Merline Lovelace - Diamonds Can Be Deadly

T.J.’s gaze had dropped to the middle of her chest. Glancing down, Jordan saw a mottled bruise already forming on the hand gripping the towel.

“It’s nothing. I just hit my hand on the counter when I went down.”

He crossed the room in two strides. “Better let me take a look at that.”

“Hey! Do you mind? I’m naked here.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” was T.J.’s response. “Give me your hand, Red.”

And release her death grip on the towel? Jordan didn’t think so. “What are you going to do?” she jeered. “Kiss the boo-boo and make it better?”

His grin slipped out then. The same grin that used to give her quivers. “The NYPD first responder’s medical training didn’t include kissing as a treatment option.

“But I’m certainly willing to give it a shot.”

Dear Reader,

I’ve visited Hawaii many times but was struck all over again by its beauty when my husband and I cruised the islands a few months ago. Jagged mountains, lush vegetation, steep ravines—nothing like all that wild splendor to fire a writer’s imagination and get her thinking about perfect spots for clandestine operations and/or buried bodies!

Then there’s the romance of the islands. How could anyone not fall in love on a spun-sugar beach kissed by tropical breezes and soft, shimmering waves? Sigh… So naturally I had to set Book #1 in the continuation of my CODE NAME: DANGER series in beautiful Hawaii. Hope you enjoy the adventures of T. J. Scott and Jordan Colby, aka Diamond, as much as I did.

And be sure to watch for Book #2, coming from Silhouette Desire in May 2006. Set along the coast of Baja, Mexico, Devlin and the Deep Blue Sea involves a tough, sexy undercover agent, a chopper pilot working the offshore oil rigs and a particularly smarmy shark.

All my best,

Merline Lovelace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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spent twenty-three years in the U.S. Air Force, pulling tours in Vietnam, at the Pentagon and at bases all over the world. When she hung up her uniform, she decided to try her hand at writing. She’s since had more than fifty novels published, with over seven million copies of her work in print. Watch for Devlin and the Deep Blue Sea, the next book in the CODE NAME: DANGER series, coming in May from Silhouette Desire.

For my sweetie and that never-to-be-forgotten

evening on the balcony of the Sheraton Hawaii!

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

It was the kind of party only Georg Vostok could throw, a fifty-thousand-dollar-a-head gala to benefit victims of the devastating earthquake that had all but destroyed his native Chekistan. Vostok had skimmed the very top layers of Palm Beach’s vacationing elite. Movie stars rubbed elbows with Armani-clad mafia. Politicians and poet laureates poured booze down their throats with equal enthusiasm. A sleek, wellknown madame smiled seductively as she sized up potential clients. There was even a smattering of royalty.

The arrival of an elderly French duke barely stirred a ripple of interest, but the American-born wife of the sultan of D’han stopped all conversation dead when her bodyguards escorted her into the soaring glass foyer of the Institute of Modern Art. Blond and bronzed, the sultana had traded her burqa for a strapless white evening gown that showed off her slender curves and formed a perfect backdrop for the Star of the East. The 900-carat oval emerald was set in a plain gold bezel suspended from a gold chain. Shooting sparks of green fire, it drew every eye at the gala.

A smile rearranged the lines of Georg’s dour, craggy face. Thrusting his Baccarat champagne flute at a waiter, he hurried forward to greet her. “Barbara. You have come!”

The sultana brushed past her bodyguards, took Vostok’s outstretched hands and stooped for a kiss. “For you, my darling Georg, anytime.”

“No, no! For my beloved Chekistan.” His smile faded. “You cannot imagine the horror. I tell you, Barbara, I have seen nothing like it. It haunts my dreams, my every waking moment.”

“We’ll help, Georg. My husband has earmarked fifty million for immediate aid, and we’ll—”

She broke off, her delicate nose wrinkling. She was too well mannered to mention the odd smell, but her host had already picked up on it. Frowning, Vostok sniffed the air.

“What is this stink? Excuse me, Barbara. I must—”

That’s all he got out before he gave a small, in- articulate grunt. His eyes rolling back in his head, he slumped to the floor.

“Sultana!”

The bodyguards shoved forward, but before they could reach their charge, her legs seemed to give out and she crumpled where she stood. The larger of the two men went down almost on top of her. The other dropped like a felled ox a few feet away.

An aged dowager in a collar of priceless pearls let out a shrill scream. Her thirty-something escort cursed. A tuxedo-clad waiter dropped a tray of champagne flutes and stumbled to his knees.

Five seconds later, the entire glittering throng lay sprawled across the black-and-white tiled floor.

April was in full bloom in Washington, D.C. A gentle breeze rustled through branches budding with tender green. Forsythia flowered in great, showy bursts of yellow. Daffodils, tulips and crocuses sprang from pots and planters on almost every stoop, while tourists from around the world strolled the Tidal Basin under canopies of blooming cherry blossoms.

The graceful, Federal-style town house just off Massachusetts Avenue stood ready to greet the spring. Windows scrubbed clean of winter grime sparkled in the afternoon sunshine. The front door gleamed with a fresh coat of cinnabar paint. The discreet brass plaque set beside the door had been polished to a loving shine.

The plaque identified the town house as home to the offices of the president’s Special Envoy. Most Washington insiders knew that the Special Envoy was one of those meaningless positions created several administrations ago to give a wealthy campaign contributor an important-sounding title and an office in the nation’s capital.

Only a select few were aware that the Special Envoy’s offices occupied just the first floor of the town house. Fewer still knew that the other floors served as the headquarters and home base of a covert government agency. An agency whose initials comprised the last letter of the Greek alphabet. An agency whose operatives were sent into the field only as a last resort, when all other government remedies had failed.

One of OMEGA’s agents was preparing to go into the field now. The director had yanked her out of New York and was personally conducting her mission pre-brief.