that took up almost an entire wall of the Tranquility Institute’s security operations center. The new, state-of-the-art digital cameras he’d had installed after his arrival a few weeks ago captured the driver who sat behind the wheel of the rented Mustang in excruciating detail.
She hadn’t changed. Not outwardly. The hair only half confined by a designer silk scarf was the same shoulder-length waterfall of red. Those high cheekbones and full, sensual lips might have leaped right off one of the dozens of glossy magazine covers she’d graced over the years. She wore a minimum of jewelry, only gold hoops at her ears and designer sunglasses with the tiny diamond butterfly logo that had become her signature.
And there, just above the left eyebrow, was the small, leaf-shaped scar. The only flaw in an otherwise perfect face. She’d shrugged aside TJ’s question about how she’d gotten it, giving only a vague reference to a childhood accident. He’d always thought it made her human.
It was one of his favorite spots to drop a kiss. Right up there with the slope of her breasts and the smooth curve at the base of her spine. The memory of her taste and scent drilled into him. For a moment, he could almost smell the unique blend of Chanel and warm, musky female that was burned into his senses.
Christ, he thought in disgust. All this time, and the woman could still put him in a sweat.
“She’s on the access list,” he growled to the on-duty security officer. “Run her through the drill.”
Nodding, the officer keyed his mike. “May I see some identification, Ms. Colby?”
She fished a driver’s license out of her wallet.
“Hold it up a little higher, please.”
The camera captured the number and fed it to the institute’s computers. They in turn would run it through a half-dozen databases, most of them legit.
“Thank you. Now remove your sunglasses.”
“Excuse me?”
“For the security of our guests, we perform an iris scan of all personnel entering the institute’s grounds. Please remove your sunglasses.”
Frowning, she slid the glasses to the top of her head. The camera mounted at eye level whirred a few inches closer to capture an image of her left iris. A second later, it shot the right.
TJ had insisted on this very sophisticated, very expensive scanning system as one of his first upgrades to the institute’s security. The iris was the most individually distinctive feature of the human body. No two persons had the same iris pattern, even identical twins. Cameras could scan that pattern in real time, unlike the minutes or hours or sometimes days required for DNA or fingerprint sampling and matching.
“Thank you, Ms. Colby. You may proceed to the main reception center. Just follow the signs to Kauna Cove. One of our staff will issue a welcome packet and show you to your bungalow.”
Jordan dutifully followed the signs through acre after acre of gorgeously landscaped grounds. Graceful, swaying palms climbed to impossible heights. Hibiscus, sweet-smelling ginger and stately birds of paradise blossomed everywhere, adding a heavy fragrance to the salty tang of the sea.
Set on a bend of Kauai’s rugged coast, the Tranquility Institute encompassed sweeping vistas of nature at its most elemental. Jagged volcanic peaks covered with dense vegetation stood like silent green sentinels against an achingly blue sky. Their steep slopes cut straight down to the waters they’d thrust out of so many millennia ago. Waves rolled in, foamed against the black volcanic rock at their base, and sent lacy spumes leaping high in the air.
The views were so incredible Jordan slowed at one turn to drink them in. Even as her soul responded to the raw, untamed beauty, her mind was imprinting the layout of the grounds, noting various facilities, and plotting escape routes.
There didn’t appear to be many. The steep cliffs surrounding the institute dropped straight to the sea. Where not covered by vegetation, their slopes showed razor-edged creases of black volcanic rock, made even more slick and dangerous by the spume. The only descent was a set of wooden stairs that led to a small, protected beach fringed with palms.
On the landward side, the gate Jordan had driven through appeared to be the single egress point in the twelve-foot-high iron fence almost hidden by the lush tropical foliage. The fence was topped by pointed spikes that would be a bitch to scramble over.
Jordan eyed the iron barrier thoughtfully. She could go under it, of course. Or through it. She had a special pneumatic tool tucked at the bottom of her carryall that would pry the bars apart. She suspected, however, either of those alternatives would set off a half-dozen different alarms, silent and otherwise. TJ Scott was nothing if not thorough.
Her stomach twisting at the thought, she shoved the rented Mustang convertible into gear and followed the curving drive to the main reception center. The plantation-style building featured a high-pitched roof, fanciful white trim and a wraparound porch designed to protect the interior from Kauai’s frequent showers. Thronelike rattan chairs invited guests to laze in the shade of the veranda, while swirling fans stirred the perfume of the orchids spilling from a series of hanging baskets.
Jordan parked beside a golf cart painted a deep emerald color with a green-and-white-striped awning. Skirting the cart, she started for the veranda. Only then did she spot the figure shaded by the deep overhang. He was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes shielded by mirrored sunglasses.
Waiting for her.
Despite being forewarned, despite the hours Jordan had spent steeling herself for this meeting, her heart started to pound. Sweat dampened her palms and the perfumed air she dragged into tight lungs was suddenly too sweet, too cloying.
She was damned if she’d let the bastard see his impact on her, though. Pretending a nonchalance she wasn’t anywhere near feeling, she mounted the veranda steps.
“Aloha, Jordan.”
She went still, knowing he would expect her to recognize the deep Bronx baritone. Turning, she slid her sunglasses to the end of her nose.
“Well, well,” she drawled. “Look who’s here….”
“Welcome to Hawaii.”
He strolled over to where she stood and draped a lei of white orchids over her head. Somehow Jordan managed to resist the urge to rip off the garland, toss it onto the porch and grind the delicate blossoms under her heel. She didn’t bother to disguise her scorn, however, as she let her gaze travel over his tanned face.
Every feature was seared in her memory. The strong, square jaw. The nose with the irregular bump on the bridge. The tobacco-brown hair cut military short. The mouth that had driven her so wild.
Infuriated by the memory, she aimed a pointed glance at the logo on his emerald green polo shirt and pretended ignorance of his position at the institute.
“So this is what happens to cops who go bad,” she observed with a lift of her brow. “They wind up working as bellmen at tropical resorts for a living.”
“It’s worse than that,” he drawled. “I’m in charge of security here. I don’t even rake in any tips.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to skim off some cream.”
He didn’t rise to the bait, but Jordan spotted a small twitch at the side of his jaw. Deliberately, she slid the knife in deeper.
“Tell me, Scott. Does your present employer know the reason for your abrupt departure from the NYPD?”
“He does.”
“And he trusts you with his security? Bartholomew Greene must be a forgiving man. Or very, very foolish.”
Or so deeply involved in the same seamy underworld that had entangled TJ Scott, he’d jumped at the chance to bring the disgraced cop into his fold.
“Isn’t Greene worried you’ll betray his trust? The way you did your badge?”
“I