Pearl Cove (14 page)

Chang glanced up and mentally began revising his phone summary for Sam Chang. Why?

Yours not to reason why, Barton retorted. Just make bloody sure that if Donovan goes tits
up, you dont have any part in it. If your Daddy doesnt like the good word, tell him to
call my boss. Shell tell him just what Im telling you. Lay off Donovan until you hear
otherwise. Black eyes glanced at Flynn. Same goes.

Flynn shrugged. I dont take my orders from a Yank.

Your country takes loans, lots of them, in U.S. dollars. Would you like to be the one to
explain to your finance minister that you personally fucked up some multibillion-dollar
development loans because McGarrys widow liked Donovans cock better than yours?

Flynns head snapped up. So Donovan is working for you. Bartons laugh was as cold as his
eyes. Not yet, but were giving him rope and lighting candles in hell. The instant he
screws up, well be there. And hell be ours.

What about Hannah McGarry? Chang asked. What about her? Barton retorted. Is she off
limits, too?

Nothing was said about her.

Chang flicked a prawn into his mouth, eating it in the Chinese manner head, shell, and
all. He chewed thoughtfully, savoring the intense flavor of the shell and the succulence
of the flesh. Ms. McGarry is the owner of record of a very special, very valuable piece of
the pearl trade.

Too bad Donovan showed up, Barton said cheerfully. She isnt likely to make an alliance
with either of you now.

Neither Chang nor Flynn looked at each other, but each was thinking the same thing: Barton
didnt know that Donovan was half owner of Pearl Cove.

And Hannah McGarry had just been thrown to the wolves. Barton stood up, tossed some
Australian money on the table, and walked out. Every step of the way he cursed April Joy
for her latest intricate game. It wasnt the first time he had cursed her. It wouldnt be
the last.

The hell of it was, she was right. Getting a handle on talent like Archer Donovan was
worth bending a few rules.

Red dirt flew by on either side of the road, which was also red dirt. Low, ramshackle
buildings circled Broome and crouched rather drunkenly along the waterfront. Many of the
buildings were remodeled pearling sheds. New buildings stuck out like castles in a
shantytown. These were the small hotels and restaurants, stores and bars that had been
built recently with the tropical tourist in mind potted palms, French doors, bamboo or
rattan furniture, breezy rooms, lots of shade, and a cross between rustic frontier and
clean-lined Asian decor.

The airport wasnt one of the castles.

Like the World War II Quonset hut that served as a terminal, the airport parking lot was
unadorned and unshaded. It sucked in heat and held it, returning it redoubled to anyone
unlucky enough to stand on the sun-softened surface. Even through the mercury-colored heat
haze, sunlight was a staggering burden over land and man alike.

While Archer locked the car, Hannah looked around the parking lot. Though Archer said
nothing, he was feeling every bit of the temperature difference between Seattle and
Broome. Sweat gleamed on his face, his arms, his legs. His tank top and shorts were a wet
second skin. He couldnt have dripped more if he had just walked out of the shower.

Is this where you tell me why were in Broome? Hannah asked.

No.

She lifted her eyebrows, shifted the airy straw hat that shaded her head, and waited.

He held out his hand, silently apologizing for his curt answer. A flight just came in.

So?

So what passes for a taxi service should be waiting out front for passengers.

Hannah looked at the car they had just gotten out of. She looked at Archer. He didnt say a
word. She took his hand and headed for the ragged jitney that would ferry them to town.

When the van left the airport, there were only six people sitting on the cracked, sticky
seats. The other four passengers were two couples who had nothing in common but the
slammed feeling of having been on a jet for too many hours, through too many time zones,
and then walking out of stale air-conditioning into the tropical sauna of Broome air in
late November. Overdressed for the time and place, they watched the world outside the
jitney windows with the glazed eyes of people who would remember nothing of their
surroundings until they slept for eight hours.

When Hannah would have spoken, Archer swiftly bent and kissed her. Then he murmured
against her ear, Look exhausted, sweetheart.

She gave him a sideways look and settled her head against his sweaty shoulder to punish
him. Exhausted women slept, didnt they? A little thing like 99 percent humidity and a
temperature to match

wouldnt stop a really tired woman from curling up against her man.

Archer stroked Hannahs hair and caressed her cheek with his fingertips. He watched the
passengers and the view outside without seeming to do either. The other couples talked in
fragments, too tired to finish sentences. Neither he nor Hannah spoke until the jitney
left them off in the heart of Broome.

Now what? she asked, turning away from the jitneys ripe black exhaust. We kill some time.
Why? Im waiting for someone.

Who?

I dont know, Archer said.

That will make it hard to meet him, Hannah said dryly.

Or her.

I dont know that, either. He glanced at his watch. If April Ç Joy was on the job, someone
was cruising the airport lot right now, looking for a white rental car with a broken left
taillight.

We wont be meeting this person in the flesh, but our car will. Hannah blinked, tilted her
head, and stared up into his gray-green eyes. Want to run that by again?

It wont make any more sense the second time.

She sighed.

He smiled. The speckled sunlight and shade from her straw hat made her look like she had
white-hot freckles sprinkled across her face.

Before she could ask another question, a trio of men dressed in the Outback uniform
staggered toward them. Two of the men were drinking beer. The third was knee-walking
drunk. They were staring at Hannah like she had a For Rent sign tied to her butt.

Time to go sightseeing, Archer muttered. The last thing he wanted was to call attention to
himself by brawling with three randy drunks.

Broomes Chinatown was a cluster of whitewashed corrugated roofs, red grates and trellises,
and palm trees that had weathered many cyclones. The Asian cemetery, where so many pearl
divers were buried, had the weary dignity and ageless power of a place where too many
hopes had died.

Hand in hand, silent, Archer and Hannah walked slowly through the cemetery. The hot, wet
breeze felt heavy with the secrets of men long dead. Under other circumstances, he would
have walked quietly through the cemetery, reading the markers he could and appreciating
the mystery of the ones he couldnt. How people chose to meet the darkness that came at the
end of the lightning stroke of life had always fascinated Archer, but even if he had been
able to read Chinese, the messages engraved on headstones would have remained a mystery.
The complex ideographs had been worn to shadows across the faces of the slowly, slowly
dissolving stones. Canted every which way, poignant, elegant, the headstones gleamed

redly above their rough, untended graves.

Will Len be buried in Broome? Archer asked quietly.

No. He wanted his ashes scattered at sea. Hannah closed her eyes and let the sultry air
flow over her face. He didnt want any kind of ritual or ceremony. Said he wouldnt need it.

But the living do need it.

Something burned behind her eyes, something she refused to recognize as tears. She was
finished with crying. It accomplished nothing. The past was beyond redemption and the dead
were beyond tears.

Tell me about him, Archer said quietly. Tell me about the good times. It was... a long,
long time ago. Have you forgotten?

Hannahs silence grew and grew until Archer accepted that she wasnt going to say anything
about Len. Then she sighed, laced her fingers more tightly with his, and began talking
about the man they had both loved before they understood that he could neither accept nor
give love.

Len was mad for lemonade. She laughed oddly. I dont know why that pleased me, but it did.
He would hover around like a big kid while I squeezed lemons, then he would drink so hard
and deep he would have a sticky mustache and drops of lemonade on his chin. Id watch his
pleasure and dream of having a little girl or boy who would hug my knees and dance with
impatience while I fixed lemonade.

Archer thought of the pregnancy that had ended in sorrow and agony for Hannah. His throat
ached with all that he couldnt say, couldnt do, couldnt change.

Len taught me to dance, she continued after a few moments. He had a penny whistle and an
ancient Asian flute. When he was pleased with a project, he would play jigs on the whistle
and we would dance until we were breathless, laughing.... He had a wonderful laugh, big
and free. Her breath squeezed. It had been years since she had heard Len laugh, really
laugh. When he played the Asian flute, I knew that he was almost sad.

Almost?

Melancholy, but not really depressed. More like... gently haunted. As though he was
thinking about things that he had never seen or done and never would, but it was all
right. He accepted it. And he played so beautifully, conjuring dreams with just breath,
wood, and fingertips.

Yes, Archer said, smiling and sad. The first time I heard Len play, I thought of Lawe and
Kyle. Lawe especially. Put a harmonica or a flute in his hands and hell make you laugh and
weep and yearn for everything that doesnt have a name.

That was Len. Hannah made a soft, aching sound and looked around the cemetery that was
both empty and full. After Len was paralyzed, he had never played again. He had never
laughed again, not his real laugh. He had never touched her again.

But Archer had asked her to remember the good times, and that was right. Thinking about
the bad times didnt solve anything. Remember the good, accept the bad, and walk on,
because there wasnt another damn thing she could do except hate herself for not being what
Len had needed.

He could dance me into the ground, she said huskily, wipe the sweat off his forehead, and
start all over again, laughing out loud, loving just being alive. Thats when I loved him
the most, when I could all but touch the life pouring through him. He was... incandescent.

I saw Len like that, but it wasnt dancing. It was hells own bar brawl in Kowloon. Len and
I fought back to back against a roomful of strangers. I fought because it was the only way
to get out of the place in one piece. Len fought because he simply, fiercely, enjoyed the
physical contest of man against man.

Hannah nodded. That was Len. He really loved a good fight. Hed come home grinning with a
shiner the size of a pie plate and his arm around the bruiser who had given it to him. She
smiled slightly. Are you sure Len didnt start that bar riot?

Archer smiled even as he realized that Len undoubtedly had done just that. Ill bet he did
it as a way to test his newly discovered half brother.

She looked at Archer curiously. Her eyes were a blue so dark it made him think of twilight
sliding into night.

I didnt let him goad me into a fight with him, one on one, he explained calmly. He called
me a coward. I just laughed at him and said I didnt fight with family that way, no holds
barred. I think the bar brawl was his way of finding out what I was made of.

Did he try to get you to fight him after that?

No. Though Archer didnt say any more, he was remembering the few times Len, without
trying, had come real close to getting a brawl. All of those times had involved Hannah.

Guess he figured out real quick that you werent a coward, she said. Despite the sadness
that clung to her memories like cold to ice, she smiled.

Guess so.

You dont hold it against him?

Archer shook his head. It would be like holding thunder against lightning. Len was what he
was. Strong. Tough. Reckless.

You sound like you admired him.

Some of Len was worth admiring, worth remembering. The rest wasnt, but Hannah knew that
even better than Archer did.

She hesitated, then sighed and laced her fingers more deeply with Archers. Yes, some of
Len was worth remembering. She lifted his hand and brushed her lips over his knuckles.
Thank you.

For what?

Giving the best of Len back to me.

Archer lifted Hannahs chin, kissed her very gently, and hoped that both of them lived long
enough to enjoy the gift.

Archer opened the small duffel bag that some nameless agent had left in the rental car
while he and Hannah walked through Chinatowns windswept graveyard. If April had followed
directions, there should be at least two changes of clothes for them.

This should do it for the first round, he said.

He pulled out uncrushable white slacks and a colorful floral shirt of the kind favored by
tropical tourists. The wig that went with the clothes was black and breast length. A
stiffened straw pith helmet again, a tourist favorite and black-rimmed sunglasses
completed Hannahs outfit. He added a handful of makeup for the finishing touches.
Ruthlessly he stuffed everything into the pith helmet.

Have you ever worn a wig? he asked, holding helmet and all out to her. She stared at the
black hair trying to crawl out of the pith helmet. No. It looks hot. It is.

She glanced around. The coffee shop they were in held a few hardy tourists whose vacations
hadnt coincided with Broomes cool, dry season. The rest of the people were locals who
apparently had nothing better to do than smoke cigarettes and drink coffee or beer until
the sun gave up its grip on the land. Seashell ashtrays overflowed, testament to the
patrons grim dedication to killing time.

Bathrooms are back and to the left, he said. Ill meet you out on the sidewalk.

Silently Hannah got up, leaving her coffee and a half-eaten roast beef sandwich behind.
Archer stretched lazily, though his gray-green eyes searching the room were anything but
indolent. No one so much as glanced in Hannahs direction. He stood up, paid the bill, and
went outside to wait.

A flock of sulfur-crested cockatoos burst from a nearby tree and swooped upward, spinning
and swirling like noisy white leaves on a storm wind. After a few minutes the birds
vanished into the part of the sky where the suns burning disk transformed humidity into a
blinding curtain of light.

The hat is too big, Hannah said from behind him. When my turn comes it will be too small.
She was still thinking that over when Archer led her to the front window of a tourist
store, straightened her wig with a tug, and smiled at her haphazardly applied makeup. You
dont wear makeup much, do you?

In the rain forest, men wore the paint, not women. He smiled. And after the rain forest?
Why bother? Makeup lasts about two minutes in the tropics. Not this stuff, he said,
holding up the duffel. Its waterproof. Miraculous, she said with a total lack of interest.
How do you get it off?

Oil. When we go in, pretend to be interested in the junk. But keep your sunglasses on.
Your eye color is too unusual. Someone might remember it. He thought of giving her the
contacts now, and rejected it. There would be time enough later to introduce her to the
tearful joys of contact lenses.

Not to mention the basics of using makeup as both art form and disguise.

Before Hannah could ask Archer why she was wearing bad makeup, a wig, and pith helmet, he
walked two doors down another bar and vanished inside. He took the duffel with him.
Dutifully she walked into the tourist trap and looked through the goods. There were the
usual kangaroo and koala designs on everything from T-shirts to teaspoons. There was a
heap of tropical shells gleaming in shades of white, cream, peach, vague gold, and every
tone in between. Though many of the shells were quite beautiful, she wasnt tempted to buy
any. The shells were perfect, which meant they had been taken from living animals. She
would rather find her shells on the beach, imperfect.

The only thing that interested her even slightly was a display of pearls from Pinctada
maxima, the

most common Australian pearl oyster. The shell was as big as a turkey platter and colored
inside like a gentle tropical dawn. The choker necklace resting on the shell was made of
pearls as big as a thumbnail. And like a thumbnail, these pearls lacked the satin
iridescence of a quality gem.

On first look the necklace was flashy and a tremendous buy. On second look it rather
resembled a tiny version of china eggs, the kind women once used for darning socks or
fooling hens. On third look, the necklace was way overpriced. The pearls were big and
fairly round, but their luster was dismal. Like chalk.

Need any help, luv? asked the shopkeeper.

Hannah turned around and saw a woman wearing hair an unlikely shade of red, a T-shirt
proclaiming the joys of camel riding in the moonlight, and the kind of skin that came from
fifty years of sunbathing. Uh, well...

Oh, no, Archer said from behind her. You arent going to start whining about me buying you
pearls again, are you?

The voice wasnt like his usual one. It was higher, longsuffering, and grudgingly indulgent.

It didnt take Hannah two seconds to catch on. She spun around and put her hands on her
hips. Her mouth was set in a hard-edged pout, which was a good thing. Otherwise it would
have dropped open at the sight of him. Loud sport shirt, safari pants, and no facial fur
except for a thick mustache.

I told you, baby, he continued. Pearls cost more in Broome, not less.

When Hannah spoke, it was with a pronounced whine. I could be in Tahiti sipping gin and
watching men in G-strings juggle torches, but no, you had to come to Australia. Adventure,
you said. Exotic animals. Thousands of miles of pristine sugar-sand beaches. So I came,
and what did I get? Mudflats, sweat, and nasty flies. But have I complained? Hell no. The
least you could do is buy me some pearls!

He looked at the choker, grimaced, and looked away. He would rather have owned the shell
the pearls came from. Too much. It would max out our plastic.

Were having a special on pearls, luv, the shopkeeper said quickly. She sized up the
couples clothes, the irritation reddening the ladys cheeks, and the guilt on the mans
face. Thirty percent off. But since your Sheilas been such a good sport, Ill make it forty.

He looked at the pearls, hesitated, and shook his head. Half, then, the shopkeeper said
instantly. Youre a shrewd man in a bargain, mate.

Archer shook his head, but his eyes gleamed with amusement only Hannah could see, egging
her on.

Honey, she said, drawing out the endearment. Her tone was both sexy and threatening. What
she threatened was an embarrassing scene if he didnt buy the pearls. You promised. With a
few curses under his breath, he reached into one of the eighteen pockets decorating his
wrinkled safari pants, hauled out the wallet he had seen for the first time a few minutes
ago, and handed over a debit card to the shopkeeper. Hannah gave him a sultry smile, put
one arm around his waist, and began whispering against his chest. Is that your card? she
asked. Never seen it before in my life.

Her eyes widened and she asked anxiously, Do you know the PIN number?

A little late to be thinking of that, isnt it? She looked stricken.

Dont worry, sweetheart. He kissed her lips, then slid his tongue along them. Its all taken
care of. Uncle is thorough.

A few moments later Hannah left the shop with a cheap but not inexpensive pearl choker
around her throat. Despite the inferior quality of the pearls, she liked the heavy, cool
feel of them against her skin.

What are you smiling about? Archer asked. You throw away better pearls than that every
day. Yes. But this is the first time Ive owned any. Out of all the pearls youve seeded,
sorted, color-matched, doctored, you never owned one? Everything that was worth selling
got sold. Except for

Yes, he cut in quickly, thinking of the black rainbows. He touched the choker with gentle
fingertips. If I had known, I would have bought you a good necklace. Then he laughed. No,
I wouldnt have. Anyone who follows us will be looking for people who know about pearls. No
one who knew anything about pearls would buy that necklace.

She didnt argue, but she kept smoothing her fingers over the pearls just the same,
enjoying them.

Smiling, Archer looked at his watch. Time to go.

Where?

The airport. He handed over a small cloth purse. Your California drivers license and
credit cards are inside if anyone wants ID at the gate.

She blinked. Gate. As in airplane?

Yeah. Were going to Darwin.

Why?

Because when they dont find our names on a flight out of Broome, theyll assume we drove to
Derby, so theyll look for us there.

Who will be looking for us?

Should be interesting to find out.

Is that why were going? Just to find out if anyone follows?

No.

Hannah dug in her heels and stopped. I cant just walk away from Pearl Cove and have a
little holiday.

Thats what everyone thinks. Except you, she retorted. I dont know what you think at all. I
think well be dead in two days one week max if we stay in Pearl Cove.

A chill went over her that the sun couldnt touch. She looked at his face, hoping he was
making a bleak joke. Nothing she saw reassured her. Without the beard, the harsh beauty of
his face was fully revealed: angular, balanced, strong, unflinching, framed in darkness.
His eyes were clear and remote, reflecting the torrid sky. And like the sun, his eyes were
relentless. The man who had laughed with her, teased her, loved her, was gone as though he
had never existed.

Very soon Flynn, Chang, and whoever else has bought in to the game will have had enough
time to ransack whats left of Pearl Cove, Archer said calmly. When they come up empty,
theyll have to admit that the secret to the black rainbows isnt in the ruins. Thats when
theyll come after you.

But I dont know!

Im sure theyll believe you, eventually. Unfortunately, by then youll know too much about
who killed Len, who has been creaming Lens pearls, and who has been laundering pearls
through him. Youll be a liability who is known to enjoy diving. Alone. If theyre feeling
kind, theyll let you die that way. If not,

theyll simply feed you to the sharks.

Hannah opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out but a hoarse sound.

His expression gentled. He brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. Dont worry,
sweetheart. Im taking you to a safe place.

She heard what he didnt say. What about you?

Im a big boy. He glanced at his watch. They were cutting it fine. When we get on the
plane, dont talk about anything that has to do with pearls.

I thought you said we would be safe.

Im working on it.

Darwin had paved streets, more people, bigger buildings, and the same climate as Broome.
The gunmetal sky promised rain; the inhabitants prayed for it as a temporary relief from
the merciless seasonal buildup of heat and humidity. The clothes in the store windows and
on the pedestrians were a decade or two more fashionable than Broomes. Despite the
punishing climate, people darted from building to building with a purpose greater than
merely getting in out of the heat. Darwin didnt have the pace of Seattle, much less of
Manhattan or Tokyo, but the beat of life was faster here than Broomes no-worries-mate
indolence.

Archer looked in the window of a jewelry store, but it wasnt the Australian pink and green
diamonds that held his eye, or even the silky, lustrous Australian pearls in every shade
from moon white to midnight black. What interested him was the stores thick plate glass.
It made a decent mirror, which meant that he didnt have to crane his neck to check for
followers.

The street behind them was busy enough so that he and Hannah didnt stand out, yet not
crowded enough to make a tails life easy. Archer was eighty percent certain that someone
had followed them from the airport. April Joys man, probably. As the person who supplied
the tickets, passports, and clothes, she was the only one who would have a clear idea who
to look for and where to look for them.

See anything, er, darling? Hannah asked. She didnt know what else to call Archer, because
his real name didnt match his present ID.

Just some pretty jewelry. She let out a long sigh. Good. Could we go to our hotel or
wherever were staying? He smiled slightly. Tired? Hungry, too. She glanced around
furtively. And this wig itches like fire ants.

He looked at his watch, took her arm, and headed for one of the rundown bars he had
noticed during a taxi ride along the waterfront. If anyone followed them, Archer couldnt
pick the shadow out of the pack of normal citizens.

Here, he said.

She glanced at the dirty neon lights flashing dim messages about beer and fun. Im not sure
Im this hungry,

Were not here to eat.

Small comfort, she muttered.

She followed him into the dim bar. It was surprisingly full of people. Most of them had
the look of serious drinkers seriously intent on maintaining an alcohol haze. The
air-conditioning wasnt up to the demands of sweat and cigarettes.

Ive smelled better oyster dumps, Hannah said under her breath.

Archer didnt argue. He just kept taking her deeper into the barroom. He caught a servers
eye, held up two fingers, and pointed toward an empty booth. As soon as the server brought
two beers, he paid, left a tip on the table, and kept on watching for new customers coming
in the door.

Sipping her beer, Hannah looked around the bar with a combination of disbelief and
sympathy.

Disbelief that anyone would choose to spend time in such a hole, and sympathy that they
had no more appealing choices.

The three women sitting together at the bar were especially hard for her to watch. Their
hair was dyed, lacquered, and hadnt been combed for too long. They smoked constantly,
squinting through eyes that had seen too much, none of it good. Their mouths were painted
on in bright, hard colors. So were their clothes.

When a man walked up, squeezed one of them low on her hip, and held up a twenty-dollar
bill, the women glanced among themselves as though deciding whose cigarette break was over
and who was still off duty. Finally the woman with the biggest hair tossed her cigarette
on a mound of dead and dying butts and strolled toward the door at the back of the bar.
The man followed, already reaching into his fly.