Diamonds Can Be Deadly

“Well…”

She hesitated, reluctant to come out with a flat lie. Greene would see right through it.

“All crystals and gemstones emit vibrations at different frequencies,” he said, filling the small silence. “That’s why we have quartz watches.”

“True.”

“If a stone chip can power a watch, surely it’s not that big a leap to believe it can transfer its energy in other ways. Ways that help heal.”

“I know many people believe in the healing power of stones,” Jordan said, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t question the sincerity of that belief.”

Bartholomew steepled his fingers under his chin and accepted her tap dance with a smile. “Perhaps we’ll make a disciple out of you while you’re here.”

He could try. Jordan attempted to keep an open mind regarding others’ beliefs. But she figured the world wouldn’t need doctors if colored stones could cure every ill and restore balance to the human body.

“As you can see,” she continued, fanning the sketches across the table, “I’ve designed some glasses with emeralds on the right stem, some on the left.”

According to her research, the left side of the body was the feminine or receptive side. Wearing a gemstone on the left drew in its energies. Wearing it on the right, or masculine side, sent the energy out to others.

“I’ve designed these stems to be detachable. The wearer could interchange them according to his or her needs that day.”

“That’s very clever,” Bartholomew said with warm approval. “You might not be a believer, but you’ve obviously done your homework.”

“Yes, I have. I also read that most men carry their stones in their pocket.”

Greene patted his pendant. “I wear mine here, right over my heart.”

Jordan suspected most men weren’t secure enough in their beliefs—or their masculinity—to display their emeralds so openly.

“Since female clothing has fewer pockets,” she continued, “women must either wear their stones as jewelry or tuck them inside their bras. Jeweled glasses would eliminate that necessity, which will make a great marketing pitch. As an added benefit, both men and women could slide the glasses up on their foreheads to get the stones closer to their head chakra.”

She tipped hers up to demonstrate before drawing out an accessories page.

“Or they could dangle the glasses from one of these specially crafted chains.”

Greene’s face lit up as he eyed the gold links studded with tiny emeralds. “I like these.”

She’d figured he would. Anything to bilk his customers of a few more bucks.

“I’ve researched your client base. While they tend toward the high end of the income scale, I think we should offer a wide range of prices for each line. The cost, of course, will depend on the weight, cut and clarity of the embedded stones.”

Duncan Myers spoke up at that point. Sitting back in his chair, he palmed a hand over his shining bald crown.

“We can help there. Since we sell so many emeralds at our tranquility centers, I’ve negotiated special rates with our suppliers.”

It was the perfect opening. Jordan let a note of excitement creep into her voice. “You have an in with the Colombians?”

“We do business with them, yes. And with several dealers in Russia and South Africa.”

“The Colombian stones are the purest,” Bartholomew put in, “although I admit I’m partial to the veining in the Zambian stones.”

Yeah, Jordan thought, she’d just bet he was. Like in the Star of the East. Extracting a spreadsheet from her briefcase, she slid it across the conference table.

“I prepared detailed cost estimates and suggested retail prices for the designs you see here, but they’re based on the current market price per carat. If you work me a deal with your suppliers, we can adjust the bottom line.”

“You’ll also need to take into consideration the fact that you’re trading on Bartholomew’s name and reputation,” Myers commented.

“Of course. But I assure you, I’ve squeezed my profit margin as tight as I can.”

The financial adviser made a tsk-tsking noise. “There’s always room for negotiation. Let me crunch the numbers and we’ll talk again.”

Clearly uninterested in the nitty-gritty business detail, Bartholomew shoved back his chair. “In the meantime you can relax and enjoy some of the activities here at the institute. And I’d very much like you to attend one of our group sessions.”

The tone was mild, but Jordan got the message. If she wanted to convince the guru of green to buy into her proposal for a line of pricey, emerald-studded glasses, she’d better play his game. Shrugging, she made a show of giving in.

“Why not?”

“Splendid!”

“I believe I saw a group session on the schedule for tomorrow morning. I’ll join that—if you don’t think I’ll upset the dynamics of the group.”

“Not at all,” Greene assured her, beaming. “Our guests come and go all the time. One of my main goals is to help them maintain inner serenity despite the constant changes taking place around them.”

Jordan gave a noncommittal nod, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized joining one of Greene’s group gropes worked to her advantage. It provided an excuse to hang around the institute for a few more days and observe the natives in their natural setting. She might even be able to work in a session or two at the spa. A seaweed wrap or mud bath sounded pretty good after her bumpy flight.

“You’ll join us for dinner, I hope.” Greene issued the invitation with one of his disarming smiles. “Seven o’clock, in the Jade Buddha Restaurant? That will give me the opportunity to introduce you to some of our other guests.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Despite its appellation, the Jade Buddha was more of a dining hall for the rich and famous than a restaurant. Everyone arrived at pretty much the same time and the menu posted in elegant script at each table offered only two choices—fish and vegetarian.

The fat, happy Buddha who gave the place its name sat cross-legged on a stone pedestal, surrounded by pools filled with floating lotus blossoms and magnificent koi. Guests mingled poolside while waiters served fruit-juice cocktails and passed trays of appetizers.

Greene escorted Jordan through the crowd, making introductions as they went. She shook hands with an aging movie star whose face showed the ravages of his years of substance abuse, a short, squat computer mogul and a frizzy-haired widow in a thousand-dollar St. John lounge suit paired with high-top black sneakers.

Several of the guests recognized Jordan from her modeling days. Some, like the anxious-looking mother accompanied by her ten-year-old son, were too wrapped up in their own problems to evince any interest in the newcomer’s background.

“Davy’s asthmatic,” the thin, nervous Patricia Helms explained, her glance darting constantly to the boy. “The attacks have gotten so bad lately and the doctors can’t seem to help. Dr. Greene is our last hope.”

Jordan kept her opinion on that to herself and made mental notes on everyone she met. She’d have Claire run the names through OMEGA’s computers. She couldn’t quite envision any of these people as willing accomplices in Greene’s illegal activities, but he had to get the massive amounts he was suspected of laundering off the island and into various bank accounts somehow. He could well be using his guests as unsuspecting mules.

Signaling to a passing waiter, Greene claimed two cocktails decorated with orchids and fat chunks of pineapple. He handed one to Jordan and lifted the other in salute. After the receptionist’s warning about the institute’s nonalcohol policy, she was prepared for the straight shot of guava juice. She wasn’t prepared, though, when her host’s attention zinged to the door behind her.

“Ah, good. Here’s our Director of Security.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she watched TJ’s all-too-familiar figure stroll into the restaurant. The overhead spots highlighted the sun streaks in his brown hair and cast the strong planes of his face into sharp relief.

Greene’s voice floated above the buzz of cocktail-hour conversation. “TJ! Come and meet our newest guest.”