Jade Island (11 page)

Mentally Lianne gave herself a shake. She had to stop reacting to this “family” gathering like a child who had just found out why she didn’t have a live-in father. There was no need for her to be so raw about the circumstances of her birth. Her mother had made her choice long ago, a choice that her daughter didn’t have to understand but had to live with anyway.

As though they had nothing to do with her, Lianne looked coolly at Harry and his beautiful ornament. Kyle was right. This woman wasn’t a one-night hostess. She knew Harry well enough to anticipate his demands and still have enough attention left to oversee the rest of the girls in the room. She wasn’t the wife of Number Two Son, but she was ruling the roost tonight.

And the bracelet she wore was worth a good deal more than Anna Blakely’s ring. But then, Johnny was only Number Three Son. His mistress would naturally have less costly jewelry than the woman who belonged to Harry.

“It isn’t unusual for wealthy men to have mistresses,” Lianne said neutrally. “Before the revolution, it was expected. And before Christianity, a Chinese man had a wife and as many concubines as he could afford. As for the women, there was more prestige in being a wife than a concubine, but often the concubine had more actual power.”

“Yeah, you grab a man by his dumb handle and he’ll follow you anywhere.”

When Lianne understood what Kyle meant, she barely managed to swallow a mouthful of garlic chicken without choking. “Dumb handle,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’ve never heard it called that.”

“What do they call it in Chinese?”

“Oh, many things. Reverent things. ‘Jade stem’ is a favorite. ‘Jade flute,’ sometimes.”

“Jade, huh? The Stone of Heaven.”

“Um. Perhaps.” She tried not to snicker, but the light
in Kyle’s eyes made it difficult. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“What did you think the jade in ‘jade stem’ referred to?” he asked dryly.

“Texture and, ah, rigidity.”

“Are you saying a man’s best buddy isn’t heavenly and immortal?”

Lianne gave up trying to eat and laughed openly again, not caring that she drew glances from various Tang men. Smiling, Kyle slid his empty plate under hers, took both in one hand, and began eating. By the time she had subsided into snickers, her plate was nearly clean.

“You’re amazing,” Lianne said, looking at the few crumbs that remained of her food.

“Just eating for two.”

“You and who else? Me?”

“Nope, my buddy. Be amazed how much energy it takes to keep him up to expectations.”

Shaking her head, trying not to add to the wicked light in Kyle’s eyes, Lianne handed her half-drunk beer to a passing hostess and glanced around the room once more.

A torrent of Chinese burst out of a corner where two older men sat eating salted nuts.

“Another difference of opinion?” Kyle asked.

“No, they’re unanimous. SunCo has to be kept from getting any more leverage in America.”

“That could prove difficult.”

Lianne looked at Kyle. He was studying the room, his unusual gold-and-green eyes taking in faces and body language.

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“SunCo and Dick Farmer are rumored to be cutting a trade deal that would benefit both China and America.”

“I’ll bet it benefits SunCo and Dick Farmer more.”

“That’s like betting that the sun will come up in the east,” Kyle said. “So who’s third in the pecking order here?”

“Johnny Tang. He’s Number Three Son. Joe Tang, the
Number One Son, isn’t here tonight. I think Harry said something about Joe going to Shanghai on family business.”

Without appearing to, Kyle watched Lianne as she talked. If he hadn’t already known that Johnny was her father, nothing in her actions—or in Johnny’s, certainly—would have given away the relationship. It was the same when Lianne talked about her uncles. If there was anything filial in anyone’s feelings, it didn’t show on the surface.

“After Johnny, the order of precedence begins to blur,” Lianne said. “The older men are cousins or brothers-in-law who are employed by the Tang Consortium. The younger males are sons and nephews of the Tang brothers.”

Kyle looked at the well-dressed young men and tried to pick out which ones were Lianne’s cousins and which were her half brothers. He was tempted to ask her, if only to break the professional mask that she had pulled so seamlessly over her feelings when he started asking questions about her secret family. But the thought of seeing her without defenses in this den of Tangs stopped him.

“Finished eating?” he asked.

“I never started.”

“Want to?”

Lianne shook her head. “I’m not hungry. Nerves, I guess.”

“The Jade Emperor?”

She flinched subtly. “Among other things.”

“Was the auction that important to you?”

“It was an honor to be chosen to select the Jade Trader’s display,” she said. What she didn’t say was that she had spent her entire lifetime working toward being accepted into her father’s family. “One way or another, most honors are nerve-racking.”

As Lianne spoke, she thought of Kyle’s newly purchased Neolithic blade and of Wen’s superb collection of ceremonial blades, of Wen’s secret jade burial shroud and
Farmer’s very public one. Beneath her calm face and easy conversation, fear and urgency coiled, making her stomach clench.

She had to talk to Wen. Tonight, if possible. If not, then tomorrow, when she returned the exhibition jades to the Tang vault in Vancouver.

But right now she had to take care of Johnny’s business with Kyle Donovan.

“Are you ready to meet Wen?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Am I?”

“Yes,” she decided. “You’re ready.”

She led Kyle across the room. Nobody greeted her, though one of the young men certainly looked her over with a thoroughness that raised Kyle’s hackles. He wondered if the guy knew he was leering at a first cousin or a half sister.

When Johnny saw Lianne walking toward Wen, he shed his beautiful companion without a backward glance. He went over to his father, motioned the dainty guitar player into silence, and spoke in rapid Cantonese.

Wen nodded and tried to focus on the stranger who was now standing in front of him. All he saw was a tall shadow with a golden nimbus around his head, like an angel in an old Christian hymnal. A very large angel. The familiar scent of Lianne’s perfume told Wen that she was the vague, pearly shadow standing at the stranger’s side.

No sooner had Johnny finished the introductions than Harry appeared. More introductions followed. At a gesture from Johnny, three chairs appeared and the girls vanished to wait on other men. Harry’s companion walked up on small, high-heeled feet. She stood to the side and behind him, waiting to be needed.

Wen spoke in the papery voice of an old man.

“He asks that you sit,” Lianne translated for Kyle. “He is no longer able to stretch his neck to see the top of such a tall tree.”

Kyle looked around for a chair. Johnny had already
taken one, and Harry another, leaving the last one for Kyle. There was no chair for Lianne.

“Please,” she said softly, understanding why Kyle didn’t sit down right away. “As you pointed out earlier, we aren’t in America. In any case, Wen’s voice is very soft and speaking tires him. To hear, I must stand very close to him.”

Kyle shrugged and sat down. Even seated, he was head and shoulders above Wen and half that much above his sons.

Lianne thanked Kyle with a smile, positioned herself so that she could hear her grandfather’s frail voice, and pulled the impersonal role of translator around her like a welcome armor.

Kyle watched and listened while the Tang family paid court to him in the leisurely, gracious, indirect manner of the Chinese culture. All except Harry. The Number Two Son’s attitude made it clear that he wasn’t quite convinced that Kyle should be a guest, much less an honored one.

After the initial round of pleasantries, Wen settled back wearily in his chair. As though that was a signal, Harry and Johnny switched to English. Lianne continued to translate, but for Wen’s benefit, not for Kyle’s.

It was half an hour before the conversation passed from politely trivial to perhaps—just perhaps—meaningful.

“Wen understands that you are a connoisseur of archaic jade,” Harry said.

“Specifically Neolithic,” Kyle responded, looking at Lianne’s unacknowledged uncle.

Harry looked older than Johnny by at least ten years, clean-cheeked, and thicker through the shoulders and thighs. He had as much silver as black in his hair. His English was stilted but serviceable. He moved in the abrupt manner of a man accustomed to wielding power. His companion, who hadn’t been introduced, lit his cigarettes, refreshed his beer, and kept a dish of salted nuts within his reach at all times. She did the same for Wen,
Johnny, and Kyle, but it was Harry she looked to for instructions.

“My father is also interested in jade,” Harry said.

“So I’m told,” Kyle said. “Wen Zhi Tang’s collection is the envy of everyone who has heard of it. Although now, I suppose, Dick Farmer will be the king of jade connoisseurs. A modern-day Jade Emperor. I presume you heard about Farmer’s spectacular jade burial suit?”

A flick of Harry’s immaculately manicured hand dismissed Dick Farmer, the Jade Emperor, and Kyle’s question. “Is your father interested also in jade?” Harry asked.

“No.”

“What are his passions? Gambling? Politics? Women?”

“He’s a one-woman man.”

Harry blinked. “Oh? Well, it is that way for some men, I am told. So he is a man with one passion and no, ah, hobbies?”

“Donald Donovan’s hobby is the finding, mining, and refining of metallic ores. His four sons prefer precious and semi-precious gemstones. In my case, jade.”

Harry nodded and lifted his right hand in the direction of his silent companion. Moments later a lighted cigarette appeared between his fingers. He puffed, blowing smoke in a long stream that blended with incense and other cigarettes. When he spoke, he appeared to choose his words carefully.

“Is that why your esteemed father’s important company lacks any jade, ah, arms?” asked Harry, releasing another burst of smoke.

“Or feet, either. If you can’t mine it and smelt it, The Donovan couldn’t care less about it.” Kyle’s voice was cheerful, as if he didn’t sense any darker currents coiling beneath the smooth surface of the conversation. “But I’m working on it. Every chance I get, I bend the old man’s ear on the subject of jade.”

Harry’s companion slid a cigarette between Wen’s raised fingers. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and sucked in smoke with short, fast bursts while Lianne trans
lated into Cantonese. Harry listened closely, too. Though he prided himself on his English, he needed a translator to grasp Kyle’s rapid, idiomatic speech.

Johnny didn’t have to wait for understanding, but it was Harry who was doing the talking. Johnny’s job was to keep the discussion on track despite Harry’s reluctance to reopen negotiations with the Donovans. If Harry had his way, the Tang Consortium would put all its money into overseas Chinese communities in the form of casinos, banks, hotels, and shipping.

But Harry didn’t have his way. Nor would he. Though the Number One Son didn’t share Wen’s obsession with jade, he recognized that the Donovans were an international power. If Kyle’s interest in jade could become the basis of an alliance, Joe was for it. So was Wen. The Tangs badly needed international allies.

“Ah, jade, that is good,” Harry said to Kyle, letting out another round of smoke. An ashtray appeared just beneath his hand. He dropped the half-smoked cigarette in and waved it away. “You speak to your esteemed father about jade. To those who understand, Tang and jade are like this,” he added, hooking his two index fingers together and yanking to prove the strength of the connection. “To know one is to know the other.”

“That’s what I said, but The Donovan keeps saying something about SunCo. Now, I have to admit they had some really sweet jade on display tonight. Not up to Tang quality in most cases, and not a patch on Farmer’s stuff, but high end isn’t the only end of the jade trade.” Kyle sent a flat, white smile in Harry’s direction. “I’m hoping Lianne will have some ideas that will make my father focus on Tang jade. She’s a real pistol when it comes to jade. More ideas than a dog has fleas. Am I speaking too fast for you, buddy?”

Johnny shifted impatiently in his chair. He had the look of a worried man, or one with indigestion.

Kyle didn’t care which. Johnny was only Number Three Son, Wen was half asleep, and Harry was running the
show. Harry, whose contempt for any man’s Number Four Son didn’t need translation.

Lianne shot Kyle a warning look.

He gave her a smile that was all sharp edges and no warmth. If Harry figured that Lianne had snagged the easy mark in the Donovan clan, Kyle wasn’t going to get in the way of the game, whatever it might be. And he no longer doubted there was one.

Just as he didn’t doubt that Lianne was in that game right up to her stubborn chin.

A
rcher walked into Kyle’s suite without knocking, shook him awake, and waved a copy of
USA Today
under his nose. After another shake, Kyle opened one eye, saw the clock, and turned his back on Archer without a word. Like his sister Honor, Kyle believed that early morning should be greeted with both eyes closed tight.

“Not this time,” Archer said, stripping off the covers with a quick jerk of his arm. “Talk to me. I’ve been fielding unhappy phone calls for three hours.”

“It’s only six
A
.
M
.”

“They start early in Washington, D.C., especially when China is chewing ass about stolen cultural treasures. Get up.”

“I didn’t get to bed until two, you woke me up at three—”

“For all the good it did me,” Archer muttered.

“—I told you to drop off and went back to sleep,” Kyle finished, ignoring the interruption.

“So what are you whining about? You slept four hours.”

“Not enough.”

“It will have to be. While you were partying with the Tang Consortium, word of Farmer’s jade burial suit went straight to the People’s Republic. The People aren’t amused.”

Cool air ate at the edges of Kyle’s comfort. The covers
were out of reach, he was bare-ass naked, and Archer wasn’t going to go away like he had last night. With a curse Kyle shot out of bed and into the bathroom. The door slammed.

Smiling slightly, Archer went to get Kyle’s reward—a cup of coffee that could etch steel.

Kyle didn’t believe in cold showers. If a man was going to get up before the sun, the least he deserved was enough hot water to fog up a gymnasium. He was well on his way to steamy bliss when Archer opened the shower door and shut off the hot water, leaving on the cold.

Two seconds later Kyle leaped out, cursing.

“Dry up,” Archer said, dumping a big towel over his brother’s head. “Coffee’s ready in the kitchen.”

“Food.”

“What do you think I am, room service?”

“You don’t want to know what I think you are.”

“Read the paper while I burn some eggs for you.”

“You burn ’em, you eat ’em.”

“Read,” Archer said with the impatience of a bright-eyed dawn raider for the sleep-in rest of the world.

Kyle pulled on some old sweats and went into the suite’s cheerful lemon-yellow kitchen. Beyond the window, low clouds, wind, and sun fought for control of Seattle’s skies. At the stove, Archer was cracking eggs into a bowl. Barefoot, wearing old jeans and a blue work shirt, he looked younger than the thirty-five he had recently turned.

“Coffee,” Kyle said, yawning.

“Open your eyes, runt. It’s on the table.”

“Runt you,” Kyle muttered. “I wore your tux, didn’t I?”

“And my dress shoes.”

“They pinched.”

“That’s how you know they’re dress shoes. Did you use the rest of the outfit or just wear it?”

“Just wore it.”

“Good. Uncle would rather not have to clean up any more bodies.”

Kyle felt the same way, but it was too early in the morning to be agreeable. “Then Uncle shouldn’t pressure us to play full-contact sports.”

“Drink your coffee before I do.”

Kyle went to the long chopping table that occupied the center of the kitchen. Two wrought-iron, cafe-style stools ran along one side, for family members who didn’t feel like sitting in the semi-circular breakfast nook that overlooked the sound. Near one of the stools, coffee steamed in a big mug that announced that the worst day of fishing was better than the best day of working. He reached for the mug, not caring if it held the black, bitter stuff Archer preferred.

The instant Kyle actually saw the coffee, he knew something serious was on Archer’s mind; there was cream in the coffee. Kyle really got worried when he saw that Archer was grating cheese and slicing mushrooms for an omelet.

“That bad, huh?” Kyle asked, swallowing coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“Cream in my coffee and now an omelet instead of scrambled eggs. You want something from me.”

“Read,” was all Archer said.

“Aren’t you going to Japan? Or was it Australia?”

Archer gave Kyle a look.

Kyle sat down and picked up the newspaper. When Archer’s eyes went from gray-green to plain old steel, a smart younger brother shut up.

The headline on the news brief was “Emperor’s Tomb Bought by Billionaire.” Beneath that was a page number. Kyle turned to the page and saw a muddy color photograph of a Han burial suit. The caption read, “Precious jade shroud for an ancient emperor.” The one-paragraph article gave the approximate age of the tomb as six hundred years, but named no individual or institution as its discoverer. No specific locale in China was named. “Spectacular” and “priceless” grave goods were mentioned, but
there were no useful facts about what kind of artifacts actually had been recovered.

“You got me up for this?” Kyle asked. “Like I told you last night, Han burial shrouds are rare, very rare, but not unique. As for the tomb the shroud came from, maybe it is and maybe it isn’t the Jade Emperor’s. That will be up to the scholars to decide. When they do, it won’t be from reading a newspaper article.”

The eggs hissed as they hit the hot pan. Kyle’s stomach gave a hungry rumble. The coffee was wonderfully potent, but it wasn’t food.

“What did you hear at the auction?” Archer asked.

“Bids.”

“You want to wear this omelet or eat it?”

“Even before Farmer strutted his new suit, I asked Lianne about the Jade Emperor’s Tomb. She said she didn’t think it had been found, much less robbed.”

“Why?” Archer asked without looking up from the omelet he was cooking.

“Mainly because she hasn’t heard about anyone having a big sale of top-quality grave goods.”

“Maybe the thieves are just selling it off a piece at a time.”

“That’s what I said.”

Archer pulled a warm plate from the oven, slid the omelet onto the creamy white surface, and put the plate in front of Kyle. “What did Lianne say?”

“Before or after Farmer’s stunt?”

“Before.”

“She said a piecemeal sale would lower the value but keep things quiet.”

“What do you think?”

Kyle leaned back until the stool rocked on two legs, grabbed a fork from a nearby kitchen drawer, and attacked the omelet. He talked and ate at the same time, figuring if Archer didn’t like the view he could shut his eyes.

“I think there’s more going on in her mind than is coming out of her mouth.”

Archer poured himself a cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and gave Kyle his full attention. “Anything in particular, or just another one of your famous hunches?”

“Han artifacts, even spectacular ones like the jade shroud, aren’t Lianne’s passion, but she was ready to take on the whole crowd and Farmer’s guards to get close to it.”

Archer shrugged, unimpressed.

“Then there was a piece of buried jade at the auction,” Kyle continued. “It was worthy of an emperor. A blade about eight inches long, not a chip or a crack, moss green with just enough yellow in it to show off the pattern of the stone. Lianne told me the stains were in the right place to please Asian tastes.”

“Did she think it might have come from the Jade Emperor’s Tomb?”

“She said anything was possible.”

Archer grunted and sat down opposite Kyle. “Not much help there.”

“Maybe. But she bid on the blade.”

“It was an auction.”

“Her personal passion is Warring States artifacts,” Kyle said around a mouthful of omelet. “The blade was Neolithic.”

“So she had a client.”

“Maybe.”

“But you don’t think so?” Archer said, drinking coffee and watching his brother over the rim of the mug.

“I’d bet she was personally unhappy, not professionally, when she was outbid.”

“Another ‘feeling’ of yours?” Archer asked.

“Yeah. Don’t you wish you had them?”

“I’d rather count on something tangible.”

“Like a gun?” Kyle retorted.

“Like family. How many of the Tang Consortium brass did you meet?”

“Of the immediate family?”

“Yes.”

“Every male but Joe, the Number One Son.”

“What did your gut tell you about Harry?” Archer asked.

“If I were Joe, I’d watch my back. Harry likes being in charge.”

“What about Wen?”

“Old and getting older. Eyesight is very poor. Hands are gone to arthritis.”

“You can finesse hands and eyes. What about his mind?”

“I don’t speak Chinese, so I can’t really judge. But Harry was real attentive to his daddy, which makes me think Wen’s mind is just fine.”

Archer looked into his coffee. It was black as hell and almost as bitter. “Wen is ninety-two.”

Kyle whistled softly. “How old is Joe?”

“Sixty-three.”

“Harry didn’t look much older than fifty. Some gray in his hair, but not a whole lot more than you, old man.”

“You aren’t going to have a head for hair to grow on if you don’t stop baiting me,” Archer said without real heat. “Harry is fifty-eight.”

“Johnny?”

“Fifty-seven. There are eight girls. The youngest is forty. The oldest is seventy-one. I could give you their names, but it wouldn’t matter. In some ways the Tang family is very old-fashioned. When the sisters married, they stopped being Tangs.”

“Lianne is what—twenty-two?”

“Almost thirty.”

Kyle’s bronze eyebrows lifted. “Must be something in the Hong Kong water. A regular Fountain of Youth.”

“Lianne was raised in Seattle.”

Metal grated on the slate floor as Kyle rocked his stool back on two legs. “Where was the rest of her family raised?”

“Anna Blakely lived in a series of foster homes until she was thirteen. Then she ran off to the big city. She was
barely fifteen when she had Lianne. Johnny was twenty-seven, married to a Hong Kong Chinese woman, and the father of two boys and a girl.”

“Busy man,” Kyle said.

“He stayed that way. Lianne has seven half siblings.”

“Lianne’s mother stayed close with Johnny while he was busy making more Tangs?”

“Close as skin.”

“Was it the money?”

“You’ll have to ask her,” Archer said. “All the file said was that Johnny kept her in good-to-great style from the day he first saw her. If she ever had another boyfriend, no one knew about it.”

“Till death do them part, is that it?”

“It works for some people.”

Kyle brought his chair forward with a snap and held his mug out for more coffee. Without comment, Archer poured. Kyle sipped, shuddered, and sipped again. He only took cream with the first coffee of the day. After that, he figured he could do without lactose crutches or go back to bed for the sleep he needed to get through the day.

“What do you know about a good-looking guy by the name of Lee Chin Tang?” Kyle asked.

“Why?”

“He’d like to kill me. I’d like to know why.”

Archer looked up from the coffee he was pouring for himself. “Is he the reason you came back for my gun?”

“No, but I was particularly glad to be wearing it after I met him.”

“What does he look like?”

“Thirty-five to forty, Chinese, movie-star beautiful, doesn’t speak English, and his eyes could drill holes in steel.”

“Nobody mentioned him to me, which means he’s not one of the major players in the Tang Consortium.”

“He’d like to be a major player in Lianne’s bed.”

Archer’s left eyebrow rose in a swift, questioning arc. “How did she feel about it?”

“She gave him ice burns.”

“Told you she preferred blonds,” Archer said smugly.

“What about the guy following us?” Kyle asked, ignoring his brother’s grin.

“Was he blond?”

“You tell me.”

“Someone might have followed you out of the auction. It was hard to be certain. There was a lot of pushing and shoving to get close to or away from the jade suit.” Archer stretched and rubbed the black stubble that he hadn’t had time to shave yet. “I know for damn sure that no one followed you back into the hotel.”

“Then why was Uncle all over you like a rash this morning?” Kyle asked after a minute. “And don’t give me a load of crap about the newspaper article.”

Archer drank deeply, then stared at the silty remains of his coffee. “I asked her the same question. Several times. No answer worth repeating.”

“Her? Did they ring in what’s-her-name again?”

“Who?”

“Jake’s old playmate.”

“Oh. Lazarus. No, this is an agent I haven’t met. She knows you, though. Must have been at the auction. She was surprised that you were sleeping here last night. Alone.”

“Mother,” Kyle muttered. “I could get real tired of Uncle’s cold nose poking up my ass.”

Archer didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. If he had liked the covert business, he would still be in it.

Kyle looked at his watch.

“You have something on today?” Archer asked.

“Jade instruction.”

“Come again?”

“Lianne is going to give me five hours and fifty-one minutes of her jade expertise.”

“But who’s counting, right?” Archer asked dryly.

“Wrong,” Kyle retorted. “I’m counting. So is she.”

“Why?”

“We cut a deal. For every hour of stuffed-elephant service I give, she gives me an hour on the fine points of jade buying and selling.”

“Stuffed elephant,” Archer said neutrally. “That means something, I suppose.”

“I’m big.”

“You’re a runt.”

“Compared to Han Wu Seng, I’m a—”

“Seng! What does he have to do with this?” Archer demanded.

“You know him?”

“No, but Uncle does. He’s a major contributor to U.S. political parties. He’s also the funnel between polite Chinese society and the overseas arms of the Red Phoenix triad, which has a lock on heroin distribution from Vancouver to Hong Kong.”

“Nice guy.”

“Compared to some, yes.”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed. His brother was quite serious. Kyle shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

“Neither did I, but sometimes you don’t get lucky. How did you meet Seng?”

“At the auction. He’s the reason Lianne gave for wanting to get to know me. I’m big.”