Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

to the owner who had this box made.”
    “ ‘Donated,’ huh? Nice of them.”
    “The Soviet Empire was once quite large and wealthy.” Resnikov shrugged. “Now it is smaller and much poorer.”
    “It happens.”
    For a moment longer Jake looked at the incredible pieces of art that had been carved in reverence and awe by human hands so long, long ago. Slowly he reached out, closed the lid of the box, and fastened its gold catch.
    “No thanks, Pete. I only work for one friend at a time.”
    Resnikov went very still. “I cannot believe that you are part of Kyle Donovan’s scheme.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Then why do you refuse to work with me? Our countries are no longer enemies.”
    “It has nothing to do with politics.” Jake’s big hand closed around Honor’s. He lifted her cool fingers to his lips. “I’m working with Miss Donovan. We’re . . . very good friends.”
    She couldn’t hide the shiver of response that went through her as his breath warmed her skin. Nor could she hide her relief.
    Until that instant, Honor hadn’t known just how alone she would feel if Jake left her to search for Kyle by herself.
    “You do not have to answer me tonight,” Resnikov said through tight lips. “Think about it for one day. Do not let your stiff neck rule your mind, Jacob. You are not strong enough to own the Amber Room.”
    “I don’t want to.”
    The Russian looked at Jake for the space of four long breaths, then nodded, believing him.
    “In that event, I have an alternative suggestion,” Resnikov said smoothly. “Take your lovely friend to Paris or Rome or London at my expense. Stay for at least a month.” Deliberately he opened the box of amber once more. “No matter your decision after that month, keep these as a small token of our friendship.”
    Tucked among shadows, ancient amber gleamed with time and mystery and the yearnings of people long dead.
    Jake stood up, pulling Honor with him. “It won’t be any different tomorrow. No sale and no time-outs. Do you understand?”
    Slowly Resnikov nodded. “And you, J. Jacob Mallory, do you understand?”
    “You can bet your life on it. Say good-bye, Honor.”
    Jake handed her the suitcase, grabbed her arm in his left hand, and headed for the back door.
    “When you change your mind,” Resnikov said clearly, “I can be reached at the Ana Curtis Hotel.”
    “I won’t.”
    “I believe you will. My employers can be very persuasive.”
    Jake kicked the chair from beneath the door handle and pulled Honor out into the alley. She didn’t realize he was holding a gun down along his right leg until he let go of her, pulled the truck keys out of his pocket with his left hand, and tossed them in her direction.
    “Drive.”
    For once she didn’t argue.

17
    “T URN HERE,” JAKE said. “We’re going to my cabin.”
    “You may be,” Honor said, ignoring his instructions, “but I’m going back to Kyle’s cottage.”
    He turned his head to look at her. Her stubborn chin was tilted up, as though to meet the darkness head-on.
    “Allow me to explain what happened back there,” he said softly.
    “I was there, remember?”
    “Your body was. Your brain wasn’t, or you would know how silly you sound talking about going alone to Kyle’s cottage.”
    Honor’s instincts told her that Jake was right, but she had no intention of sharing that gut feeling with him. She felt too off balance to trust herself to keep her distance if he reached for her in the darkness of a shared cottage.
    Or if he didn’t.
    “Resnikov believes you won’t betray me,” Honor said. “But then, he doesn’t know what happened, does he?”
    “What happened is that I spent the past hour examining some world-class amber artifacts, artifacts that—”
    “I was there, remem—”
    “—could only have come from Russian state museums. That means one of several things. Pete could be representing the official government in an official, but covert, capacity. He could be tied into the branch of the Kaliningrad mafiya that controls, or hopes to control, the mining and distribution of amber in the Baltic States. He could have stolen the pieces we saw tonight and hopes to bribe me with them in order to get his hands on even more valuable goods.”
    “Like the Amber Room?”
    “Or information about who stole it and how it was smuggled out of Russia and, most important, why.”
    “Greed,” she said succinctly.
    “Of course. But greed for what ? The amber itself? Money?