Make Her Pay

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

BY THE TIME the Azorean police officers left the scene, the sun was rising.

Lizzie had left with Brianna by way of the Azorean version of an ambulance, once they’d determined that the bullet had passed through her muscle tissue and the wound could be tended without airlifting her to another island. Con stayed with the police, participating in hours of frustrating communication in broken English and Portuguese, explaining that Solange was dead when they arrived.

That was, oddly enough, the easiest task of the night. The police believed her to be a recluse psycho who was rumored to have attempted suicide at least once in the past, and they were opening an investigation into the death of her nurse earlier in the week. Now they were gone.

He’d ride back to find Lizzie soon, but there was something he had to do first.

He had to call Lucy. He had to tell her he’d changed his mind.

Exhausted by the fight with the wheel to keep Brianna from being crushed, and the fight to communicate with the police, he dropped onto the stone step and reached for his phone, mentally preparing for one more battle.

His pocket empty, he tried the other one, glanced around, and realized his phone was gone.

A sign that he should skip the call?

Blowing out a breath, he stood to go back up to the top floor of the windmill where it had probably been lost in the battle to keep Brianna alive. That was probably the moment he’d made the decision, come to think of it. As he saved the life of one woman, and got blown away by the strength and determination and power of another.

He’d underestimated Lizzie Dare on every level. He’d truly thought he could use her, betray her, lie to her, take from her, and walk away-but all of that had changed tonight.

Especially after he’d thrown down the gauntlet of his inescapable past and she’d picked it up.

I don’t like what you’ve done… but I like the potential for what you could be.

The words had annihilated him, and the moment she spoke them, he made a decision. He might walk away from this woman, but he wasn’t going to screw her out of her scepter and diamond.

Looking down in case his phone was on the stairs, he noticed that one of the stones was knocked askew, leaving a gap beneath it. Great. His phone could be anywhere. He kicked the stone to put it back in place, but that just made it slide out farther. Kneeling down to do the job right, he discovered that the stone slid out of the opening as if it was designed to do that-and underneath it was a square concrete hole, the width of the stair and a few feet deep.

He looked up the rest of the curved steps. Were they all like this? He tried the next step, but it didn’t move. He tried the rest on his way up, and found another one that opened, revealing…

A metal box.

Taking it out and laying it on top of the step above, he twisted the wire latch keeping it closed, then lifted the lid. Parchment papers with dark script handwriting lay inside. He took out the first one, but it was too dark inside to read. Taking the box down to the main floor, he read by the light of a window.

And felt his jaw drop.

The El Falcone manifest. Exactly the same as the copy the Bullet Catchers investigator had found in the Havana library, but this looked like the original.

The next paper was a detailed contract between Captain Aramis Dare and Carlos Bettencourt for payment in gold bullion for the delivery of two identical scepters topped with blue diamonds for presentation to the king and queen of Portugal upon their marriage.

After that, a letter written by Captain Dare demanding payment for the scepters, stating that he waited off the coast of Corvo Island.

Con read every word as the sun rose higher and the story became clearer. According to the paperwork, one of the scepters was delivered to Bettencourt, but Captain Dare was holding the second one until payment was received.

In addition to the letters, the documents included pictures of items. Some that he’d seen in Malcolm Dare’s journal, some, like the Our Lady of Sorrows medallion, that he’d held in his own hands. And according to this, El Falcone took off in the middle of the night with only one scepter and diamond on board.

So was the other one… here?

Replacing the papers in the strongbox, he headed back to the stairs, checking every step on the way up. As he rounded the second level, he found another loose one. Pushing it to the side, he saw something white filling the hole. White velvet, he discovered. Closing his hands over the fabric, he felt something hard inside. Long and hard and familiar.

Lifting it gingerly, he laid the bundle on the stair, slowly unwrapped it and stared at the scepter that was indeed a perfect match for the one he’d already handled, topped by the very same breathtaking blue diamond.

Holy hell. It was right here under their feet all along.

He touched the gold, far brighter than the one that had spent its years underwater, and then the diamond. The value of just the diamonds was truly incalculable, he knew.

And he also knew what he had to do, to get everything he wanted.

He jogged up to the top, spied his phone, snagged it, and had Lucy on the line in a minute.

After relaying the entire story of Solange Bettencourt and making arrangements to get Brianna to a hospital in Lisbon as soon as they could, he added his final announcement. “I’ll deliver the scepter and diamond to Paxton as soon as I get back.”

“Are you certain you can get your hands on it?”

He touched the gold again, tracing the elaborate markings. “Without a doubt.” He would hide this one from Lizzie and give it to Judd Paxton, satisfying Lucy’s edict. And Lizzie could keep hers, and at least have half of what belonged in her family. He wouldn’t have to betray her.

“That would be a real coup,” Lucy said. “Exactly the kind of performance I want and expect from a Bullet Catcher.”

Well… not exactly.

“How are you going to do it?”

“Just consider it done, Lucy.”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, “Fine. And talk to Avery as soon as she gets in this morning. She’s unearthed quite a bit of information that you’ll want, which might even help with the Azorean investigation. Mostly about Solange Bettencourt, but also Dylan Houser, who was connected with Malcolm Dare’s death.”

“Good. If you talk to her first, can you have her check something else? The police took Solange’s cell phone, but before they did, I checked her call history. One number from the U.S. showed up quite a few times.” He pulled out the paper and read it to her. “I want to leave here as soon as they’ll let us, considering that we are witnesses in an open investigation.”

“I have contacts in the Lisbon police department,” Lucy said. “They are in charge of the Azorean police. I’ll make sure you are all able to leave.”

“Great. I’m going to check on Lizzie and her sister.”

“Lizzie sounds like she’s quite a fearless woman.”

“Add it to a long list of attributes.”

“And it sounds like you’ve grown fond of her.”

Slightly. “Yep.”

“So how is it going to be received when you take something she wants, and give it to a man she considers a mortal enemy?”

“I’ll smooth things out with her,” he said, rewrapping the velvet around the scepter. “I’ve figured out a way to keep her happy.”

“Be careful about getting involved with a principal, Con. I don’t like it.”

“She’s not a principal, Lucy. She’s a target. And if I don’t get involved with her, how else can I smooth things over?”

“She’s going to hand over those scepters just for the joy of sleeping with you?” She laughed softly. “You do belong in this organization.”

He smiled. “I knew you’d figure that out sooner or later.”

Signing off, his smile was still in place. If everything worked according to plan, he’d get what he wanted, Lizzie would get what she wanted, and even Judd Paxton would be happy.

The truth would come out eventually, but by then he’d have given Lizzie all this paperwork, and she’d have what she needed to make a compelling argument that the other scepter belonged to her. She could take it public; the media would eat that up. She’d win by virtue of her name and her nature, and Paxton would be shamed into giving the other scepter to the museums where she wanted to exhibit them. Aramis Dare’s name would be cleared, and Con would be a full-fledged Bullet Catcher.

And if she could see his potential now… she could actually love him then.

He hid the scepter in the step again, making sure the stone was secure. The papers in the metal box were coming with him.

Lizzie would go absolutely crazy with happiness. But first, he was going to make her absolutely crazy in a totally different way.

Lizzie curled up under the cloud of duvet, her hair wet from a shower, her body screaming for rest. She’d wanted to stay at the clinic longer, but there wasn’t anything she could do for Brianna except let her sleep, and the two nurses were quite capable of watching over her.

Remarkably, Bree was in stable condition, drifting in and out of sleep, but not in any danger. The doctor in Corvo had been competent and spoke English, but Con promised to get her to a specialist in Lisbon as soon as possible and then back to the States. She’d have a scar just in front of her armpit, but with plastic surgery and physical therapy, she’d be fine.

An inch or two lower… or a few minutes longer in that mechanism… and Bree would have been dead. Lizzie shivered and tucked deeper into the mountain of down, just as the door opened.

She peeked out from the comforter to see Con filling up the doorway, a dark expression on his face, dried blood over his eyebrow from a cut he’d sustained in the windmill.

“Con.” She barely breathed the word.

He just looked at her, his eyes narrowed, his chest rising and falling. No smile. No greeting. Nothing but waves of intensity rolling off him and threatening to flatten her.

He kicked the door closed behind him and dropped a box of some sort on the floor with a clunk. All she could do was stare at him, gripping the duvet in her fists as her heart rate climbed with each second.

He ripped off his T-shirt and threw it on the floor.

Her stomach took a roller-coaster dip.

He unsnapped his pants, kicked off his shoes, and pushed his jeans down, naked and fully erect underneath.

She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out.

He stepped out of the pants and closed the space between them, the only change in his expression a tightening of his jaw, dark with whiskers and smudged from the battle with the windmill.

“Whatever you have on under there,” he said gruffly, “it’s coming off.”

She dropped the duvet cover, letting it fall to her waist.

His gaze burned her bare breasts and he took a slow, deep breath. “That’s a good start.”

She removed the cover deliberately, exposing more and more of her bare skin.

A whisper of a smile curved his lips. “That’s even better.”

“Con… what… why…”

“Lizzie, what is obvious, why should be obvious, and anything else, you can ask later.” He set something on the nightstand that she hadn’t even realized he held. A condom.

He put a knee on the bed and then straddled her, his hard-on pulsing over her stomach, his chest looming like a rock wall. He cupped her cheeks as he lowered his whole body onto hers, holding her gaze.

“This,” he said as he closed in for a kiss, “is the last gentle thing I’m going to do until after you scream.”

He kissed her mouth with… love. That was the only way she could describe the tenderness, the sweetness of the kiss. His eyes stayed open, locked onto hers, both of them lost and completely connected.

Her heart hammered, and so did his. Their tongues touched in a caress, a delicious silent overture that made her body warm and achy. She closed her arms around his shoulders, pulling him against her, opening her legs to get every inch of him against every inch of her.

He finally lifted his head, lasering her with his intention as he took her arms from around him and pinned them with one hand over her head.

His smile was dangerous as he licked his lips, tasting her kiss, then coming down for another-much hotter, much more demanding. If the first one was love, then this kiss was pure sex, burning, wet, slanted, deep, mouth-to-mouth fever.

And he didn’t stop there. Still holding her wrists in his hands, he trailed fiery kisses down to her chest, making her gasp and moan as he licked one nipple to a peak, then the other. She pushed against his hand, dying to have hers free so she could guide his head, dig her fingers into his hair, somehow have some control, but it was impossible.

He suckled and kissed her breasts and flesh, his left hand sliding down her waist and over her hip.

He cupped her buttocks and moaned as he kneaded the flesh, and she bowed her back in helpless response, his hot hands making her rock with need for more. He finally slid his fingers between her legs, letting out another groan of pleasure when he touched her wet, swollen center.

He murmured her name, circling his finger over her clitoris, then rolling it gently, kissing her just to make her completely insane. He slid his tongue between her lips the very second he slipped his finger into her, in and out in precisely the same rhythm but in opposite strokes. Tongue in, finger out. Tongue in…

And she couldn’t touch him. He still hadn’t released her wrists, heightening the sensation of being taken by him, maddening her, torturing her, blissing out every pleasure center in her body.

“Con, let me touch you,” she urged when he returned his mouth to her budded nipple.

He just looked up, a smile threatening as he shook his head. Moving to the other side, his fingers curled inside her and twisted more pleasure out of her.

“This is me…” He stroked her flesh. “Doing you.” He nibbled her nipple. “And you…” He thumbed her clitoris. “Coming apart.”

“I am,” she admitted.

“Not yet, you’re not.” He flattened his tongue over her breast, then sucked again, shooting sparks behind her eyes, in her belly, between her legs. His thumb twirled over her, his fingers flicked and fluttered, over and over until the need to free her hands was long forgotten, her brain only able to focus on bits and pieces.

The smell of salt on his skin. The achy thrum in her core. The zing of her nerve endings, the tickle of his leg hair, the wetness of his kisses, the moans from his chest, the feel of flesh against flesh, mouth against mouth, man against woman. His erection pressed against her thigh, burning and branding and making her beg to touch him-but he didn’t relent.

“Now you come apart.” One more shocking kiss. “Now.”

The demand was incendiary, intoxicating, impossible to ignore as he stroked her inside, licked her outside, fired her everywhere.

She panted breathlessly as the shudder started low inside her and built, the orgasm almost within reach.

Her eyes closed, she couldn’t think, couldn’t let go of the sensation about to overtake her.

She felt his fingers withdraw, heard a condom packet rip, and opened her eyes to see him position his hardon between her legs. He thrust into her, all the way, shocking her, taking her, owning her.

He plunged in again, holding perfectly still, suspending them both, then pumped fast and furious until her orgasm exploded deep and intense and long, making her cry out.

Then he finally let go, releasing himself into her with crushing, insistent strokes and a sweet, sweet moan of satisfaction.

Lax and spent, he laid on her, their breathing labored and ragged, their skin heated from the rush.

After they finally quieted, he said, “Now you can ask questions.”

She smiled. “You answered them all.”

Con shifted to his side. “But I need to tell you something, Lizzie. I shouldn’t have waited, but I couldn’t help it.”

She put her hand on his lips. “Don’t.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“It doesn’t matter what you’re going to say. I want to say something first, without you making any speeches or statements or confessions or announcements.”

He fought a smile. “You’d like the one I’m about to make, trust me.”

“You’ll like the one I’m about to make,” she countered, sliding over him to pull his whole body into hers. “It doesn’t matter.”

He waited for her to continue. “That’s it?”

“What else is there? The past is past? You’re clearly doing everything to change your life?” She stroked his cheek gently. “Your colors are true, Con. You risked your life to save my sister. You couldn’t have shown me what you’re made of better than that.”

“Funny thing. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

She smiled. “We’re a good pair.”

“We are.”

“And you…” She just had to know this. “You aren’t planning to take my scepter and diamond and give it to Paxton.”

“No.”

There was just enough hesitation to give her a squeeze of doubt. “Con? Are you lying?”

“No, I’m not. That was my plan, but not now-I swear it. The truth will come out. I promise.”

She saw nothing but honesty in his eyes. “Then you’re going to prove it.”

“How?”

“I’ll tell you who has it. I’m going to trust you with that information, and you’re not going to do anything with it.”

“All right.”

“I gave it to Sam Gorman.”

“And he’ll keep it safe?”

“Of course. He certainly won’t give it to Paxton. He’s on my-our side.”

“I give you my word I won’t touch it.” He kissed her softly.

She smiled. “We are a good pair. Now, what were you going to tell me?”

“You know that box I brought in?”

She rose up a little to see it on the floor. “Yeah. What is it?”

“The original manifest of El Falcone. Letters between Bettencourt and Captain Dare. Proof that your great-times-many-grandfather was legit. Everything you need to clear his name when you take your scepter and diamond on its exhibit tour.”

For a few seconds, she couldn’t even process what he was saying. “Letters? Proof?”

“And if the other one is ever found, then you have a claim to it, wherever it is.”

She pushed herself up, the words still barely sinking in. “You have proof and you didn’t tell me when you walked in?”

He smiled. “I knew that once you opened that box, you’d forget all about me.”

She nearly shoved him off her, rolling out of the little bed and landing on her feet, pouncing on the box. She kneeled in front of it, staring, then turned to Con.

He sat on the bed, as naked as she, grinning. “Go ahead. Open it.”

She did, almost afraid to touch the parchment papers inside. She lifted the first one, the words swimming as if they were underwater, the Spanish slowly making sense.

El completos manfiestan El Falcone, Aramis Dare, el capitán. Sin registrada.

She blinked, sending a tear down her cheek, and she automatically moved the paper so it wouldn’t get wet.

“I told you you’d forget about me when you saw it.”

She looked up at him, another tear escaping. “No, Con. Nothing in the world could ever make me forget about you. I believe in you. And I know you’d never do anything to break that trust.”

“No.” Con’s smiled wavered, then disappeared. “I wouldn’t.”

“I have to tell Bree. I have to show this to her.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “Take it. I need to hit the shower anyway.”

As she stood, her gaze fell on the open bag near the foot of the bed, her Gold Digger baseball cap tucked into the side pocket. Scooping it up, she bounded over to the bed.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” She placed it on his head, tugging on the bill. “For ‘first hands’ on the best recovery of the trip so far.”

He just smiled. “Thanks.”