Part 43 (2/2)
Archer knew it was. Silently he followed her, ignoring the sting from the cuts on his face and the dull aches where bullets had slammed into Kevlar, bruising the much more fragile flesh beneath the high-tech fibers. It was far harder to ignore the rain-wet silk plastered to Hannah's body in a way that told him she wore nothing beneath but skin. He wondered if it was the same beneath her jeans: bare, beautiful skin.
The adrenaline of battle s.h.i.+fted into a different kind of readiness, his body humming with heat and life. While she set up the lamp on the coffee table in the sitting room, he had time to think about how quickly she had dressed, how much she might have left behind. He s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably, wis.h.i.+ng that Kevlar shorts stretched like regular underwear.
When she bent over to spread out the pearls, the black silk clung to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, outlining her erect nipples. A drop of water went from the ends of her dark hair to her neck, and from there to the soft, pale hollow of her throat.
Archer swallowed hard and looked away. He fought a brief, bitter battle for self-control. When he could no longer count his heartbeats in his crotch, he focused on the pearls Hannah had spread across the table. Without a sorting screen, he couldn't be certain, but they looked like they went from twelve to sixteen millimeters. There were at least two hundred of the iridescent black gems. Perhaps as many as three hundred.
Even if there had been only one third that number, he had made a h.e.l.l of a buy.
Stretching the thumb and index fingers of both hands as wide as she could, she gathered the pearls into a group and nudged them along the table, watching how they moved. Her hands were too small to corral all the pearls.
”Here.” Archer knelt across from her and helped her to form a bigger rectangle around the pearls with his hands. ”Better?”
The huskiness of his voice sent a flick of fire over Hannah's nerve endings. Not trusting herself to look at him, not knowing what she would do if she saw desire in his eyes, she said, ”Roll them.”
Together they eased their hands across the table, herding gleaming pearls within the rough rectangle their ringers created. She watched intently. There were no obvious culls, no pearls that lurched or staggered. She divided out one third of the gems.
”Roll those while I watch,” she said.
Under Hannah's directions, Archer rolled and spun the pearls while she watched for any less-than-spherical gems. It would have been easier with the slanting table used in pearl-sorting rooms, but this way worked almost as well. Pearls had been sorted by hand long before slanted tables were used.
”Round,” she said finally. ”Not a wobbler in the lot. No obvious imperfections, but I'll check them individually. The orient is good. Excellent.”
”So tell me. Did I buy the Black Trinity wrapped in a cheap rubber band?”
She bit her lip. She very much wanted these to be the Black Trinity, to have it over with. Finished.
She was very much afraid it wasn't.
”Do you want a loupe?” Archer asked.
”Do you have one?”
Instead of answering, he went in the bedroom. There he opened the belly drawer of his desk and pulled out the handy little magnifying gla.s.s jewelers used. Cleaning it on his flannel s.h.i.+rt, he went back to the living room.
Without looking away from the pearls, Hannah took the loupe. But she felt the casual touch of his fingers all the way to her toes. There was a fine trembling in her fingers when she opened the gla.s.s and put it to her eye.
Archer sat down to take off his wet shoes and socks. His jeans were also wet, but he didn't trust himself to take them off and not reach for her.
For a long time there was no sound but the soft click of pearls being picked up and returned to the table, one after the other. When Hannah was finally finished, she looked up. He was watching her with eyes that were patient and something more, something elemental. Hot. An answering heat snaked through her.
”Well?” he asked.
”No.”
”You're certain?”
”Yes. These are the final culls, the ones that were replaced within the strands when more perfect color matches were discovered in each new harvest.”
Archer looked down at the deeply iridescent, darkly mysterious pearls. He whistled softly. ”These are culls?”
”Len's G.o.d was a demanding G.o.d. Perfection or h.e.l.l.”
”So we're back where we started from,” he said.
”Not quite.”
”What do you mean?”
”These pearls were kept with the Black Trinity.”
Archer went still. ”You're sure?”
”As sure as I can be without knowing Len's hiding place. But I can't think he had more than one.”
”For all his special pearls?”
She nodded.
”How many does he have?”
”Rainbow pearls?”
”Yes.”
”Even after he ground up the less-than-perfect ones, there must have been at least a thousand left, plus the Black Trinity.”
”A small hiding place, then. One that is within reach of a wheelchair and proof against professional searches and natural disasters like cyclones.”
”I never thought of it that way, but... yes.”
”That's why you called me, Hannah. To think like Len.” His voice was cool and remote.
She watched his long finger gently rolling a pearl back and forth, back and forth. A stark memory ripped through her: a gun barrel poking out of the wall, pointing at Archer and the table where money was stacked like poker chips in a deadly game. There had been no time for her to think, to reason, to plan. There had only been the certainty of his death and her scream tearing her throat as she threw herself at him and knocked him aside.
Then the bullets thudding home, making him jerk against her as they lay tangled on the floor.
Abruptly Hannah stood and combed back her damp hair with fingers that shook. She wouldn't think of what had happened. She couldn't or she would scream again. Somehow she had to force herself to be as calm as he was, to accept that murder was as much a part of life as safety.
Yet when she looked at him, she ached with the emotions that were buried inside her, clawing to be free. His face was shadowed by black stubble and something much darker. His hands were big, hard, and very careful with the fragile pearls. His shoulders were straight despite the weariness that she had seen in his eyes. She wanted to go to him, touch him, kiss him, sink into him even as he sank into her, to forget everything but the heat and vitality of him; and she wanted it so much she could barely stand.
And she feared wanting him. She feared showing vulnerability to a man as hard as Len had been.
The sound Hannah made was small, but it brought Archer's head up sharply. He saw the wet silk painted to her body, saw her tight nipples and soft mouth, her indigo eyes as wild as any storm.
”Don't think about it,” ht said quietly. ”It's over. Everyone is safe.”
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