Diamonds Can Be Deadly

She knew better, dammit! All those years when she’d lived from hand to mouth, lying about her age, taking any job she could, she’d never let any male get close to her. The bone-deep wariness her stepfather had instilled with his fists had colored her every relationship with adult males. And despite the sultry image she projected on the runway, she’d never promised more than she intended to deliver. Until TJ.

Disgusted all over again at her acute lapse in judgment, Jordan angled her chin. “We’ve had this conversation before. Several times. Is there any point to continuing it?”

He opened his mouth, bit back whatever he was going to say and shook his head. “I guess there isn’t. See you around, Red.”

“That’s right,” she muttered, her eyes on the broad shoulders covered in green-and-white jungle print. “You most certainly will.”

TJ moved with the same lazy grace that had always characterized him. Even in those awful days after his arrest, his shoulders had stayed square and his long legs ate up the ground in an arrogant, self-confident stride.

Wrenching her gaze away, Jordan yanked open the door and approached the receptionist. Dark-haired, dark-eyed and lovely in a ruffled muumuu, the woman greeted her with a warm smile.

“Aloha. Welcome to the Tranquility Institute.”

“Aloha. I’m Jordan Colby. I have a reservation.”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Colby. I have your welcome package waiting for you.”

Reaching under a counter made of a solid slab of gnarled wood, she produced a slim folder.

“This contains a map of the grounds and a schedule of daily activities. There’s also a note from Mr. Greene’s personal assistant, confirming your appointment with him later this afternoon.”

“I don’t see a key to my cottage,” Jordan commented, shifting through the packet.

“You don’t need a key. Entry to all facilities is by visual recognition. All you have to do is look into the blinking red light beside the door. Are your bags in your car?”

“Just a briefcase and carryall.”

“If you’ll give Danny your car keys, he’ll fetch them and transport you to your bungalow.”

Jordan eyed the map and saw her cottage was one of a half dozen scattered along the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. The route looked simple and uncomplicated.

“I’ll drive myself.”

“Oh, no, ma’am.” Shaking her head, the receptionist signaled to a native Hawaiian the size and shape of a sumo wrestler. “We don’t allow private vehicles beyond this point. To maintain tranquility, the guest cottages and activity center are also telephone and television free. We ask that you leave your cell phone here at the desk to avoid disturbing the other guests.”

She smiled prettily, her teeth white against her skin.

“There’s a communications room here in the reception center with TV, phone, fax and Internet services if you need to keep in touch with the outside world.”

The tiny transmitter/receiver embedded in the gold earring would keep Jordan in touch with the outside world. She didn’t really require her cell phone and wouldn’t use it in any case to communicate with OMEGA, but decided to make the point that she hadn’t come as a guest.

“I’m here to see Mr. Greene on business,” she said firmly. “I need to retrieve messages and maintain contact with my employees. I won’t carry my cell phone with me when I leave my cottage, but I will be using it and my laptop computer while I’m here.”

The receptionist looked doubtful but was too well trained to argue with a guest.

“Very well. Danny, will you take Ms. Colby to her cottage, please?”

Big, bulky and exuberantly cheerful, Danny steered the golf cart along a path of crushed lava rock and pointed out the institute’s facilities. All the buildings were constructed in the same turn-of-the-century territorial style as the reception center, with steep, hipped roofs, green shutters and wide verandas.

“That’s the Lotus Spa,” Danny said, indicating a structure surrounded by swaying royal palms. “The spa café serves light breakfasts and lunches. Carrot juice and macadamia-nut salads and stuff like that,” he said with a shrug that suggested full-figured males like him needed heartier fare. “Regular meals are served from 6:00 a.m. to midnight at the Jade Buddha Restaurant. It’s over there, beside the waterfall.”

Jordan followed his pointing finger to a sparkling cascade that splashed downward from a bank of ferns into a three-tiered pool. At the upper lever was what appeared to be an elegant, open-air restaurant. At the lower level, water escaped in another silvery stream and plunged a hundred feet straight down into the sea.

“Room service is available twenty-four hours a day,” Danny assured her. “Best thing on the menu is the poke baked in seaweed.”

“Po-keh. Got it.”

“That’s the Meditation Center.” He hooked a thumb at a structure surrounded by flowering hibiscus. “Dr. Greene conducts all group sessions there. Private sessions are held either there or at his office.”

“Which is where?”

“His office? It’s in our corporate-headquarters building.”

Jordan consulted the printed map and saw that the central headquarters was set apart from the rest of the resort, along with several smaller administrative buildings and quarters for the staff.

“I understand you have an appointment with Dr. Greene at four,” Danny said as he pulled up at a cottage perched at the edge of the bluff. Rolling his bulk out of the golf cart, he retrieved her briefcase and bag. “I’ll swing back by and pick you up a few minutes before four.”

He stood aside for Jordan to activate the iris-recognition system. Stooping a little, she looked into the tiny camera eye mounted beside the door. A second eye, she noted, was positioned almost at waist level. For children, she surmised, or wheel-chair-bound guests.

“How do the maids get in to clean?” she asked when the door clicked open.

“They knock,” Danny replied, following her inside, “and if they get no answer, security authorizes an override.”

Jordan didn’t particularly care for the fact that TJ Scott controlled access to her bungalow. She knew it was standard operating procedure. All hotels required room entry for maintenance, servicing and the safety of their guests in emergency situations. Still, she’d make sure to set a few intrusion-detection devices so she could ascertain who went in and out of her rooms.

“This is your sitting room,” Danny said. “The bedroom and bathroom are through that louvered door.”

Given the exorbitant fees guests paid to stay at the resort, Jordan had anticipated sybaritic luxury. These rooms lived up to her expectations and then some. Exquisite Oriental art hung on walls painted a delicate coral. The furniture was an eclectic mix of rattan and dark, heavy antiques. Floral prints in mint green and coral provided splashes of bright color, while plantation shutters, overhead fans and potted palms added a distinctly tropical flavor.

But it was the view that stopped Jordan in her tracks. The plantation shutters framing the east wall of the sitting room were folded back, so that the interior of the cottage seemed to flow out onto the covered lanai. Beyond the lanai was a stunning vista of jungle-covered peaks saw-toothing up from a turquoise sea. Transfixed, Jordan could only gape at what looked like a Hollywood creation of paradise.

“This cottage has the best view of Ma’aona,” Danny commented as he deposited her briefcase on the sitting-room desk.

“Ma’aona?”

He directed her attention to a needle-sharp peak spearing high above the others.

“It’s a holy mountain, sacred to ancient Hawaiians. They threw people who broke tapu—the old laws—from the top of Ma’aona onto the rocks below.”

Tough bunch, the ancient Hawaiians.

“The burial site at the base of the mountain is off limits,” Danny advised, “but you can drive up to the state park near the peak.”

Jordan didn’t figure she’d have much time for visiting ancient archeological sites. With another glance at the jagged peak, she dug her wallet out of her shoulder bag.

Her driver refused the bill with a merry smile. “There’s no tipping anywhere on the grounds of the institute. It’s our pleasure to serve you. I hope you find peace and tranquility during your stay.”

Jordan hoped she found the 900-carat Star of the East and sufficient evidence of money laundering to hang Bartholomew Greene out to dry. The possibility she might hang his director of security alongside him was an added bonus.