Make Her Pay

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE MOTORCYCLE ENGINE would alert Lizzie that he’d found her, so Con parked it at the corner and walked to the cul de sac that ended at the beach. The other homes were visible from the street, but her house was buried in a jungle of green.

As he reached the edge of the property, he froze at the sound of a muffled scream. He instantly launched forward. Ripping at the overgrown shrubbery that blocked his way, he ignored the jagged thorns that cut his face and arms. At the back he racked the slide of his Glock, automatically ducking at the windows so he wasn’t seen by her attacker.

Silence. No talking, no struggle. Whoever had her was quiet.

Or had killed her already.

Crouched low, weapon drawn, he peered in a window and saw an empty office. It had to be the next room; the window was ten feet away. He swiftly worked his way over and maneuvered into position to see, but blinds blocked his view.

Lizzie screamed again, bloodcurdling and helpless. The window was closed and wouldn’t move when he shoved it, so with one solid thwack of his gun he shattered the glass. He ripped at the blinds so hard they cracked right out of the wall, and he thrust his gun through the broken pane.

Lizzie stood on the bed, flattened against the wall, wailing as she divided her terrified gaze from the window to the bed. The head of a deadly coral snake rose above the mattress and hissed.

“Hang on, Lizzie- I got him.”

He pulled the trigger, exploding the snake’s head.

Then he swiftly smashed the other panes and threw himself against the wooden frame, cracking it with his weight and vaulting headfirst into the room with a roll.

As he stood, Lizzie collapsed. He pulled her into his arms, a quivering, trembling, boneless mess, and carried her from the room. He laid her on the living room sofa, then knelt down next to her, stroking her hair off her pale, tear-dampened face.

His own heart hammered with an adrenaline pump and the thought that she had been inches from death. He couldn’t resist a kiss on her forehead, and she didn’t stop him.

Her eyes shuttered with a sigh as the shock wore off. “If you hadn’t come, I… I…” Realization hit her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you-and I mean it. But we’re finished. Everything is over, done. I’ve given my report to the Coast Guard and Paxton’s closed the salvage site. We’re done with each other.”

Not quite yet, Lizzie. “I can’t just leave you like that.”

She surveyed his face, doubt all over hers. “Yes, you can. You were bought and paid for by the man I was working to destroy. There’s the door. Use it. Just… make sure there are no more snakes on your way out.”

“You’re right about one thing: the job is over. I’m not here on behalf of Paxton or anyone else. I found you because I wanted to see you again.”

For a flicker of an instant, she believed him, he could tell. It dissolved as quickly as it came. “I don’t have it.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

She skewered him with a look.

“Not the only reason,” he admitted, stroking her hair. “I really wanted to see you again.” That was true.

“I don’t have what you want,” she repeated.

But she knew where it was. “I understand that.” He smiled, rubbing the pad of his thumb on her cheek, liking the sensation and the fact that she didn’t jerk him away. “Where is it?”

“None of your business.”

It was the only business he had. “Lizzie, you realize you’re not safe, don’t you?”

A crease deepened between her eyebrows as her frown intensified. “What do you mean? Isn’t Paxton in custody?”

“I don’t know for certain. But how did that snake get in, with all the closed windows?”

“You think someone planted it here? To scare me?” “To kill you. Were you on the bed?”

“I went to rest, to take a nap after…” She shook her head. “No, it’s preposterous. No one wants to kill me.”

“Who knows you have that scepter?”

“For one thing, I don’t have it. And don’t bother to ask, pal, ’cause I’m not telling you. And I’ll be safe enough when I leave.”

“Where are you going?”

She started to say, then stopped. “You don’t need to know.”

“Tell me.” And then he would go with her. It was the only way to get the scepter. Stay with her morning, noon, and night. “When are you leaving?”

“When are you leaving is the question.” She tried to wiggle her wrists out of his grasp.

“You don’t really want me to.”

She snorted softly. “You have some ego. I don’t like you, okay? Can I be any clearer? Sleeping with you was a mistake, and trusting you was an even bigger one.”

He leaned forward, close to her mouth. “It wasn’t a mistake. It was amazing.” He brushed her lips, but she pushed away.

“It was an amazing mistake. And one I don’t intend to make again. So go call Judd and tell him I don’t have the scepter or diamond.”

“He doesn’t know you found them.”

“You didn’t tell him? Your client?” She plastered some disgust on the word. “Why not?”

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her directly in the eye. “Because it belongs to your family.”

“Yeah-I’m really buyin’ that, Con Man.”

“I’m serious. And my connections can help you. My assignment is over, but my company has a research and investigation division that would knock your socks off. How do you think I found this house so quickly?”

She sighed. “I knew you would. I couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”

“Listen-I put my resources on the history trail, and they’ve already uncovered information you’ll want to know about Aramis Dare.”

She tried to look disinterested, and failed. “What information?”

“What looks like proof that Aramis Dare was never paid for the bounty that he carried to Portugal in 1861.”

“What kind of proof?”

“Data from a library in Havana.”

“Oh, right-”

He held up a hand to quiet her. “I can give it to you. One of the other men who works for the company spends a lot of time in Cuba on assignment, and his wife is an investigative specialist. She’s been doing some digging; has access to old documents that the government has kept under lock and key.”

She eyed him. “What did you find?”

“Where are you going?”

“Are you trying to buy that out of me with some shady promise of information? Forget it.” She pushed herself up.

“You have a fax machine? I’ll have it sent here in ten minutes.”

For a second, she almost relented. “You’re a lying son of a bitch, and I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do,” he told her. “Because it will be a road map for you in Portugal. It leads right to a little island called Corvo.”

Her jaw dropped. “Corvo?”

“In the Azores. Heard of it?”

“I know where it is.” She pushed off the sofa, getting away from him.

“Where are you going?”

“To make reservations. For one. I don’t care what it costs, I’m going. And you’re not.”

“I’ll just follow you there.”

He heard her blow out a breath as the computer keys started clicking. He gave her a few minutes, checking out the security of the place, noting that every window and door were locked except the broken one in the bedroom.

He ended up in the office doorway, watching her type, hearing her moan every time a fare came up. On top of a shelf he saw a fax machine and leaned over to get the number.

“It’s going to cost me a freaking fortune,” she mumbled.

“I have access to a private jet.” He sent the text.

She slid a look over her shoulder. “Of course you do.”

“Not only do we not know how or when or why someone got in here to plant the venomous snake in your room, but we also don’t know who. And until we do…”

He walked over and put protective hands on her shoulders, glancing at the long list of flights from Atlanta to Lisbon, all with four-digit price tags and dates three days in the future. “You’re not safe. I think I’ve proven that I can watch your back.”

A soft ding of an incoming e-mail got her to tap the mouse, revealing a new one from gabbyone@gmail.com. She read the subject line out loud: ‘A message from your sister.’ Finally!”

“‘My name is Gabrielle Roberts and I’m working in a home where your sister is staying on the island of Corvo.’”

She stopped to look up at him.

“All roads lead to Corvo,” he said quietly, his gaze on the e-mail.

“‘She doesn’t have e-mail or phone but asked that I write to let you know she’s fine. She asked me to tell you she’s working on Aramis.’”

“And they also lead to Aramis,” she replied.

“Read the P.S., Lizzie.”

“‘She really misses you. This is not part of her message to you,’” she read softly, “‘but it’s a lonely island for an American.’”

Behind him, the fax rang. While she reread the e-mail, Con retrieved the papers coming from the Bullet Catchers headquarters. Wordlessly, he took the three pages of notes and the manifest list and placed them on the keyboard in front of her.

“Do you really want to wait three days and spend two thousand dollars to get to Lisbon, then to Terceira, then to Corvo, when I can have you on a private jet, having dinner with your sister tomorrow night?” He reached down and fluttered the papers. “You two have an awful lot to talk about.”

Her shoulders sagged in resignation. “You win, Con.”

He leaned closer, put his mouth on her ear, and did what he’d been dying to do since he’d found her. He kissed her, feeling her body tense at the contact. “We both do.”