Donovans 03 - Pearl Cove

calm words infuriated Hannah as much as having Archer look at her like a stranger, as though they had never fused together in a naked tangle of limbs, hearts beating wildly, hands gripping, minds empty of all but urgency and ecstasy.
    If you want protection or sex, punch number six.
    “You wouldn’t know the Black Trinity if it walked up and bit you on your bum,” she said distinctly.
    “It doesn’t take a color-matching genius to recognize one of Len’s experimental pearls.”
    “One of them, sure. Even a color-blind cat could do that. But how will you be sure any rainbows you find were once part of the Black Trinity?” she asked.
    “Len didn’t let any of his special pearls out.”
    “But some got out anyway. You bought one yourself. You know there must be others.”
    Archer did, and didn’t want to admit it, so he kept his mouth shut.
    Hannah’s smile was all thin edges. “No one, not even a ruthless, clever man like Len, could prevent some of the black rainbows from leaking out. How will you know if you find pieces of the Black Trinity or just whatever was skimmed from the sorting shed or stolen from the experimental rafts?”
    Silence stretched between them like a wire that kept getting tighter and tighter until it hummed with tension.
    “You’ll be safer here,” Archer said finally.
    “I’m coming with you.”
    “Not trusting me could cost your life.”
    “My life. My choice.”
    For just an instant something showed in Archer’s eyes. He dropped his voice so that only she could hear. “Not quite, Hannah. There’s the small matter of pregnancy.”
    “I could be as pregnant as Lianne and it wouldn’t change the facts,” she said in a voice as low as his. “You need me to find Len’s killer. I need you to keep me alive while I’m doing it. End of discussion.”
    Silence stretched again. “You know,” Archer said casually, “it’s a bloody miracle Len didn’t leave visible scars on you to go with the invisible ones.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You. And Len. He never argued with anything but his fists.”
    “I didn’t argue with Len. He knew too many ways to make me lose.”
    “But you don’t mind going toe to toe with me at every opportunity.”
    “You won’t hurt me. Not like Len.”
    “I know. I’m just surprised that you do. You have ten minutes to make yourself up like my mistress.”
    “Your mistress? Why?”
    “Why else would you be hanging around with a rich, ruthless man you don’t like?” Archer smiled without any warmth, just a row of hard white teeth.
    Her chin came up and her shoulders squared for battle. “I’m no bloody good with makeup.”
    “I am. Remember?”
    An involuntary shiver went over Hannah. She hadn’t forgotten the horrid public toilet where Archer had stood close to her, so close, their breath mingling as he applied makeup to her with deft touches. And then she had turned to look in the mirror, and his hand had slid beneath her tiny skirt, touching her just once, slowly. It had been enough. She had turned to liquid and kissed his finger as gently as it kissed her.
    “Yes,” she whispered, shivering again. “I remember. Damn you, I remember.”
    But she was talking to Archer’s back. He had already brushed past her and into the hall.

Nineteen
    S eattle’s Pearl Exchange was an extraordinary mix of raw hustle and silky elegance. Unaffiliated traders, shop owners, luxury stores, people looking for a bargain, and salesmen looking for a mark all came together in a concrete hive six stories tall. Hannah hadn’t seen anything like it, even the August Pearl Festival in Broome, when imported high-fashion models strolled down runways wearing European haute couture and millions of dollars worth of borrowed Australian pearls.
    The lower floors of the Pearl Exchange were for tourists and people new to the allure of pearls. The sales outlets on those floors were little more than stalls placed around the perimeter of the building. The center was taken up with a maze of stalls. Strands of pearls dangled from every possible variety of hook, knob, rod, and handle.
    “. . . finest of Japanese pearls, fresh from the sea to you. Note the delicate blush of pink against the flawless . . .”
    The woman’s voice faded beneath others, but the sales patter made Hannah lift her skillfully darkened brows. Archer’s skill, not hers. And if she had gotten light-headed standing so close to him, breathing his scent, all but tasting him, it