Diamonds Can Be Deadly. Merline Lovelace

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      He directed her attention to a needle-sharp peak spearing high above the others.

      “It’s a holy mountain, sacred to ancient Hawaiians. They threw people who broke tapu—the old laws—from the top of Ma’aona onto the rocks below.”

      Tough bunch, the ancient Hawaiians.

      “The burial site at the base of the mountain is off limits,” Danny advised, “but you can drive up to the state park near the peak.”

      Jordan didn’t figure she’d have much time for visiting ancient archeological sites. With another glance at the jagged peak, she dug her wallet out of her shoulder bag.

      Her driver refused the bill with a merry smile. “There’s no tipping anywhere on the grounds of the institute. It’s our pleasure to serve you. I hope you find peace and tranquility during your stay.”

      Jordan hoped she found the 900-carat Star of the East and sufficient evidence of money laundering to hang Bartholomew Greene out to dry. The possibility she might hang his director of security alongside him was an added bonus.

      A glance at her watch showed she had an hour yet before her meeting with the guru of green. Plenty of time to conduct an electronic sweep, advise headquarters she was in place and scrub away the effects of her long flight.

      Plugging in the earpiece of Mackenzie’s high-tech sniffer, she hummed along with Travis while she ambled through the luxurious cottage. The sweep didn’t detect any devices inside the bungalow, only standard motion sensors at the windows and a security camera tucked up under the eaves of the lanai. At least Greene allowed his guests privacy inside their quarters, Jordan thought as she fought the urge to flip the bird in the direction of the camera lens.

      No point in alerting TJ to the fact that she’d detected his silent sentinel. She knew where it was and could disable it when necessary. Leaning her elbows on the railing, she gazed in seeming absorption at the sea for a few moments before going into the bathroom.

      It was every bit as sumptuous as the rest of the bungalow. The counters were marble, the Jacuzzi tub was big enough to sleep four, and the open, glass-block shower was fitted with cross jets that promised a decadent water massage.

      Although she hadn’t found any interior bugs, training and experience had Jordan turning the taps of the Jacuzzi to full blast. With the gushing water to muffle the sound of her voice, she thumbed the transmitter in her earring. The signal bounced off a secure satellite straight into OMEGA’s control center.

      Claire responded within seconds, her voice soft and musical but clear enough to carry over the gurgling water.

      “Cyrene here. Go ahead, Diamond.”

      “Just wanted to let you know I’m in place.”

      “Roger that. We saw there was some weather off the coast of California. How was your flight?”

      “Long. Bumpy. Tiring.”

      “What’s your status vis-à-vis the target?”

      “We’re still on for our first face-to-face at four o’clock local.” Jordan hesitated for a moment. “I’ve made contact with Scott.”

      “Anything to report?”

      “No.”

      She saw no need to advise Clair that the handsome bastard could still put a hitch in her step. After confirming the time frame for her next transmission, she dumped a generous helping of the resort’s frangipani bath salts into the tub, stripped off and indulged in a long hot soak.

      Refreshed and revived, she pulled on ecru lace briefs and a matching half-cup bra. Strappy sandals, linen slacks and a short-sleeved silk jacket in an eye-popping red gave her just the right mix of casual and professional.

      Once dressed, she peeled the adhesive backing off a flat disc the size of a dime and stuck it to the underside of an Oriental ginger jar. The device was simple, an off-the-shelf bug that Mackenzie had beefed up to detect both noise and movement. It transmitted signals to Jordan’s laptop, which required a special code to view. With the device in place, she used the short wait for Danny to gather her thoughts and prepare for the upcoming meeting.

      The Hawaiian chattered cheerfully during the drive to the Tranquility Institute’s global headquarters. Jordan listened with half an ear while checking out the approach. Manicured lawns surrounded the low, two-story building. Scattered palms rustled gently in the late-afternoon breeze. Even the roar of the sea was muted, as if in deference to the master’s desire for serenity and peace.

      The interior reflected the same simplicity. Potted banyans and rubber-tree plants with glossy green leaves added the only color to an airy vestibule with glass walls and a cream-colored tile floor. A receptionist greeted Jordan cheerfully and summoned the institute’s business manager.

      The trim, bald individual who appeared a moment later introduced himself as Duncan Myers. “I’m Mr. Greene’s financial adviser. Since you’ve come with what sounds like an intriguing business proposal, Bartholomew asked me to sit in on your meeting.”

      That was fine with Jordan. The more she could learn about Greene’s operation, the better. She followed Myers to a large conference room fronted by a glass wall that encompassed an endless expanse of sea and sky.

      The opposite wall, she noted with deliberately casual interest, displayed a world map. Glowing round emeralds depicted each of the Tranquility Institute’s far-flung satellite cells. Home base here in Hawaii got what looked like at least fifty carats.

      The sound of footsteps signaled Bartholomew Greene’s arrival. Sandy haired and medium sized, the man appeared even younger than his PR photos. He wore all white—white shoes, white slacks, white safari-style shirt, probably to showcase the pendant dangling around his neck. Its gold bezel featured a square-cut emerald with a color and clarity that took Jordan’s breath away.

      Wrenching her gaze from the pendant, she looked into eyes almost as bright and green as the dazzling stone. Tinted contacts, she guessed as the target came forward with both hands outstretched.

      “Ms. Colby. Welcome to the Tranquility Institute.”

      “Thank you.”

      “I hope you—”

      Greene broke off. His welcoming smile faded. Frowning, he glanced down at their clasped hands. When he raised those startling eyes again, they held a gentle concern.

      “How fortunate that you’ve come to me. I sense a deep hurt in you. Or is it anger?”

      He squeezed her hands, his tone modulating to one of soothing assurance.

      “We’ll work together while you’re here, shall we, and draw out your pain.”

      Chapter 3

      Jordan managed to keep from snatching her hands free of Greene’s—barely. For a startled moment she wondered if this man did indeed possess the extraordinary faculties his PR machine hyped.

      Just as quickly, she dismissed the notion that he’d seen inside her head. Greene must have received a report of her confrontation СКАЧАТЬ