Donovans 02 - Jade Island

men’s footsteps and the click of Lianne’s five-inch heels were the only sounds in the long hall. Kyle had a hard time taking his eyes off the twitch and sway of her butt. The short coat she wore left too much to the imagination.
    And not enough.
    Despite Lianne’s distracting costume, Kyle made a low sound of appreciation when he saw the elegant jade screen that concealed the vault door. “I know museums that would commit grand theft to get their hands on a piece like that.”
    “It wouldn’t be the first time museums accepted stolen goods,” Lianne said dryly. She bent over the dial on the old vault door. “Every time another Old Master goes on display, some grandchild of World War Two claims that Hitler stole it from their family.”
    “Chances are he did,” Archer said, watching Lianne spin the dial once, twice.
    “Of course. But at what point do you say the statute has run out? One generation? Two? A century? Never? Pretty soon we’ll be in the position Hong Kong—damn,”she muttered and started over again on the combination. “We’ll be in the position Hong Kong was when it reverted to China. Businesses, collectors, owners of all kinds of Chinese artifacts simply packed them up and shipped them to Vancouver or Seattle, San Francisco or L.A. or New York. Anywhere the mainland Chinese and their new rules couldn’t confiscate them.”
    Frowning, Lianne fiddled yet again with the dial. “Incredible cultural treasures are simply gone, in hiding, because the rules of the game of provenance changed.” She looked up. “Like now. Somebody has changed the rules. Or in this case, the combination.”
    “Excuse me,” Archer said, gently pushing Lianne aside.
    “Get out of his way, sweetheart,” Kyle said. “This is why I let him come along.”
    Perplexed, she watched Archer reach into his jacket and pull out what looked like a very small tape player with earplugs attached. He tucked the plugs into his ears and pressed the box onto the vault door, near the dial. Eyes closed, face intent, he bent over the dial like a man over a lover, closing out everything else, living only for the next motion, the next sound, the next soft stirring that would tell him that his lover was responding.
    In the silence, even Lianne’s hushed breathing sounded loud. Archer caressed the dial with small movements of his fingertips, listening, listening, listening for the tiny noise that came when a tumbler fell into place and it was time for him to turn the dial the other way, find another number, another tumbler, and then another, until the last secret was known.
    Ten minutes later the vault door softly opened.
    “And I thought you were just another pretty face,” Lianne said to his back.
    “Live and learn.” Archer wiped off the dial with a clean handkerchief. “After you, Lianne.”
    She looked at the Donovan brothers, one light, one dark,both alike in all the ways that mattered. “You two should come with a government warning label.”
    “Innocent until proven guilty,” Kyle said. “Right, brother?”
    “Yeah.”
    Kyle nudged her into the vault. Archer was on their heels. As soon as they were inside, Lianne pulled the heavy door shut and turned on the light. Kyle took one look at the white jade bowl sitting on the small mahogany table, let out a reverent oath, and went closer.
    “Don’t touch anything,” Archer warned.
    “Suck eggs,” Kyle said absently. Hands in his pockets, he circled the table, devouring the bowl with his eyes.
    Lianne walked quickly to the small room that held Wen’s greatest prize. As always, the door was locked. She looked at the dial suspiciously, then at Archer. “I may need you again.”
    “I’ll be right here, wiping Kyle’s drool marks off the merchandise.”
    With fingers that were cold despite the warmth inside the vault, Lianne began turning the dial. She worked carefully, then let out a relieved sigh when the lock clicked open. As always, the door itself was stubborn. She tugged at it once, then again, harder.
    “Let me,” Kyle said, reaching past her.
    The door opened with a grumble, as though awakened from sleep. Holding her breath without realizing it, terrified that she would see only emptiness, Lianne reached in and turned on the light.
    A stone shroud lay on top of the coffin-sized table: motionless shades of green, the muted flash of gold threads beneath the overhead light.
    “Well?” Kyle asked.
    “It’s not Wen’s,” Lianne said simply.
    “How good