was as sexy as her voice. “Know why.”
“He got over wanting me years ago.”
“Small white child,” Coco said, smiling and sounding much older than thirty-seven, “men never get over woman they no have. Now your husband dead. You no married.”
“Ian is.”
“What?”
“Married,” Hannah said succinctly.
“His wife, she no care.”
“I do. I was raised by Christian missionaries. Marriage matters.”
“Oui. Len talk sometimes when he drink,” Coco said, yawning and stretching to her full height, which put her almost at eye level with Hannah’s five feet nine inches. “Your . . . How you say? honor?”
Hannah grimaced.
“Oui, honor,” Coco said. “He smile at that. Sometime he even laugh.”
“I know.”
The thought of the innocent, sexually ripe teenager she had been no longer made Hannah wince with shame. She had wanted out of the rain forests of Brazil. She had gotten out. End of one life. Beginning of another. It hadn’t been the life she expected. No surprise there; she had been painfully naive when she formed her expectations. Life went on anyway, and the living went on with it.
A boil of red dust from the road leading to Pearl Cove announced Ian Chang’s arrival. The cyclone’s twenty-three inches of rain had long since run back to the sea. Western Australia’s relentless summer sun quickly sucked all moisture from the ground, leaving behind the paradox of red dust in a humid desert.
Chang’s car vanished into the scrubby mangroves that lined the sparkling white sands of one of the tidal creeks. The creeks held fresh water during the monsoon and filled with salt water at every high tide year-round. Given the flatness of the land, the tidal creeks ran miles inland. So did salt water. Even without help from storms, Broome’s tides went through a thirty-five-foot swing at their peak. It was great for feeding the oysters and hell on anything that tried to occupy the shoreline. Rock, mud, and sand were the rule. Only palm trees and the improbably hardy mangroves survived the tides of abuse.
And man, of course; that clever, adaptable, lethal primate.
Broome and its outlying areas were home to a racially varied population that was as tough as mangroves. They were survivors who relished their own survival. They were the gently crazed and the fully mad. Drunks and teetotalers, celibates and satyrs, saints and Satan worshipers. Broome was at peace only with extremes.
Chang fit right in. Extremely intelligent, extremely ambitious, extremely rich. His family was worth more than all but a few Third World nations. He walked up to Hannah with the confidence of a man who is respected by other men and sought by many women. He was wearing the Outback uniform—sunglasses, shorts, and sandals. Since the occasion wasn’t formal, he hadn’t bothered with a tank top.
“Hannah, darling, even in this sun you’re too pale,” Chang said.
He took her hands and leaned in to kiss her. She slipped through his grasp with the grace of long practice. It wasn’t anything against Chang. In the past seven years, she had simply lost the habit of being touched. If she decided to get back in the habit again, it wouldn’t be with a married man.
Because Hannah didn’t want to see Chang—didn’t want to see anyone, actually—she had to concentrate to smile politely. “G’day, Ian. There was no need for you to drive out from Broome in this heat. You could have called.”
“The phone lines are still down.”
“Next time use the cellular number. Or the radio. They’re battery powered.”
“I wanted to check on you,” Chang said. “You lost more than power during that cyclone. You lost a husband and most of Pearl Cove.”
Fear crawled beneath Hannah’s skin, making her feel cold despite the burning sun. Chang didn’t know the half of it. “I know what I lost.”
“Are you grieving for the man or the pearl farm?”
Silently Hannah watched Chang with eyes so deep a blue they were like a twilight sea, dark and luminous at the same time. The contrast between her indigo eyes and her sun-streaked brown hair fascinated him, as did her slender, oddly voluptuous body. He wanted to believe she had worn the string bikini to entice him, but he knew better. Obviously she had been snorkeling. Probably she hadn’t even remembered he was coming out to see her.
Irritation prickled over him like a rash. “Well?”
“Is that what you came all the way out here for?” Hannah asked in a neutral voice. “To find out if I cared more for Pearl Cove than for my husband?”
“Don’t try to tell me that you and Len were close. I know better. Len was a snake. The only thing he was close to was his own skin, and he shed it once a year just to prove he could.” Chang gave Coco a look. “Leave us.”
Coco glanced at him. Then she turned away, moving slowly enough to let him know that she didn’t jump for anyone, even one of the richest men in Australia.
“No,” Hannah said.
Coco stopped.
“We were just going to the house for some tea,” Hannah said to Chang. “You can join us.”
“We need to talk privately.”
“I have no secrets from Coco or anyone else.”
“This is Chang family business.”
Hannah’s dark bro
wn eyebrows lifted. She knew Chang well enough to understand that family business was entirely separate from whatever personal lusts he might have.
“All right,” she said. “Coco, would you call and see if Smithe and Sons can expedite delivery of the building materials? Especially the spat collectors.”
“They want money.”
“They’ll get it,” Hannah said with a confidence that was utterly false. The Black Trinity was gone.
Chang started to object, but didn’t. Hannah would know soon enough that rebuilding Pearl Cove was beyond her means. With Len dead, no one would lend her money. If someone tried to, the Aussies would step in. But the Australian government wouldn’t take on the family of Chang. Not yet, anyway. Everyone was still pretending to be partners in the development of Pacific Rim assets.
Automatically Chang reached for Hannah’s arm to escort her to the house. His irritation spiked when he realized that she was already walking away from him with the easy, lithe movements that never failed to arouse him.
Coco saw his expression, laughed, and asked in French. “Did you think it would be that easy?”
“Call Smithe.” Chang spoke in French even though his voice was too low to carry as far as Hannah. “I’ll own Pearl Cove before the bill comes due.”
“The Aussies, they will not like that.”
“They can get stuffed.”
“Mmm, sounds like fun.” She stretched again, arching her back and pressing her full breasts against the thin fabric of her bikini top. At the height of her stretch she knew she had Ian’s full attention. Smiling, she let her fingertips trail lightly down his bare chest. “You going to get stuffed tonight?”
“No. You are.”
“The usual time?”
“I’ve got a conference call with the States. We won’t be done until midnight.”
“You will be done two minutes after I put my face in your lap.”
“Care to wager on that?”
Anticipation sent a faint curl of heat through Coco. Nothing turned her on like a sexual challenge. Men were usually too easy. One look at her ass and their palms sweated. “When does your call start?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“I will be there at five after. What do I get when I win?”
“A black pearl.”
“What do I get if I don’t win?”
“Fucked.”
Coco’s teasing, confident laughter drifted up the sand path to the house.
Hearing the sexy, hot-woman sound, Hannah smiled. She often wished she could be more like Coco, utterly comfortable in her body, in her mind, in her sex. But she wasn’t. She never had been. She doubted that she ever would be. Some parts of her missionary upbringing went straight to the bone.
Coco had been raised in a culture that was part expatriate French, part Polynesian, and one hundred percent sensual. Hannah’s parents would have called Coco a slut. Hannah didn’t. Coco was simply a physical female who ate when she was hungry, slept when she was tired, and had sex when she pleased with anyone she pleased. If Coco was also a ruthless tease, well, there weren’t all that many saints in Western Australia.
When Hannah came to Chang’s car, she didn’t hesitate before walking on past it. Even in the unreasonable heat, she didn’t mind the half-kilometer path from high tide line to the house. Not that she would set any speed records. She didn’t want to. She just wanted to avoid being locked up by four walls. Since Len’s death, she had become claustrophobic.
Locked in the shed. Waiting. Trapped.
The weight of the sunlight was almost welcome on her skin. It was hot, bright, burning; everything that death was not.
Chang caught up with Hannah halfway to the house, where the road cut across the path. Dust from the four-wheel-drive Mercedes settled over Hannah like a bad reputation.
“Get in, darling,” Chang called through the open passenger window. “Much as I’d love to see your beautiful ass swing all the way to the house, I have appointments in Broome.”
Instead of reaching for the door handle, she stood at the side of the road and watched him with remote indigo eyes. “Darling? Beautiful ass?” Her voice was neutral, as emotionless as her eyes. “You told me this was family business.”
“You can let go of the nun act now. You’re not a married woman anymore. Pleasure and business, the best of both worlds. You’ll like it that way. I’ll see to it.”
The impatience and irritation in his voice angered Hannah, though it didn’t show in her body, her eyes, her voice. “Business, Ian. That’s all. Just business.”
Chang said something rude in Chinese, then leaned over and pushed the passenger door open. “Get in, Sister McGarry.”
“I’ll get the leather wet.”
“There’s not enough cloth on your butt to make a difference.”
After a long, level look, Hannah slid in and closed the car door.
“There, that didn’t hurt, did it?” he asked curtly. “I won’t jump you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“You’re married.” Hannah’s voice was flat.
“My wife lives in Kuala Lumpur.”
“I don’t care if she lives on Jupiter. I’m not in the market for a married lover. Nothing personal, Ian. It’s just the way I am. It won’t change. I value your friendship, but not enough to have this conversation every time we talk. Change the subject.”
“Bloody nun,” Chang muttered under his breath.
“Yes.”
Neither said another word until they were in the shade of the verandah. The storm had done little damage to the house: broken windows, ripped screens, one corner of the roof torn away, plants snapped off or whipped to rags by the wind. Small things, compared with death.
“Who replaced the windows?” Chang asked.
“Christian’s brother-in-law is a glazier. Christian did all the screens. The verandah was a mess.”
Chang’s full mouth thinned. He didn’t like the thought of the sexy, shrewd, young Aussie hanging around Pearl Cove, even if he was living with the type of blonde most men only dreamed of getting their hands on. “Why didn’t you call me?” Chang asked. “I would have sent workmen over.”
“Thanks, but Christian was here when the storm hit.”
“I suppose he fixed the roof, too.”
“Tom did. Since he stopped diving, he’s made himself invaluable as a handyman.”
Chang tried to imagine the bent old Japanese man scrambling up a ladder and nailing tin sheeting in place. He shook his head. “Nakamori is too old for that kind of work.”
“He’s only sixty.” What Hannah didn’t say was that Chang was fifty-three. And Len had been forty-five. Too young to die.
“A sixty-year-old former diver is an old man.” Chang looked at his watch. “I have ten minutes. Fifteen at most.”
“Tea? Beer? Water?”
“Nothing.”
Hannah rinsed off her dive gear, dumped it in a basket on the verandah, and waved Chang toward the wicker chairs. She went to her favorite place, a hammock chair suspended from a bolt in the slanting roof. The airy netting of the sling let a breeze swirl around her with every gentle push of her foot against the wooden floor. The verandah’s new screening shimmered and rippled in the sun, making the world beyond look dreamy, unreal.
“All right, Ian. What does the Chang family want from me?”
“We’re willing to assume Pearl Cove’s debts.”
“Any particular reason?”
“The usual.”
“Which is?”
“Business,” Chang said curtly.
“I see. What do I get out of this business?”
“A partner who can rebuild Pearl Cove.”
“Partner.” Hannah toed the floor and swung gently. If Chang knew she had a partner already, he wasn’t letting on. She wondered if that made him more or less likely to be Len’s killer.
“I give you fifty percent of Pearl Cove and you assume all debts, is that it?” she asked.
“Seventy-five percent.”
The hammock chair paused in its swing. “We give up seventy-five percent?”
“There’s no ‘we’ about it. Len is dead. Pearl Cove is just you, Sister McGarry.”
“I’ll think about your family’s offer.”
“Don’t think too long.”
“Is there a time limit?”
Abruptly Chang stood up. “Mother of God, you can’t be that naive!”
For a time there was only the soft squeak of the hammock chair against the ceiling bolt as Hannah swung back and forth, back and forth.
“I guess I am that naive,” she said finally. “Explain it to me.”
“Do you really think Len died because of that cyclone?”
Every muscle tensed. She wanted to get up, to scream, to run. Since it would be stupid to do any of those things, she did nothing at all.
“I could list Len’s friends on one finger,” Chang said bluntly. “I don’t have enough hands to list his enemies. It’s not only his charming personality I’m talking about. It’s pearls and double crosses. He buggered one too many big players.”
“How?”
“Don’t waste my time. You’re his wife.”
“Yes. His wife. Not his business partner. I run the house, keep the payroll, collect rent from the workers who live on site, order equipment for the farming operations, and have the final say on color matching the harvest. That’s it.”
“What about the black pearls?”
“What about them? The ‘big players’ you mentioned know how to make silver-lipped oysters produce black-toned pearls or gold-toned or pink or all three in the same oyster. Members of the South Sea Consortium developed the technology. And they kept it to themselves. It has nothing to do with Pearl Cove.”
“I’m not talking about the normal run of black pearls. I’m talking about the rainbows.”
Stillness crept through Hannah’s blood like ice forming on an autumn pond. Though no one was supposed to know about the extraordinary pearls, word had inevitably leaked out. Rumors thrived like termites in the emptiness of Western Australia. Yet no one had actually seen those special pearls, except Len and herself. And his killer. Len had died because he knew the secret of producing extraordinary black pearls. People assumed she knew the secret, too. But she didn’t.
Pearl Cove Page 3