Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

said in a hoarse voice.
    Instead of saying anything, Jake sat on his heels and grabbed the younger man’s wrist. The pulse was light, rapid. “Stick out your tongue.”
    “What?”
    “Jesus, you and Honor. Argue about the color of the sky rather than follow a simple order. Stick out your damned tongue.”
    Kyle smiled. His dry lips cracked and bled. He licked up the moisture hungrily and stuck out his tongue at Jake. “How’s it look?”
    “Bloody awful, but not dangerously dehydrated. When was the last time you had water?”
    “Did it rain last night?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then it was last night. But it wasn’t enough.”
    “Didn’t you have any water with you?”
    “Some, but I didn’t plan on staying for a week.”
    “What about food?”
    “Shipwreck menu,” Kyle said huskily. His eyelids closed. “Shellfish and seaweed.”
    The sympathy Jake felt irritated him almost as much as having a gun held on him. “Where’s the amber?”
    “The stuff you signed over to me is at a Kamchatka fishing camp.”
    “What about the rest of it?”
    Kyle’s eyes opened. “What?”
    “The Amber Room,” Jake said savagely. “What about it?”
    Suddenly Kyle looked twice as haggard as he had before. “So you were part of it. Shit! I couldn’t believe you set me up to die!”
    “I didn’t, but you set me up to take the fall for the stolen amber.”
    “Like hell,” Kyle said, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t even know something was wrong until the driver I picked up tried to kill me.”
    “So you dumped his body and—”
    “He was breathing when I left him,” Kyle interrupted.
    “He wasn’t when they found him.”
    Kyle closed his eyes in a grimace of pain. He looked like a man who was reaching the end of his endurance.
    Jake sighed and swore under his breath. What had been a straightforward, if bitterly painful, assignment of blame for the theft of the amber had just gotten real complicated. Even so, Jake was relieved that Kyle had been fooled rather than crooked.
    “Don’t feel sorry for the bastard you chucked out of the truck,” Jake said. “He’s the one who jumped you, not the other way around.”
    Kyle didn’t answer.
    “When did you find out you had a panel of the Amber Room?” Jake asked.
    Slowly Kyle’s eyes opened. They were bleak and measuring, as though he regretted the loss of his gun. His whole body had changed. Despite his exhaustion, he could still gather himself for an attack. “How do you know about that?”
    “A former associate told me.”
    “Russian?”
    “American. Some of the folks I worked for before I started my own company.”
    “Oh. Them. Hell, this is a royal cock-up, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah. Do you have the amber?”
    Kyle nodded.
    “Here?” Jake asked.
    “Out there.” Wearily he waved at the water.
    Jake squeezed Kyle’s right shoulder reassuringly and stood up. “I’ll bring water. And Honor, no doubt. I should break your neck for not telling your family that you’re all right, but I promised not to touch you.”
    “Bring the water and then get her away from here.”
    “You’re not thinking very well. The lady doesn’t take orders any better than any other Donovan.”
    “And you do?”
    “Sure. I’m a regular little altar boy.”
    Kyle gave him a tired smile, winced, and fell back into an uneasy state that was neither consciousness nor sleep, more of a drifting that was broken by adrenaline-filled wakefulness at every unusual sound.
    The next thing Kyle knew, Honor was kneeling at his side, trying to get him to sit up.
    “Don’t pull on that arm,” Jake cautioned her. “It’s hurt.”
    “You said he was all right!”
    The anger, fear, and love in her voice made Kyle want to smile, but he knew better-his lips were too sore. Like his eyes. Dry and wanting to stay in the dark.
    “There’s nothing wrong with your brother that antibiotics, a glucose drip, and twenty-four hours’ sleep won’t cure,” Jake said. “You awake, Kyle?”
    “Sort of,” he said hoarsely. “Water?”
    “Right here. I’m going to help you sit up so you won’t choke.” Jake slid his arm under Kyle’s shoulders and lifted him.
    Breath hissed through Kyle’s teeth.
    “What is it?” Honor asked.
    “Ribs,” Kyle said. “Bastard kicked me.”
    “The driver?” Honor asked, remembering what Jake had told her as he hustled her into the Zodiac.
    “One of the Russians they sent after me,” Kyle said.
    “The one who washed ashore about a week ago?” Jake