Death is Forever

and withdrew DSD’s answers to the various prayers. After she stacked the papers next to the prayers, she poured a glass of ice water, drank it, and set it aside.
    The room was silent except for the muted murmurs of men who still couldn’t believe what had been set before their eyes.
    “ConMin isn’t bulletproof,” Faulkner said baldly. “We’re at a crossroads. The reason is spread down the table in front of you. I’ve talked privately with every member of the advisory committee. Does anyone have anything to add?”
    This time the silence was complete.
    “Then I would like to officially welcome the newest member of the advisory committee, Mr. Chen Wing. Mr. Chen represents the interests of BlackWing Inc., the source of the diamonds you’ve been admiring. Thanks to Mr. Chen’s strenuous arguments with his partner, we will be handling fifty percent rather than twenty-five percent of the output of Black Dog Mines.”
    “For how long?” Yarakov demanded.
    “Three years.”
    An unhappy muttering in several languages ran around the table.
    “That is not enough time for short-term economic planning,” Yarakov said.
    The intercom began chiming with sweet insistence. Faulkner ignored it. It kept chiming.
    With a sharp curse, Faulkner slapped the switch. “This better be good.”
    “A Miss Erin Windsor is here.”
    “That’s real good, babe. Send her in.”
    The big door opened and Erin walked through. As she walked the length of the table, she didn’t notice the approving masculine looks from the various cartel members. She had eyes only for the big man who sat removed from the conference, his eyes hooded as he watched her.
    Cole was dressed as he’d been when she’d first seen him—black silk sport coat, gray slacks, white shirt, no tie. She also was dressed the same as she had been then, in black shirt and slacks still rumpled from the suitcase.
    “Well?” Faulkner demanded when Erin would have walked by without a word.
    “What did Cole say?” she asked without stopping.
    “A trial run,” Faulkner said quickly. “Three years, fifty percent of the output.”
    “One year, one hundred percent,” Erin countered as she stopped in front of Cole.
    “Two years, one hundred percent,” he suggested.
    “Two years, one hundred percent,” she agreed.
    “Mazel und broche,” Faulkner said quickly, sealing the bargain.
    A chorus of mazel s went around the table, echoed by Erin and Cole.
    With a look of shuttered hope, Cole watched the woman whose eyes were more beautiful than the diamond clenched in his fist.
    “Two years, huh?” he asked, his voice deep, almost rough.
    “Not for you.” Lifting her left hand, she traced his mouth with fingertips that trembled. “You don’t get off that easily. No trial run. All the years of your life. One hundred percent.”
    Silently Cole opened his hand, revealing the green flame of the diamond ring. “What about you?”
    “The same. One hundred percent. All the years of my life.”
    He put the ring on her finger and pulled her onto his lap. Just before he kissed her, he whispered against her mouth.
    “Welcome aboard the diamond tiger.”

Author’s Note
    When I began writing The Diamond Tiger in early 1990, the world was a very different place than it is now. Updating the book in the sense of bringing plot points into the twenty-first century was impossible. Too much has happened, from huge diamond finds in Canada to wrenching political changes around the world.
    I decided to leave the facts of the book intact—a snapshot of the diamond trade in the late 1980’s.
    Yet things other than politics change with time. Going through one of my favorite stories again gave me the chance to update some aspects of the storytelling. The result is a less formal, more colloquial novel.
    I hope you enjoyed the reading as much as I did the creating.

About the Author
    ELIZABETH LOWELL ’s acclaimed suspense novels include the New York Times bestsellers The Color of Death, Die in Plain Sight, Moving Target, Running Scared , and four books featuring the Donovan family, Amber Beach, Jade Island, Pearl Cove , and Midnight in Ruby Bayou . Lowell has more than thirty million books in print. She lives in Seattle, Washington, with her husband, with whom she writes mystery novels under a pseudonym. Visit her website at www.elizabethlowell.com.
     
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By Elizabeth Lowell
    T HE C OLOR OF