Sharp Edges by Jayne Ann Krentz Page A

this remote island he had come very close to creating paradise for himself. For the most part he was satisfied with his pristine, private world.
    The government of the small, independent island he had chosen for his new home prided itself on being extremely accommodating. The attitude of the local officials was that money and those who possessed it should not be subjected to the sort of irritating rules and laws that interfered with the natural flow of business.
    Here in paradise, for a price, one's privacy was completely protected. Discretion was the watchword. Banking and investment transactions were never questioned. One's business associates were not subjected to embarrassing investigations or humiliating searches at the local airport.
    Best of all, the government was happy to issue its own passport in any name one chose to anyone who was willing to pay the price. The current fee was one million dollars. A bargain as far as the man who had once been Damien March was concerned. Indeed, he had been so pleased with the deal that he had insisted upon giving the helpful officials a gratuity of five hundred thousand dollars.
    But every paradise, he had discovered, even his, had its serpent. The disloyal viper who had stolen the Hades cup from him had paid for his crime. His body had washed up onto the beach just below the white villa not long after the cup had disappeared.
    The former Damien March had been extremely annoyed by the death of the thief. Obviously the person or persons who had bribed the creature to steal the cup had wanted him dead before he could be found and made to talk.
    The murder had been a very intelligent move on the part of those who had arranged the theft of the cup, but it had left the ex-Damien March with virtually no clues and no trail.
    Fortunately he knew of a private investigator who was not only remarkably talented when it came to getting results, but who was also, at least in this case, awesomely motivated to find the Hades cup.
    "Another drink, sir?"
    The ex-Damien March looked at the woman who stood in front of the lounger. She wore only the bottom half of a small, white thong bikini. Her breasts were high and full. Enhanced, he decided, but the surgery had been well done. Her hair was the color of gold, and her eyes were as blue as the sea. Contact lenses, he thought, but what the hell. When it came to human beings, nothing was one hundred percent perfect, no matter how much one paid. That was why he preferred art to people.
    "No, my dear. I have some work to do. Ask the chef to serve lunch out here by the pool."
    "Yes, sir." She turned and walked back into the cool shadows of the villa.
    The former Damien March studied the twin globes of her buttocks. He couldn't be certain from this distance, but he feared that they were starting to lose some of their buoyancy. He would have to start thinking about a replacement. He did not look forward to the task. Good help, perfect help, was so bloody hard to find.
    He put down the gin-and-tonic, sat up on the edge of the lounger, and reached for his laptop. It was time to get a status report on the missing Hades cup.
    He booted up the computer and checked the encrypted messages from his people on the West Coast. They were short, but encouraging.

…Colfax has made contact with the director of the Leabrook Glass Museum in Seattle. They have both gone to Frog Cove Island (off coast of Washington). Staying in a private home. Former owner of the house, Adam Daventry, collected glass. Died in a fall last month. Apparent accident…

    Interesting. Colfax was on to something at last. The ex-Damien March smiled to himself and took another sip from his glass of gin-and-tonic. Cyrus Chandler Colfax reminded him of the old saying about the mills of the gods. Colfax ground slowly, but he ground exceedingly fine.
    He had put the right investigator on the case, the ex-Damien March thought. If anyone could find the Hades cup, it would be Colfax. Once Cyrus had