Donovans 02 - Jade Island

Prologue
    T he man was frightened.
    His hands shook as he picked up pieces of jade and packed them into boxes. Precious jade, ancient jade, the Stone of Heaven…the dreams of man carved in rock with inhuman patience, inhuman skill.
    Dreams that roused envy, greed, avarice.
    Dreams that led to theft, betrayal, death.
    His hands were colder than the jade he stole piece by piece, dream by dream, the soul of an entire culture passing through his clammy fingers. Here a dragon coiled in elegant designs that were three thousand years old. There a scholar stood wrapped in cloud-soft curves of creamy stone. In the corner a mountain loomed, the lives of the sages carved into its moss-green face, lives sculpted by artisans whose own lifetimes came and went before the creation was complete.
    Dreams of beauty condensed into a thousand shades of jade, white sliding to ebony, green shimmering to blue, red burning to yellow; and all colors transformed harsh light into an ethereal glow, a soul lit from within.
    Unique.
    Priceless.
    Irreplaceable.
    Seven thousand years of culture stacked in gleaming array. Ancient bi, disks that represented heaven; equally ancient cong, hollow cylinders that represented earth. Ceremonial blades and armbands exquisitely carved with symbols whose real meanings were older than man’s memory. Rings, bracelets, earrings, pendants, buckles, seals, bowls, cups, plaques, clouds, mountains, knives, axes, men, women, dragons, horses, fish, pigs, birds, the immortal lotus; everything a culture ever dreamed had been patiently, patiently, carved from the only gemstone that spoke to this culture’s soul.
    Jade.
    “Hurry up, you fool.”
    The man gasped and would have dropped a fragile, ageless bowl if another hand hadn’t shot from the gloom and grabbed the cool, hollowed-out hemisphere.
    “Wh-what are you doing here?” the first man asked, his heart slamming frantically.
    “Making certain you do it right.”
    “What?”
    “Pillage the Jade Emperor’s Tomb, what else?” replied the second man sardonically.
    “I—not all—I—no! It will be discovered!”
    “Not if you do what I say.”
    “But—”
    “ Listen to me. ”
    Shaking, the first man listened. Hope and fear grew in him equally. He didn’t know which was worse. He only knew that he had dug this grave with his own hand.
    And he would do anything not to be buried in it.
    As he listened, he didn’t know whether to laugh or weep or hide from the devil who whispered coolly, gently, of absolute betrayal. It was so simple after all. It wasn’t necessary for him to grasp the nettle of guilt firmly. The devil had found someone else to grasp it for him.
    Understanding that, the thief laughed.
    When he went back to packing the priceless jade, his hands were warm.

Chapter 1
    T he pounding on Lianne Blakely’s door made her sit straight up in bed, her heart beating rapidly. For an instant she wondered if she was dreaming all the noise. She certainly was tired enough to be dreaming. She had worked late last night, arranging and rearranging the beautiful jade pieces in her apartment until she was certain she had the right design for the Jade Trader display at tonight’s charity auction.
    The pounding increased in volume.
    Lianne shook her head, pushed heavy waves of black hair out of her face, and stared at the bedside clock. Barely 6 A . M . She looked out the small window. Dawn had arrived in most of Seattle, but not in her old, west-facing apartment above Pioneer Square. Even if the morning had been clear—it wasn’t—no sunlight would reach her windows until late morning.
    “Lianne, wake up! It’s Johnny Tang. Open the door!”
    Now she really wondered if she was dreaming. Johnny had never been to her apartment, or to her business office, which was just down the hall. In fact, she rarely saw him at all unless she was visiting her mother in Kirkland.
    “Lianne!”
    “Just a minute—I’m coming!” she called.
    Grateful that there were no neighbors to complain about all the yelling on a Saturday morning, Lianne kicked off the duvet, grabbed the red silk robe her mother had givenher last Christmas, and hurried to the door. Two locks and a dead bolt later, she yanked the door open.
    “What’s wrong?” Lianne demanded. “Is it Mother?”
    “Anna is fine. She wants to see you before the auction.”
    Mentally Lianne rearranged her crammed schedule. If she did her own nails, she could manage a visit. Barely. “I’ll swing by after I