Pearl Cove (8 page)

Yes. She poured more coffee in her own cup and held the pot out to him, silently asking if
he wanted more. Her eyes looked huge and dark against her pale skin. Despite her fragile
appearance, she handled the coffee pot and cup without clumsiness.

No, thanks, Archer said, shaking his head. He looked back at the computer screen. Caffeine
could only go so far in curing jet lag. He was well past that point. Im surprised you
didnt have separate computers. Len didnt like sharing.

Hannah shrugged. Money. Every penny we had went into his pearl experiments.

I went through all the files on the hard drive while you were asleep. I didnt see any that
were Lens. Frankly, I would have expected him to booby-trap his computer.

He kept his work on a separate storage disk. She went to what looked like a cookie jar,
took off the scarlet lid, fished around for a few moments, and pulled out a disk that fit
easily in her palm. The disk had been wrapped to protect it from cookie crumbs. Absently
she wiped the package on her thigh.

Chocolate chip? Archer guessed, looking at the dark smear on her skin. The thought of
licking it off sent a shaft of heat through him. He wondered when he would get too tired
to respond to her or if exhaustion, like time, wouldnt be enough to kill his response to
his half brothers wife.

Yes, its chocolate chip, Hannah said. How did you know?

Lens favorite. Mine too.

Smiling rather sadly, she smoothed a spike of chestnut hair behind one ear and rubbed a
sleep crease on her neck. Theyre a little stale. I havent made cookies since Len... Her
breath went ragged. Anyway, if you want some, feel free.

Ill take homemade chocolate chip cookies any way I can get them.

Without a word she set the jar on the floor next to Archer. He reached in and came up with
a fistful of cookies.

Did Len have any particular ritual for loading the disk? he asked around a big bite of
cookie.

As she had said, the cookie was stale. It tasted wonderful, like childhood, when he and
his brothers had hidden cookies everywhere in the house to make sure they got more than
their fair share. Sometimes they didnt find all of the cookies for days.

Len turned on the computer, Hannah said, put his disk in the drive, typed in something,
and went to work.

Code word. Or words. Archer wiped his fingers on his shorts and then rubbed his palms over
his eyes. They couldnt possibly be as dry as they felt.

After hours of staring at computer screens, the last thing he wanted to do right now was
have a go at Lens records, but there wasnt much choice. Uncle hadnt returned his call.
Until he knew whether his half brother had been working for the U.S. government when he
died, Archer couldnt realistically assess how dangerous staying in Pearl Cove was. If the
motive for killing Len had been politics rather than business, Hannah might not be in
danger.

Dont suppose you know what his code is? Archer asked, biting back a yawn. Maybe he should
take her up on that coffee. Or maybe sugar and grease would get the job done. He finished
off the second cookie and started in on a third.

Like you said, Len wasnt big on sharing. Once I got the disk for him, I left. His code was
his secret.

Archer would have been surprised by any other answer. That didnt mean he liked it. Kyle
was across the biggest ocean on earth and sound asleep again. Archers hacking skills were
distinctly average. Knowing Len, average wouldnt get the job done.

But he would try anyway, because he didnt want to examine the pearling shed where Len had
died until tonight, when it was full darkness and there was no excuse for any of Pearl
Coves employees to be poking around the wreckage. He didnt want them watching him, noting
what interested him, suspecting what he was really after.

Any guesses on the code? he asked.

Hannah shook her head, sipped coffee that was almost as steamy as the air outside, and
waited. It was early evening, she had had a nap, and she felt like she had been up
forever. Archer must have felt the same, but it didnt show except in the darkness beneath
his eyes. His thick, short hair was rumpled by casual, raking swipes from his long
fingers. His beard was too short to show any lack of combing. Sweat gleamed, caught like
dew in the black thatch of hair across his bare chest.

As she watched, several drops gathered at his breastbone and trickled down the narrow line
of hair that vanished beneath the waistband of his shorts. Loose, dark blue, and thin
enough to dry in minutes, the cloth clung to him almost as closely as sweat.

She couldnt stop looking. He was beautifully made, neither too heavy nor too lean...
supple and powerful, entirely and elementally male. She wondered if he was like Len when
it came to sex: hard and fast and furious, as though he couldnt finish soon enough. Then
the accident had come and the end of anything sexual.

Hastily Hannah looked at her coffee, unsettled by her own thoughts and the fugitive heat
pulsing out from the pit of her stomach. Now was the wrong time for her body to wake up
from its long hibernation. Even if it had been the right time, Archer was the wrong man to
be looking at. He was too hard. Too cold. Too ruthless.

She couldnt survive another Len.

When Hannah looked away, Archer let out a breath he hadnt been aware of holding. The
fundamental female approval in her eyes had him halfway to an erection before he knew what
hit him.

The faint flush high on her cheekbones didnt help him to cool off. He wished he could pull
her shorts down, open her legs, and push into the sultry velvet deep inside her.

With an impatient curse at his own unruly lust, Archer forced his thoughts back to Lens
computer. It wasnt a cold shower, but it was close enough. After a few minutes of thinking
about various possibilities for entry codes, his body slowly relaxed again.

He shoved in the disk. As he settled deeper into the chair, broken wicker strips poked
into his legs, homing in on the same tender places like heat-seeking missiles. He wondered
how Len had tolerated the ridiculous chair. Then he remembered the nerves leading to his
brothers legs had been severed years ago. The only thing he sat in was a wheelchair.

The screen lit up. The cursor flashed in a little box, urging him to enter the user code.
He started with the simple stuff first. When the first two tries failed, he turned off the
computer, waited, and rebooted.

Hannah waited until the fourth time he restarted the machine before she asked, What are
you doing?

Using Lens name with variations based on elementary codes.

She blinked. Oh. After five more tries, she said hesitantly, Len didnt think much of
codes. Said they were for little boys in tree houses.

Archer grunted, shut down the computer, and rebooted.

Why do you keep shutting down the computer? she asked.

Even the most paranoid password programs will give you two tries before they fry circuits.
Kyle has a way around that, but he isnt here. Ill just have to do it the hard way for a
while.

I see. She sipped coffee that was now the same temperature as her tongue. This could take
a long time.

He slanted her a sideways glance that reflected the tropical blues and greens of the tiles
in her kitchen floor. Yeah. You have something better to do?

Watch flies land? she suggested.

Smiling, he tried two more variations. Nothing.

Fifteen minutes later, he shut down the computer and turned to Hannah. Okay, his code
probably isn t a variant of his name or birthday, the date of his marriage or the date he
was paralyzed. Its not a variant of your name or birth date, either. You dont have any
pets, so

My name? she cut in. Her eyes widened into startled, navy blue pools. Why mine?

People have lousy memories. When it comes to passwords, they use names and dates that are
important to them.

She laughed out loud. Forget my name. I wasnt important to Len. Not that way. You were his
wife. We shared a computer. And a house.

Not in the last few years. He pretty much lived out in the main pearl-sorting shed. Theres
a small loo, a sink, a hand shower, a bed. She smiled thinly. All the comforts of home and
none of the drawbacks.

Why didnt he keep the computer in the shed?

He didnt want anyone to know that he could use it.

Snake tongues of adrenaline flicked through Archer. He looked at the computer and wondered
how many of the answers he needed lay inside. Youre sure of that?

That he wanted his computer use kept a secret? Yes. Positive.

Why? She shrugged. Guess, he said curtly.

Guessing implies that Len and I have had enough thought processes in common for a guess
to be effective. I gave up guessing at Lens reasons for doing anything years ago. He and I
didnt think alike. Hannahs eyes focused on Archer in dark speculation. You would have a
better chance at it.

Are you saying Im like Len?

The bitterness in Archers voice caught her by surprise. I didnt mean it as an insult.

He let out a soft, hissing curse and reached for another cookie. Im not Len. I repeat.
Not. Len. If I saw things the way he did, Id have stayed in the field or gone private with
him when he asked me to.

Hesitantly, Hannah touched Archers hand, where he still held his fourth cookie. Or maybe
it was his sixth. A melting chocolate chip touched her fingertip like a tiny, soft tongue.
Right. Youre not Len. But youre cool, efficient, and merciless. That requires thinking a
certain way, doesnt it?

Cool Efficient. Merciless.

Archer smiled grimly and looked at his watch. He didnt know how much time he had left at
Pearl Cove. He knew it wouldnt be enough to get into Lens computer, unless he got
pig-lucky. I can be all of those things. It hasnt helped me get into that damned disk. The
things that should have been important to him... werent.

What do you mean? His wife, Archer said succinctly. You should have been important to him.
And so should his

unborn child.

But Archer didnt say that aloud. For her it had happened seven years ago; she had healed.
For him, it was a fresh wound.

Hannah shrugged off the suggestion that she should have mattered to Len, but her eyes were
haunted. Some things just dont work out. Only one thing was important to Len. Pearls.

Archers eyes narrowed. He turned back to the computer. He fed in variations on the theme
of pearls, Pearl Cove, black pearls, experimental pearls...

Wait! Hannah said, grabbing his shoulder and leaning toward the screen in sudden
excitement. Try the words Black Trinity. Nothing mattered more to him than making that
necklace perfect.

The keys clicked quickly as Archer fed in the words. Quickly the screen changed, listing
various files and applications.

Bingo.

Hannah sensed the triumph vibrating just beneath his control. She turned toward him. He
was focused on the screen as he opened the file that had been used most recently. The
screen blinked and filled with ...

Gibberish.

Shit. Archer raked his hand through his hair. More code.

He looked outside. In a few hours evening would descend like a purple and orange freight
train. Then it would be dark enough to check out Lens home away from home, his steel shell
against the world.

For a moment Archer wondered if oysters felt secure inside their shells, or simply trapped.

Now what? Hannah asked.

Now I tie up my cell phone for a few hours.

Mystified, she watched while he plugged his cell phone into the computer, punched in a
number, hit some keys, and stood up.

Thats it? she asked. Yeah. Now what? We wait.

Hours later, Archer unplugged his computer from his cell phone, tossed it on the counter
next to Hannahs phone, and went to the stove for more coffee. Flynn had called in an hour
earlier, claiming he was crook sick. Archer didnt believe it. Nor did he care enough to
do anything about it. He and Hannah werent going to be in Australia long enough for Flynns
report to matter.

Just as Archer started pouring the thick brown coffee into a mug, his phone rang.

Ill get it, Hannah said, slipping past him. When she saw that it was his cellular, not
hers, that was ringing, she hesitated. With a shrug, she answered it. Gday.

Archer Donovan. The womans voice was clipped. She wasnt asking, she was telling. Whos
calling? Its his uncle returning his call. Sounds more like his aunt.

Is Donovan there or not?

Yes. Hannah turned to Archer. Its your uncle, she said clearly, handing him the phone.

The change in his eyes made her realize just how warm they had been. She looked at the
phone in his big hand and stepped back away from it. From him. Neither the phone nor the
man was her business, no matter how curious she was about both.

She headed for the bathroom, saying over her shoulder, I need a shower.

Archer glanced in the readout window on the cell phone. There was no number for the
incoming call. It was in the clear, unscrambled, available to anyone who wanted to
overhear.

This is Donovan, he said. His voice said a lot more. Impersonal, leashed, merciless. How
the hell are you, Uncle?

Though Archer didnt watch Hannah, he was aware that she had withdrawn. Just to make sure
the distance was far enough, he walked out onto the verandah. Against the blazing sunset,
the new screens gave the land and sea a metallic, surreal glow.

You waited a long time to call, the woman told him.

Silently he absorbed the fact that the U.S. government already knew something about Pearl
Cove and cared enough that they had been hoping he would have to ask for help.

Not good. If Id known you were waiting, I would have called sooner. Save it for someone
who believes you, slick.

Slick, huh? He smiled thinly. The agent who had reluctantly helped Kyle chase ancient
Chinese jade had called both Donovan men slick. April Joy had been in and out of Donovan
lives several times since then. She was a very beautiful, very intelligent, and very
ruthless agent. At one time he would have been attracted to her. He was a lot older now. I
thought your specialty was jade.

Thats why Im not happy. As far as Im concerned, pearls are the end product of constipated
oysters.

Archer smiled thinly. My requests are simple. Do you want them in the clear?

Knowing you, I doubt it.

Static poured into his ear before a status light blinked on his phone and words came out
instead of electronic garbage. Obviously the two computers had found a code they both
could translate.

... understand? she asked.

Loud and clear. Ready?

I was born ready.

He didnt doubt it. Two passports. Married couple. Mine should have blue eyes instead of
gray. Hers should be brown. Black wig, long enough to put in more than one hairstyle. The
woman is five feet ten inches, one hundred and twenty-five pounds, brown hair and brown
eyes, thirty-four, dressed like designer sin. Expensive. With a faint curving of his lips,
he wondered if Hannah would object to having five years, one inch, and some odd pounds
piled on her life, plus a courtesans clothes. One pair of brown contacts. One pair of dark
blue. Tickets from Broome to Darwin under one alias. Tickets from Darwin to Hong Kong
under the second alias.

Got it. Youll be Mr. and Mrs. Murray on the flight from Broome to Darwin. Darwin to Hong
Kong youll be Mr. and Mrs. South. Where to after Hong Kong?

Ill take care of it from there.

There was a humming silence on the other end of the call that told Archer he wasnt making
April happy.

How soon? she asked, her voice clipped. Yesterday. She snorted. Next week. Tonight.

Tomorrow, Mr. South, and you should be thanking me on your knees with your face buried in
my deepest cleavage.

Archer smiled despite the urgency gnawing on him. South. Right. I have a rental car. White
Toyota, left rear taillight will be broken.

Careless of you.

Im a careless kind of guy.

April laughed at that, a sound of genuine amusement.

The car will be parked in the airport lot at Broome, Archer continued, as close to the
entrance of the lot as possible.

Do better. Im not sending some joker cruising the airport parking lot for hours, looking
for a broken taillight.

You ever been to Broome?

No.

You can cruise the whole town in five minutes, max.

East Bumblefart, she muttered. Anything else?

Archer gave her a few more items, waited, and asked, What do you want from me?

The betting is that you know all about Len McGarrys background.

Until seven years ago, yes.

Okay, slick. Listen up. Uncle never heard of Len McGarry.

Archer grunted. That wasnt good news. Especially in the past seven years?

You catch on. Make damn certain no one else does.

Yeah, folks get really testy when friends spy on friends.

She muttered something in Chinese, which made Archer wish that his sister-in-law Lianne
was along to translate.

Slick, April said, you sit down at a table where China, Japan, and Australia are playing
pearl poker, and you can count your friends on your cock. McGarry was a loser, but he was
a useful loser.

Sometimes. Most of the time he was just a hemorrhoid. He took money from everyone at the
table and some who werent. He was a player without a handler.

Nothing new there, Archer thought. Len had never liked taking anyones orders, no matter
how compelling the reason.

What does Uncle say? Archer asked.

We know French Tahitis pearl farms are getting raped by international pirates mostly
Chinese businessmen in league with the triads. Were not crying. The French told the world
to go to hell when they nuked that atoll. Now were returning the favor.

Just so I dont accidentally eat Uncles lunch, he said, all youre interested in is keeping
Lens past quiet?

April hesitated. Shit. But what Archer said aloud was, Right? Ill get back to you on that.
Dont wait until a postmortem. You planning on killing someone? Im planning on staying
alive. Pass the good word.

I will. She hesitated, sighed, and stuck her neck out. Dont turn your back on anyone.
Anyone. Pearls in general, and unique black pearls in particular, have become a very
valuable bargaining chip at certain international tables. That could change in a week, a
month, or a year. Until it does, there are some fairly lethal folks out there playing
pearl poker.

Does Uncle favor any of the players? So far, were just kibitzing. Let me know if that
changes. I hope it doesnt, slick. Odds are we wouldnt be on the same side.

Archer wondered if the U.S. favored China, Japan, or Australia in the black pearl
free-for-all. But there was no point in asking. April had already said more than he had
expected her to. More than she should have.

Thanks, he said simply. When this is over, I

ll arrange a tour of the Tang jade collection, if youre interested. Am I breathing? He
laughed. Stay alive, slick. I dream of seeing Wen Tangs jade. There it is, Hannah said,
pointing.

Crouching on his heels, Archer ran his fingertips very lightly over the bent metal that
once had been the door to the biggest pearl-sorting shed. Though the sun had long since
fallen off the hazy western edge of

the horizon, the metal was still hot.

He set down his backpack, opened it, and took out the small flashlight again. An intense
beam of light leaped out, sweeping over the metal like a second noon. Holding the light
almost parallel to the warped door, he examined the salt-stained steel.

What are you looking for? Hannah asked.

Tool marks.

Anxiously she glanced over her shoulder. No one was nearby. No one was walking toward
them. The ocean lay in shades of black with molten silver highlights. A fugitive moon
winked between pillars of clouds. Fitful fingers of breeze combed water and land alike.
The cooling air was silky, heady, laced with salt and the earthy scent of tidal flats
bared by the retreating tide.

Intent on the remains of the shed, Archer was aware of the heat and rushing night and
silence, but he didnt really notice it. He wouldnt, unless something changed in a
threatening way. With small, smooth motions, he shifted the light from the lock and door
handle to what was left of the hinges.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the chemical heat of adrenaline slid silently into his
blood, bringing his whole body to a heightened awareness. It was just a small flick of the
adrenaline whip, nothing like he had known in the past, but it was very real. The echoes
and memories it brought reminded him of everything he had tried to leave behind.

What is it? Hannah asked, caught by Archers absolute stillness.

Looks like somebody went after the hinges with a hammer and chisel.

Swiftly she crouched beside him. The surface of the ruined door was like a road map of
chaos dents, scrapes, lines, gouges, pits, everything that a violent, debris-packed storm
could do to metal.

How can you tell? she asked. The whole door is scratched and banged up.

Storm damage is random, not symmetrical.

As Archer spoke, his long index finger traced the faint, repeated parallel gouges that
radiated out from or into the top hinge. The marks of purposeful damage were repeated on
the middle hinge, as well.

Hannah shivered convulsively and stood up.

Without standing, Archer looked at her pale, drawn face. Youre certain that Len was inside
the shed when the storm struck?

She nodded jerkily. Alone? he asked. Again the jerky nod.

He watched her for a minute, wondering why the discovery of the marks had upset her.
Earlier, when he had told her that someone had knifed Len and then rammed a fragment of
oyster shell between his ribs to disguise the wound, she hadnt shown much response. Maybe
she had just been too tired.

A soft breeze tugged at her hair and flattened the thin white tank top over her breasts
and belly. She had changed from shorts to cutoff jeans. Her legs were racehorse-long,
beautifully shaped, and bare. He wondered what she would do if he ran his palms up the
back of her legs, over buttocks hugged by worn jeans, beneath the tank top to her shoulder
blades, then slowly around to the high breasts that were as naked as his tongue beneath
the tank top.

With a silent curse Archer yanked his mind back to the business at hand. The steel door
had buckled along the side, between the hinges. The damage could have come from a crowbar
or from the storm itself, after some hinges had given way. He was betting on the crowbar.
Once the door was pried partly open from the hinge side, the violent cyclone would do the
rest.

Absently Archer fingered the frayed wires of what had once been the doors electronic lock.

Most electronic systems freeze in the locked position if the power goes out, he said. Is
that the way the shed was set up?

Yes.

Is there a manual release on the inside?

Yes.

Did Len spend a lot of time alone in the sorting shed?

Yes.

Did everyone know it?

Yes.

Not much help there.

She didnt respond.

Hannah.

Though Archers voice was soft, she flinched. Then she looked at his eyes and flinched
again.

Whats the problem? he asked. You called me, I came, yet more often than not I feel like Im
opening oysters with my bare hands when I ask you questions.

Visibly she took a grip on herself. I was all right before you came. I knew I had only
myself, that I couldnt let down. So I didnt. But now...

Archer knew that she hadnt been all right. She had been running on nerve and adrenaline,
headed for a big crash. Yet all he said was, Want me to leave?

No. The reply was instant, certain.

Good. I wasnt going to go even if you asked.

Startled, she stared at him. What she saw in the reflected glow of the flashlight both
frightened and reassured her.

Len was murdered, Archer said evenly. Im in this for the whole distance, with or without
your help.

I know, she whispered. I knew when you came back from Broome. You looked the way Len used
to look. The way you look now. Deadly. But youre sane and he wasnt, not always. Not even
most of the time. She rubbed her hands over her arms. God, I hope I did the right thing by
calling you. I dont want more death. I just want the Black Trinity.

Im not planning on Old Testament justice. The modern kind will do just fine.

Hannahs long eyelashes swept down as she let out a breath in a relief she couldnt hide.

But one way or the other, there will be justice, Archer added softly. He stood and snapped
off the flashlight. Show me whats left of the main shed.

Without a word she turned and walked back to the path leading down to the water. Crushed
oyster shell crunched softly underfoot. He walked just behind her, trying not to notice
the rhythmic, elementally sexy arc of her hips. He knew that she wasnt swinging her ass
for his benefit.

You look the way Len used to look. Deadly.

Archer didnt need to ask how that made Hannah feel about him. She needed him, but she
didnt like it or him one bit. He didnt really blame her. He was associated with the
worst hours of her life, when

Len had begun the transformation from a vital, virile husband to a bitter, crazy shell of
a man.

Hannah wouldnt be the first one to shoot the bad-news messenger. Archer understood too
well how she felt, nerve and resentment all tangled up, the child beneath the adult
crying, I dont want to go there! He had spent years trying to put his past where it
belonged. Behind him. Coming here, seeing Hannah,