Donovans 03 - Pearl Cove

retirement yet?” Archer asked.
    Coco simply smiled. “I work hard, monsieur. Ver’ hard. Ask any man.”
    “Yeah, I’m sure you do. Say hello to Ian for us.”
    Surprise showed for an instant on Coco’s face, then nothing showed at all.
    “That’s what I thought,” Archer said.
    “Good-bye, Coco.” Hannah’s voice was distant. “You’ll understand if I don’t give you severance pay.”
    “Oh, she’ll get paid,” Archer drawled. “But it will be Chang money, not ours.”
    With a lithe motion Coco came to her feet. “Bonne chance with your new cat, small bird.”
    His hands flexed at his sides. A cat with a bird, to play, you understand? He take one pretty feather at a time. Archer understood too well. He knew that every time Hannah looked at him, she saw Len. She saw the cruelties of the past rather than the possibilities of the present. Archer couldn’t change that. He could only end the pain by getting out of her sight.
    “I’ll help you finish packing,” he said neutrally.
    Hannah watched him leave and wondered why it felt like he had said good-bye.
    Standing on a street corner in Rio. No money. No hope. Nothing but night coming down on her like thunder.
    And this time Archer was walking away from her.

Twenty-eight
    T here weren’t many cartons stacked by the front door, because there wasn’t much Hannah wanted to take except for clothes, a few household goods, and her wood-carving tools. Hannah was stuffing clothes, towels, and dive gear into a battered duffel bag. Her hands were clumsy, an accurate reflection of the turmoil in her mind. She didn’t want Archer to leave.
    And she knew he was going to.
    You’ve had enough pain. I didn’t want to be the one to bring you more. But that seems to be what I’m best at. Bringing you pain.
    She closed her eyes and fought against the fear that was beating against her with black wings. She didn’t know what mistake she had made. She only knew she had made one. A terrible one, every bit as bad as trusting her life to Len McGarry had been.
    “I wish I had some bubble wrap for this,” Archer said.
    She turned away from the swim mask and fins she was blindly trying to cram into a space that was too small by half. He was standing across the room, holding the wood sculpture that was the only thing she had ever carved that she couldn’t bring herself to destroy. Too much of her was in that sculpture, the woman trapped in the very wave that would free her, but only if she survived the wild, dangerous ride.
    Suddenly Hannah’s hands itched to create the new form condensing in her mind, a woman who was the wave, driving force and consummation in one. No beginning. No ending. Just the timeless, infinite surge of life.
    “Wrap it in this,” Hannah said, throwing Archer one of the towels stacked within reach. “There’s room in the duffel if I leave out some dive gear.”
    “Pack the dive gear. I’ll carry this myself.” As he spoke, Archer ran his fingertips over the haunting curves that suggested but never showed the woman within the wood.
    Heat shimmered over Hannah as though she had been stroked.
    Knowing he shouldn’t, knowing he was going to anyway, Archer spoke without looking away from the sculpture. “Would you sell this to me?”
    “No. I’ll give it to you. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”
    “All I’ve done is remind you of the worst days of your life.”
    She was too shocked to do more than stare at him. “That’s not true!”
    “Not comfortable, maybe, but it sure as hell is true. You look at me and you see the past. Len. The miracle is that you didn’t let Ling blow my head off.”
    The bitter acceptance beneath Archer’s level voice made Hannah flinch. “In the beginning, yes, I saw Len every time I—”
    “Quiet,” he said across her words.
    “No, let me fin—”
    “Quiet.”
    Belatedly, the change in him got through her. No bitterness now, no acceptance, simply the cool deadliness of a man trained to kill. He set aside the sculpture and turned toward the verandah door with a predator’s focused grace.
    Out front a car door slammed.
    “Visitor coming,” he said.
    “Who?”
    “No one I recognize. Come here, but stand to the side of the window.”
    Hannah went and stood close to Archer. Through the silvery porch screen she saw a balding man of middle years, medium height, and utter self-confidence walking up the front path. He wore tropical-weight slacks and shirt and carried a