Pearl Cove (10 page)

Can you take a few more minutes in here? Archer asked softly.

Of course.

Her voice more than her words told him that was how Hannah faced life: whatever was
required of her for as long as she could give it. He turned, touched her cheek for an
instant, then stepped back before she could do more than take a startled breath. His
penlight switched on, slicing through the tropical night. Everything the light touched was
broken, bent, battered, and water stained.

Describe the shed for me, the way it was, Archer said.

Hannah let out the breath she had taken when he touched her face so unexpectedly, so
gently. There was only one door. Tables with trays of pearls went down the center aisle.
The pearls are sorted for shape, color, size, and surface. We do the color sorting with
natural light. Fluorescent light for orient and spotting blemishes on the surface.
Indirect light, of course. With pearls, direct light hides more than it reveals.

While she spoke, the blade of light Archer held moved slowly across the interior of the
shed.

Where did you work? he asked.

Over there. Hannahs narrow, elegant hand flashed through the beam as she pointed toward a
missing wall.

There were windows. Screens, actually. I worked with the best of the pearls, matching
colors for necklaces or brooches or bracelets.

Were the pearls left out or locked up at night? Locked up. Where? There.

With her hand over his, she moved the flashlight toward the place where the roof had
collapsed. When Archer realized what he was looking at through the jackstraws that had
been lumber, he whistled. Poured-concrete base, steel walls, tumbler locks and
industrial-strength handles on all the locker doors. Ten feet high if it was an inch. Even
with the outer door ripped off and the drawers yanked out and strewn around, the safe
still looked as intimidating as the inside of a bank vault.

Thats a hell of a lockbox, he said. Len wasnt a trusting kind of man. Archer gave an odd
crack of laughter. I take it the pearls were in the drawers when the storm hit?

Not all of them. Not even most of them. When the storm hit, pearls must have scattered all
over the place.

You werent here?

No. Len kicked everyone out, locked down the storm shutters, and then did whatever he did
when he was alone.

What does that mean?

Hannah sighed and wondered how she could explain in a few words the husband she had never
understood in ten years. Len was forever pulling security checks, sending everyone outside
and searching them for pearls. Sometimes, for no reason anyone could discover, he would
just throw them out and spend an hour or two in here alone. He ate here, slept here, lived
here.

Sounds like he was worried about something being stolen. Pearls. And he was right. Theyre
gone. Stolen?

The insurance people said the storm hit before Len could close up the safe. Everything was
washed out to sea. An act of God. Uninsured, of course. So sorry, luv, and your next
premium will be due on the twelfth.

Archers mouth curled. Sounds like every insurance agent Ive ever known. Then, in a low
voice, he asked, What about the chisel marks on the door?

Its hard to find what youre not looking for.

Yeah, thats what I thought. He swept the light from side to side, looking for a fugitive
glimmer of pearl. Nothing came back but shades of black. How did they explain all the open
lockers and drawers?

Simple. Obviously Len was checking the inventory when the cyclone ripped the place apart.
A lot bigger things than pearls went missing in the wind.

Part of Archers mind enjoyed the symmetry and utility of the explanation: whatever
happened, the cyclone did it. If he hadnt seen the chisel marks on the door and felt the
ease of his knifes passage between a dead mans ribs, he would have been tempted to accept
the explanation himself.

A variation of the SODDI defense, he said softly.

What?

A defense lawyers favorite explanation. Some other dude did it. In this case its a storm,
not a man. No worries, mate. Certainly no murder. No insurance money. Just an exhausted
widow, a destroyed farm, and shrugs all around, because what else can you do? Lifes a
bitch and then you die.

Hannah wanted to laugh but was afraid she might not be able to stop. He had caught the
mans tone so exactly. Sure you arent an insurance adjuster?

Dead sure. Archer waited for her to ask what he did. When the silence stretched, he smiled
thinly. She assumed he was like Len had been before he was paralyzed employed by people
who didnt want to know his real name and sure as hell didnt want him to know theirs.
Occasionally I work in my father s business, Donovan International. Its an import-export
business with emphasis on raw materials. My brothers and I have our own business, Donovan
Gems and Minerals.

Youre not... what Len used to be?

A mercenary? No, I never was.

Len said you were.

Len hired out to the highest bidder. As long as that was Uncle Sam, we sometimes worked in
the same vineyards. When Len went freelance, I stayed behind. After a few more years I got
out entirely.

Why? she asked. Why did Len leave? No. Why did you?

I wasnt strong enough.

This time Hannah couldnt help laughing out loud.

Archer didnt laugh. He had told her the exact truth. He hadnt been strong enough to
survive the covert game.

Silently he played the flashlight over the jumble of lumber that covered the vault, and
wondered if the flanking walls would stand up if he started moving debris around. He
wanted to take a closer look at the drawers. Somehow they didnt look quite right.

Youre serious, Hannah said, no longer laughing, watching Archers face. In the bleak flare
of the flashlight, his eyes were clear, polished crystal.

Some men can work in a sewer and come out smelling like roses, he said evenly, running the
blade of light over the ceiling. There were gaps, rips, open seams. It wouldnt take much
to bring another section down. Im not one of them. Every day, every lie, every double
cross, every seductive, addictive rush of adrenaline... He shrugged. It was eating away at
me. I knew one day I would wake up, look in the mirror, and see something that turned my
stomach. Something like his half brother had become, but Archer wasnt going to say that to
Lens widow. He turned and looked at her. I got out. End of story.

Hannah didnt know she was going to touch Archer until she felt the smooth pelt of his
beard beneath her fingertips, then the surprising heat of his lips. She snatched her hand
back. That wasnt weakness. That was strength.

Len didnt see it that way. Why would you care what Len thought? Didnt he tell you? What?
Hes my brother.

For a moment she was too shocked to say anything. She had wondered about the bond between
the two men, but she hadnt suspected a blood tie. Other than their size and way of moving,
they hadnt had much in common physically. Never once, not once, had Len so much as hinted
at a blood relationship with Archer Donovan.

Archer used the silence to listen to the sounds of night. He thought he had heard a
scuffle, as though a foot had nudged into a stray piece of wood. But it could just as
easily have been the wind shifting the precariously piled debris.

Letting breath slide from his lungs, he listened intently, using every sense. He heard
only the random movements of wind.

Your brother? Hannah managed finally. I didnt even know Len had any family. The first time
I asked about his parents was just after the wedding. He sliced me up with a few words and
walked out, leaving me in Shanghai with no food and no money in a room I couldnt pay for.
I couldnt speak the language. I couldnt even read the signs. He didnt come back for six
days. I never asked about his family again.

Archer hoped the impotent rage he felt didnt show in any way. That kind of rage was as
corrosive as it was useless. Yet he couldnt dodge a truth that was even more corrosive: by
leaving Hannah with Len, he had doomed her as certainly as if he had stripped her naked
and sold her on a street corner in Rio.

He hadnt been good enough to keep his own attraction to Hannah hidden from Len. That had
made her a perfect target, a sideways kind of vengeance for the bastard half brother to
take on the legitimate son. And if an innocent girl got chewed up in the process, well,
too bad, how sad, and nobody asked to be born anyway. Len sure as hell hadnt.

Yet Len hadnt always been vicious. That was what had hurt Archer then and still hurt him
now. All those bittersweet memories of the first few years he had known Len, the quiet
conversations about how to size up a man or a situation, his patient demonstration of
survival skills, his deep laughter and easy

silences, the smile that could melt glaciers, like his brother Lawes smile, and Len a
blond Viking just like Archers other brother Justin... Even Lens way of raking his fingers
through his hair was like his fathers, just like Archers, a genetic echo rolling down the
years between generations.

My father didnt marry Lens mother, Archer said neutrally. Dad was sixteen and in full
rebellion against his father, who was a wild man by the name of Robert Donald Donovan.
Layla was eight years older than Dad and going for the Donovan bank accounts.

Sixteen. Hannahs smile was as bittersweet as Archers memories. Must be something dangerous
about that age. I was wild to get away from my parents. I would have done anything, even
marry a stranger. Three years later I did.

Archers mouth turned down at one corner. He knew all about being a teenager and determined
to get out from under the old man. The good news was that most kids survived it, and the
dumb choices they made. The bad news was that some of them didnt live and learn.

He walked back toward the safe, drawn by its massive bulk in the midst of ruin. How like
Len to pour concrete and raise steel walls and defy the gods of sea and storm. Had he
lived to see his metal roof rolled up like the top of an anchovy tin? Dad wasnt desperate
enough to marry a stranger, Archer said, probing pools of black with his flashlight. Life
in the Robert Donovan household was loud and overbearing, but it was also warm and full of
love. Probably a lot like what I grew up in.

So Layla made her play for the gold ring and got turned down, is that it?

Even if Dad wanted to marry her and I doubt that he did he was too young to do it
without his fathers permission. Grandfather certainly wasnt stupid enough to give that
permission. Layla thought Dad was nineteen, not sixteen. She was furious. Then she was
pregnant and demanding money. When the blood tests came back with Donovan written all over
them, my grandfather offered Layla thirty thousand a year until the kid was eighteen, or a
cash settlement of a quarter of a million. She took the cash and ran.

And that was that? Hannah asked from just behind Archer.

Until I was born, yes. He stood on tiptoe and shined the light through a break in the
tangle of smashed tables, broken chairs, and other less identifiable debris. Dad was about
twenty-five then. Seeing me grow made him think about the son he had never known. He hired
people to track Layla down. It took seven years to find her. She was dying of alcoholism.
She didnt have Len. He had run away.

How old was he?

Fourteen, Archer said absently. There were scratch marks on the drawers. No surprise
there. The vault had taken a hell of a hammering from flying metal chairs, among other
things. Dad started looking for Len. He was still looking when I graduated from college
with a lot of language skills and a restlessness that could only be satisfied by roaming.

You found Len. Did he tell you? No. I just cant imagine you not getting what you want.

Imagine it. It happens five times a day. And it had been happening a hell of a lot more
frequently since he had landed in Broome and seen Hannah McGarrys haunted eyes and long,
bare legs. Who opened the top drawers for Len? Archer asked.

I did. He hated that, having to ask me. Just like he hated having to depend on my eyes for
color matching.

Len always was hell-bent on standing alone. Sometimes thats the best way to get a job
done, especially some of the jobs he did. But its a lousy way to live. Have you checked
the top drawers since he died?

Yes. There were some pearls in them, but not the best. Len kept those within his reach.

What happened to the best pearls? Nothing left but the drawers. Empty. That was one busy
cyclone. Greedy, too.

The corner of Archers mouth turned up. Wheres the ladder you used to reach the high
drawers?

Her hand closed over his wrist, pushing the flashlight in another direction. There, along
whats left of the wall, behind that stack of shutters I thought might be saved.

Though the feel of her fingers sent heat licking through Archer, all he said was, I assume
Len had a room somewhere in the shed.

Yes. Its over there. Or was.

Archer looked at the emptiness of a destroyed wall. He could just make out twisted bits of
plumbing sticking out of the floor. Turning away, he concentrated on what the storm had
left behind rather than what it had taken.

He crossed the shed, examined the shutters leaning against the ladder, and began shifting
them to the side. There was no way to do it quietly. That made him uneasy, like the rising
kick of the wind. Soft, furtive sounds would be buried in the background noise.

The wind gusted in a long exhalation that made the shed creak and debris settle in a
slightly different way. Archer froze, listening. He would have sworn he heard footsteps
rushing with the wind.

Get out, he said to Hannah. But- Now. Archer grabbed her and began running for the door.
It was too late. A wall buckled and the metal roof came hammering down.

Before Hannah understood what was happening, she was facedown on the floor with something
heavy covering her from head to heels. Even as she realized the weight was Archer, metal
thudded and clanged around them.

She tried to look up. She couldnt. She was completely wedged beneath him. There was barely
enough room left over to breathe. Claustrophobia swept through her in a wave that
stiffened her whole body.

Easy, Hannah. Dont fight me. I wont hurt you, but whats left of the roof sure as hell
might.

The calm voice reassured her at a level too deep for words. She made a questioning sound
that wasnt quite fear.

Its raining big chunks of metal, Archer said against her ear. Ill let you up as soon as it
stops. Okay?

She nodded. Sure? he asked. Yes. Sorry. I-

You have nothing to apologize for.

It was the brush of his mouth against her ear more than the words that silenced her. Like
his fingertips had been, his lips were warm, gentle, demanding nothing of her. She let out
a broken breath, and with it, most of her fear.

She waited, listening. The gritty tile beneath her body was cold and hard. The man
covering her was hot and supple. The contrast was as disorienting as being thrown to the
floor while the roof came down around her ears.

Archer shifted slightly on his elbows. Debris clattered and slid off his back. A piece of
metal the size of a dinner table groaned. He arched his back, testing the weight of junk
covering him. Metal grated against tile.

Footsteps retreated at a dead run.

It sounded like only one person, but Archer couldnt be sure. For an instant he considered
jumping up and running down whoever was fleeing. He shoved the impulse aside because it
was the result of adrenaline, not thought. If he chased the intruder, Hannah would be left
alone. Vulnerable. A woman who smelled like cinnamon and sunshine shouldnt be left to face
the darkness alone.

Archer? she whispered. Not yet.

Silently she waited while he listened and listened and listened. She felt suspended,
almost dazed. Then ridiculously-sleepy. Sliding down a long slow tunnel, darkness going
by at a greater and greater speed. Distantly she supposed she should be afraid, but she
couldnt work up the strength. Except for her nap earlier today, fear had kept her from
sleeping more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time since Len had died. She simply didnt
have the energy to be afraid anymore.

Or the need. Archer wouldnt kill her while she slept. And a little catnap would be a
wonderful thing.

Hannah? Hannah. Come back to me, sweetheart. Tell me where it hurts.

When her eyes shot open, a white light sliced into them. Quickly she tried to turn her
head and shield her eyes from the flashlight, but she was still pinned in place by Archers
weight and strength. All she could do was close her eyes again. Im not hurt.

You fainted.

Her mouth curved in an off-center smile. Not quite. It was so quiet and dark and... safe.
I just let go. Next thing I knew, I sort of fell asleep.

Archer absorbed that while he checked her out. Her skin was flushed rather than bloodless.
Her pupils both had contracted to black pinpoints beneath the relentless light. Smiling
with a combination of understanding and amusement, he twisted the top of the flashlight,
dimming the power. Asleep, huh? On a cold tile floor with a falling roof for a blanket?
You have to be one tired puppy.

I am. And it wasnt the roof covering me. It was you. Thats how I knew I was safe. You were
protecting me, not trying to hurt me.

Some protector. I nearly got you killed. How do you figure that? I took you for a walk in
the dark. I wont make that mistake again.

Archer rolled off Hannah in a clatter, grind, and clash of metal debris. Braced on his
side, he waited to see if the motion would send anything else raining down. Nothing of any
size moved. The metal storm was over.

He shoved everything he could reach aside and came to his feet in a single motion. As soon
as the adrenaline wore off, he would notice the cuts, bruises, and dents his body had
taken when the roof fell, but for now all he cared about was that neither one of them was
badly injured. They had been lucky.

Can you stand up or do you need help? he asked.

Instead of answering, Hannah scrambled to her feet. She winced once or twice, but didnt
stop or catch her breath in sudden pain.

See? No damage, she said.

Stay here. Im going to check outside.

Ill come with you.

Youll stay here. Im quieter in the dark than you are. Dont move around. Id hate to take
you down by mistake.

Hannah didnt want to stay inside the shed alone, but she didnt object. Being knocked to
the ground and covered by his weight for her own safety was one thing. Being his target in
the dark was quite another.

Her fingers curled around a piece of metal-tipped wood that was as long and thick as her
arm. She hefted its weight and felt better.

Hannah? Yes, she whispered. Ill stay here. Ill be as quick as I can. I know you dont like
feeling closed in. She almost laughed. Theres not enough roof left anymore for me to feel
claustrophobic.

His smile gleamed faintly as he noticed the makeshift weapon in her hands. Ill warn you
before I come back, he said before he turned away. I like my head right where it is.

Archer? she called softly. He spun toward her. Be careful, she said. Warm, callused
fingertips brushed from her cheekbone to her mouth. Then he was gone.

Archer waited in the dense shadow behind a leaning wall, listening, listening. He heard
nothing but the murmur of ocean and the soft exhalation of cooler air displacing warm. He
toed out of his sandals and went barefoot. Without hard soles to grate over sand and
crushed shell, he made virtually no sound.

After two complete circuits of the shed, he was convinced that no one else was nearby. He
put on his sandals and went back inside the shed. All he could see was black debris
standing raggedly against the slightly more pale sky.

Hannah?

A tiny, startled sound was his only answer, then a long sigh. Here.

Can you see me?

Barely.

He held out his hand, a lighter shade of darkness. Come on. Theres nothing out there but
the wind.

She started to ask if he was sure, then almost laughed aloud. Of course he was sure. A man
who could move that quietly, that quickly, must have eyes like a cat.

Now what? she asked.

Now you get some real sleep. If Im still curious, Ill look over the shed again in daylight.

Do you think... Hannahs voice died. Fatigue swam behind her eyes like another kind of
night.

What?

Was it intentional? Or did the wind just bring down more of the shed while someone was
sneaking around trying to hear what we were saying and he panicked and ran?

If it wasnt the wind, assuming that it was could get us killed.

She tried to frame another question, but the cool gusts of air distracted her. Suddenly it
was just too much effort to think, to walk, even to stand. It was all she could do to
breathe the dark, wet air.

And then she was breathing that other kind of night, speeding down a long tunnel,
freefalling into the deep sleep her body demanded.

Archer caught Hannah when her knees buckled. She didnt wake up when he carried her into
the house, put her on her small bed, and covered her with a sheet. She didnt even stir
while he took her pulse, counted the steady beat of her life, noted the warmth of her
skin, and released her wrist with a slow caress.

If you have dreams, he said softly, dont remember them.

Quietly he walked out of her room, checked all the locks in the house, and set up some
simple mechanical alarms at the doors and windows. Then he sat in the darkness.

Listening. Thinking. Planning.

Two hours passed in silence before Archer went to the cell phone that still lay next to
Lens computer. The data had long since been transmitted to Kyle. Archer doubted that his
brother would have found out much more this quickly, but any information was better than
none.

Archer punched in a string of numbers. The encoding function blinked. Two seconds later
Kyle answered. Our recently deceased half brother was a paranoid son of a bitch.

Archer grunted. Problems?

Not with the wife. Hannah didnt have any trapdoors or shunts or guards or cookies or
anything at all on her computer, not even for banking, Kyle said. Her password is Today.
After that, it was in the clear all the way.

Archer didnt ask how his brother had teased private information out of the virtual world.
The last time Kyle had tried to explain, Archer had listened, and listened, and listened,
and come away as much in the dark as before. The talent Kyle took for granted was a
mountain Archer could admire, but never climb.

Our half brother is a different matter, Kyle continued. There are some boring files on
Pearl Cove, a few scrambled files on pearls as the new miracle cure for everything from
cancer to a limp dick, and then nothing but blank walls. He had lots of trips, traps, and
bombs laid on for anyone trying to tiptoe through his virtual tulips. Completely toasted
two hard drives before I gave up. Anyone who accesses his stuff will have to be a lot
better than I am or have more than his entry code to work with. Can Hannah help?

She didnt even know his entry code. Len wasnt a sharing kind of partner.

No shit. Kyles voice was ripe with disgust. You sure he wasnt working for Uncle Sam?

Recently?

Yeah.

Why do you ask?

There are some very fancy ciphers out there, and Uncle has a lock on most of them. One of
Lens looked kinda familiar.

Have you been playing with Uncles ciphers? Archer asked dryly.

Somebody has to.

Dont get caught.

So far so good. Any chance of Uncle helping us on this one?

Archer thought of what April had said. Odds are we wouldnt be on the same side. No. Uncle
would just as soon we dropped off the pearl scope.

Kyle sighed heavily. Gotcha. Ill do what I can with the files you sent me. Nothing useful
on any Pearl Cove employees yet.

Thanks. Hows Lianne? Beautiful. She worries about you. Me? Why? She thinks youve shot more
than your share of troubles. Weariness folded around Archer, darker than the night. Give
her a hug for me. A big one. He disconnected and sat in the darkness, thinking about Lens
cutting-edge ciphers and Uncle Sam. Odds are we wouldnt be on the same side.

Blue on blue on blue, shades and tints, hints and tones, blends and startling curls of a
pure primary color; the ocean surrounded Archer and Hannah in a huge embrace. Above them
the surface of the water was a shifting, incandescent silver. Below them it was a deeply
radiant turquoise. As they drifted with the tide, the bottom took a very gradual slide off
into indigo mystery.

Archer floated about thirty feet beneath the silver ceiling. One of his hands was wrapped
around a long line that trailed down from the small lugger Nakamori was piloting through
the calm sea. Hannah trailed off the other side of the lugger. Using long flippers, she
positioned herself in the sea with the economical, almost lazy movements of a seasoned
diver. Silver and crystal bubbles swirled up from her in easy, rhythmic puffs. The yellow
and black of her wet suit made her look like an exotic fish hanging in a huge turquoise
aquarium.

Bathwater-warm at the surface, the ocean was cooler the deeper a diver went. Even if it
hadnt been, divers still would have worn lightweight wet suits and protective gear for
whatever flesh the wet suit didn

t cover. Australias warm, immense pearling grounds were home to Irukandji, a stinging
jellyfish that injected nerve toxin into anything careless enough to get within range.
Even though every dive ship carried an antidote, it wasnt unusual for divers to end up in
the hospital with a case of Irukandji poisoning.

The only reason Archer was diving with just half of a wet suit was that no jellyfish had
been sighted. If that changed, he would be in the lugger just as fast as he could cover
the thirty feet to the surface. The narrow strings and hand-sized pouch that was Western
Australias standard swimwear for men didnt offer much protection. The stretchy black cloth
covered less than a jockstrap.

Nakamori had chosen the relatively calm part of the daily tidal race for the dive, which
meant that the bottom wasnt churned up and visibility was good. Yet after several drifts
over the search area, they hadn t found any man-sized rectangular baskets of oysters
sitting on the bottom.

Archer shifted his grip and looked away for a moment, letting his eyes rest. When he
looked back, he didnt try to focus sharply. It was better to let the sea floor slide by
with its shapeless lumps and liquid blue-green bouquets of life. Nature was fluid,
quintessentially feminine; it was only man that created right angles and rectangles. An
unfocused eye picked out the difference between nature and man more quickly than an
intent, narrowed eye.

Perhaps thirty feet away from Archer, Hannah was also looking without focusing, floating,
letting the sea flow around her. She loved the drifting, boneless feeling. It made her
feel as supple as water, as weightless as sunlight, free all the way to her soul. Though
her attention didnt wander, a dreamy kind of peace filled her.

When she spotted the sinuous ribbons of three sea snakes swimming along at the edge of her
vision, her heartbeat didnt even pick up. The snakes were among the most deadly creatures
on earth, but usually they were placid as milk cows. Some divers Flynn among them even
amused themselves by handling the reptiles. The divers called the snakes Jo Blakes, using
the rhyming Cockney slang that was impenetrable to outsiders. Jo Blake Roulette was a
popular game among a certain stripe of diver. The fact that divers occasionally came
across a cranky snake only made the game more interesting.