Diamonds Can Be Deadly. Merline Lovelace

figured he would. Anything to bilk his customers of a few more bucks.

      “I’ve researched your client base. While they tend toward the high end of the income scale, I think we should offer a wide range of prices for each line. The cost, of course, will depend on the weight, cut and clarity of the embedded stones.”

      Duncan Myers spoke up at that point. Sitting back in his chair, he palmed a hand over his shining bald crown.

      “We can help there. Since we sell so many emeralds at our tranquility centers, I’ve negotiated special rates with our suppliers.”

      It was the perfect opening. Jordan let a note of excitement creep into her voice. “You have an in with the Colombians?”

      “We do business with them, yes. And with several dealers in Russia and South Africa.”

      “The Colombian stones are the purest,” Bartholomew put in, “although I admit I’m partial to the veining in the Zambian stones.”

      Yeah, Jordan thought, she’d just bet he was. Like in the Star of the East. Extracting a spreadsheet from her briefcase, she slid it across the conference table.

      “I prepared detailed cost estimates and suggested retail prices for the designs you see here, but they’re based on the current market price per carat. If you work me a deal with your suppliers, we can adjust the bottom line.”

      “You’ll also need to take into consideration the fact that you’re trading on Bartholomew’s name and reputation,” Myers commented.

      “Of course. But I assure you, I’ve squeezed my profit margin as tight as I can.”

      The financial adviser made a tsk-tsking noise. “There’s always room for negotiation. Let me crunch the numbers and we’ll talk again.”

      Clearly uninterested in the nitty-gritty business detail, Bartholomew shoved back his chair. “In the meantime you can relax and enjoy some of the activities here at the institute. And I’d very much like you to attend one of our group sessions.”

      The tone was mild, but Jordan got the message. If she wanted to convince the guru of green to buy into her proposal for a line of pricey, emerald-studded glasses, she’d better play his game. Shrugging, she made a show of giving in.

      “Why not?”

      “Splendid!”

      “I believe I saw a group session on the schedule for tomorrow morning. I’ll join that—if you don’t think I’ll upset the dynamics of the group.”

      “Not at all,” Greene assured her, beaming. “Our guests come and go all the time. One of my main goals is to help them maintain inner serenity despite the constant changes taking place around them.”

      Jordan gave a noncommittal nod, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized joining one of Greene’s group gropes worked to her advantage. It provided an excuse to hang around the institute for a few more days and observe the natives in their natural setting. She might even be able to work in a session or two at the spa. A seaweed wrap or mud bath sounded pretty good after her bumpy flight.

      “You’ll join us for dinner, I hope.” Greene issued the invitation with one of his disarming smiles. “Seven o’clock, in the Jade Buddha Restaurant? That will give me the opportunity to introduce you to some of our other guests.”

      “I’ll see you then.”

      Despite its appellation, the Jade Buddha was more of a dining hall for the rich and famous than a restaurant. Everyone arrived at pretty much the same time and the menu posted in elegant script at each table offered only two choices—fish and vegetarian.

      The fat, happy Buddha who gave the place its name sat cross-legged on a stone pedestal, surrounded by pools filled with floating lotus blossoms and magnificent koi. Guests mingled poolside while waiters served fruit-juice cocktails and passed trays of appetizers.

      Greene escorted Jordan through the crowd, making introductions as they went. She shook hands with an aging movie star whose face showed the ravages of his years of substance abuse, a short, squat computer mogul and a frizzy-haired widow in a thousand-dollar St. John lounge suit paired with high-top black sneakers.

      Several of the guests recognized Jordan from her modeling days. Some, like the anxious-looking mother accompanied by her ten-year-old son, were too wrapped up in their own problems to evince any interest in the newcomer’s background.

      “Davy’s asthmatic,” the thin, nervous Patricia Helms explained, her glance darting constantly to the boy. “The attacks have gotten so bad lately and the doctors can’t seem to help. Dr. Greene is our last hope.”

      Jordan kept her opinion on that to herself and made mental notes on everyone she met. She’d have Claire run the names through OMEGA’s computers. She couldn’t quite envision any of these people as willing accomplices in Greene’s illegal activities, but he had to get the massive amounts he was suspected of laundering off the island and into various bank accounts somehow. He could well be using his guests as unsuspecting mules.

      Signaling to a passing waiter, Greene claimed two cocktails decorated with orchids and fat chunks of pineapple. He handed one to Jordan and lifted the other in salute. After the receptionist’s warning about the institute’s nonalcohol policy, she was prepared for the straight shot of guava juice. She wasn’t prepared, though, when her host’s attention zinged to the door behind her.

      “Ah, good. Here’s our Director of Security.”

      Glancing over her shoulder, she watched TJ’s all-too-familiar figure stroll into the restaurant. The overhead spots highlighted the sun streaks in his brown hair and cast the strong planes of his face into sharp relief.

      Greene’s voice floated above the buzz of cocktail-hour conversation. “TJ! Come and meet our newest guest.”

      Jordan stiffened, wondering if Bartholomew was toying with her. Had he watched a tape of her earlier confrontation with TJ? Or somehow learned about their brief affair? If so, no hint of it showed in his eager, open expression.

      TJ, on the other hand, looked anything but serene as he cut through the crowd. Without the mirrored sunglasses to shield his gray eyes, they seemed to slice right into Jordan.

      “Ms. Colby and I have already met,” he informed his employer. “Here, and in New York.”

      “That’s right, you’re both from the Big Apple!”

      He said it as if living in a city with a population of more than eight million automatically qualified everyone as friends and neighbors.

      “Why don’t you join us. You two can catch up on old times.”

      TJ’s glance slid to Jordan. A mocking glint flickered in those granite eyes, but his reply was preempted by the appearance of a woman who’d garnered her own share of sensational publicity.

      Blond, much divorced and immensely wealthy, Felicity Dennison Albright Waller-Winston hooked her arm through TJ’s. The fist-size emerald pinned to her left shoulder pressed into his bicep as she cuddled against him.

      “Yes, sweetiekins,” she purred, “do join us. We missed you at lunch.”

      “Sorry, I can’t.” With a polite smile, TJ disengaged. “I just came by to remind Bartholomew we’re taking perimeter security down to install the new Y-beam system.”

      Jordan had to give Scott reluctant marks for staying on top of his profession. The Y-beam was the hottest new infrared sensor. The military had released it for commercial application only a few months ago. Mackenzie had briefed all the OMEGA operatives on the technology. She’d also assured them the new zip-up thermal suits she’d developed would shield them from Y-beams. It was looking as if Jordan would get a chance to test one out.

      “How long will the system be down?” Bartholomew wanted to know.

      “Less than an hour. I’ve got the new sensors