Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

investigating Broome’s potential as a pearl supplier.”
    “But Kyle never talked about diving here?”
    “Only in the negative. As diving goes, I gather the San Juan Islands aren’t much.”
    “Compared to the tropics, they aren’t. Diving here is hard, cold work. The currents are always tricky and often “Do you dive?”
    He shrugged. “Some. Is Kyle’s diving gear stored up at the cottage?”
    “No.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “I turned that place upside down looking for his twenty-two pistol. I didn’t find any diving gear.”
    “What about the pistol?”
    “It’s missing, too.” Then she added quickly, “But the guy who washed up on the beach wasn’t shot, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    “All I’m thinking of is not burning the eggs.” He swirled the mixture around and tested the edges. Not ready to fold yet. “Did you see anything like this when you were searching?” he asked, turning toward the galley table.
    Honor looked at the small electronic gizmo he picked up off the table.
    “What is it?” she asked.
    “GPS receiver.”
    “Hello?”
    “Global Positioning System. A receiver tells you where you are within a few yards or a few hundred feet, depending on how the government has dicked with the signal.”
    Eyebrows raised, she glanced at the modest-looking bit of electronics again. “I didn’t see anything like it.”
    He wasn’t surprised. He suspected that Kyle had the GPS unit with him. For whatever reason, Kyle had chosen to leave the SeaSport behind and use the Zodiac instead. Locating things at sea was dicey. A GPS made it almost easy. Almost, but not quite.
    “Where else might Kyle keep dive gear?” Jake asked.
    “Not in his car. I checked it first thing.”
    Jake focused on the omelet. He didn’t want to be too obvious about finding out where Honor’s brother might store things he didn’t keep on the premises, but subtlety wasn’t getting the job done.
    “Does Kyle have one of those U-rent storage lockers in that place on the edge of town?” Jake asked finally, folding the omelet with a flip of the spatula.
    “If he does, I didn’t see anything about it in his checkbook. That omelet smells heavenly. What’s in it?”
    “Cilantro, sweet onions, jack cheese,” he said absently. He was digesting the information that Honor had been through Kyle’s check register in search of anything that might lead to her brother. For all her talk of nonlinear information sources, she didn’t overlook the linear kind. “Any unusual deposits or withdrawals?”
    “No big ones, if that’s what you mean.”
    “That’s what I mean.”
    “The only sort of unusual check was to a wine seller in California. And for Kyle, that’s not really unusual. He likes decent wines, but not the kind it’s high drama to drink.”
    “High drama?” Jake asked, looking at her.
    “You know. The kind you have to open with a sterling silver corkscrew, pour into Baccarat crystal, and roll around on your tongue while someone whispers in your ear about all the fine points of the vintage that you, slobby peasant that you are, would overlook in quest of good old alcohol.”
    Smiling, Jake lifted a corner of the omelet and decided it could wait for a few more moments. “What about his post office box?”
    “Junk mail. Household bills. More junk mail.”
    “Telephone bill?”
    The last traces of humor left Honor’s expression. “That too.”
    He waited, hoping he wouldn’t have to drag information out of her like a cop on cross-examination. He was walking a very fine line between making her suspicious by asking too many questions about Kyle and wasting time by not asking questions.
    “There haven’t been any long-distance calls charged on this number since Kyle went to Kaliningrad,” Honor said finally. “At least, none that have been billed yet.”
    Jake didn’t point out that dead men don’t make phone calls. Neither did men who were on the run with a fortune in stolen amber and didn’t want to be traced.
    He slid the omelet onto a plate and put it in front of her. “Eat while I cast off. The tide isn’t patient.”
    “What about you?”
    “Under the right circumstances I can be very patient.”
    She watched his slow smile and wondered if it had been registered as a lethal weapon. “Um, I meant the omelet. Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?”
    “I already did.”
    Jake shut the cabin door behind him as he left, keeping out the chilly wind that was rising with the