Diamonds Can Be Deadly (9 page)

“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.

J
ordan 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 lim
ited 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 not 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 Bogotá 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.

“Meditation!” 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!”

If he was, Jordan couldn't tell it. His wheezing ripped her heart into small pieces.

“Do you feel the breeze, Davy? The cool, wet surf? The waves swirling around your ankles? Here comes another one. In, out. In, out.”

She had no idea how long she knelt beside the boy. Not more than a few minutes, although it felt like hours before a hand gripped her shoulder.

“Okay, Red. I've got his medicine. I'll take it from here.”

Scooting over, Jordan yielded her place to TJ's solid reassuring bulk. She'd never been so glad to see anyone in her life!

He hunkered down in front of the boy, ripped open a plastic prescription bag and replaced the empty canister in the inhaler with a fresh one. “Here you go, Dave. Breathe in. Again. Atta way, kid.”

His eyes wild above the inhaler, Davy puffed in the life-saving albuterol.

TJ gauged his intake. “Okay, that's good. Let the medicine work. Someone shut off that alarm!”

Edna scuttled to the box again and shoved up the lever. The screeching died a few seconds later, leaving only Davy's awful gasping to fill the void.

Slowly the helpless wheezing gave way to pants, then to long, shuddering breaths. Jordan sank back on her heels and mouthed a silent prayer of thanks.

“Davy!”

Patricia Helms flew through the door at that moment, panic etched in every line of her body. Bartholomew charged in at her heels. Crouching down he checked his patient's pulse and probed the situation.

“Are you all right, David?”

“Yes…sir.”

The panic had disappeared and left a small, shaken boy in its wake.

“Sounds like this was a bad one.”

“It was.”

“Did you practice the relaxation techniques I taught you when you felt the attack coming on?”

Looking guilty, Davy fidgeted in his seat. “I was playing Yu-Gi-Oh. I sorta didn't know it was coming until I started coughing.”

Bartholomew's gaze dropped to the object clenched in his patient's fist. “But you remembered your healing stone. Good boy!”

“I forgot that, too,” the child confessed. “But Jordan remembered. She made me hold it. I had it in my hand the whole time she walked on the beach with me.”

“You walked on the beach?”

“In my head. We walked together in my head. Jordan was right there, talking to me the whole time. She got me to think about other stuff, just like you do in group.”

Greene pivoted, surprise and delight stamped on his face. “How wonderful! A new disciple.”

Patricia Helms expressed her appreciation more directly. Throwing her arms around Jordan, she burst into sobs. “Thank you!”

“You're welcome.”

Jordan patted Patricia's thin, shaking back. Only now did she appreciate the terror the parent of an asthmatic child must live with every day. Davy's attack had certainly scared the crap out of
her.