Make Her Pay

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CON JOGGED TO the Posto de Saude do Corvo, barely acknowledging the young woman at the front desk as he threw Brianna’s name at her and headed toward the back.

There was one patient room with the door closed, a nurse at a small station nearby. She stood as he approached, but he just headed in, expecting to see Lizzie.

The room was dark and Brianna was asleep. He glanced around, but there was no sign of Lizzie or the box of documents she’d taken.

“Brianna?” he whispered, stepping toward the bed.

“Ela está dormindo,” the nurse insisted, coming up behind him. “Asleep.”

“I need to wake her.” He touched her hand and gave it a little shake. “Please, Brianna. I need to know where Lizzie is.”

“Senhor!”

He ignored the nurse and leaned closer. “Bree, wake up. Lizzie’s not safe. Neither of you are. Please tell me where she is.”

Her lids fluttered and she let out a soft moan. “Lizzie…”

“Where is she?”

Her eyes slowly opened, dilated and unfocused, then closed again.

“Is sedative of pain,” the nurse said, her hand on his arm. “No wake.”

“The other woman? Sister?” He searched for the word. “Irmã. Sister-she left?”

“Irmã!” She brightened, nodding. “Sim! Irmã.”

“Her sister, yes. Did she leave? Go?” He made his fingers walk off, then tapped his wrist. “When?”

She shrugged and shook her head, responding in Portuguese, enough to communicate that she had no idea when Lizzie left.

“Alone?” he pressed. “Others? A man and woman? Homem and…” He couldn’t think of the word for woman.

She nodded again, getting it anyway.

She held up two fingers. “Homem e mulher.”

Man and woman. A fist slammed his chest. She was with them.

There was only one place they could have gone. He thanked her and looked at Brianna. She wasn’t safe here. He pulled out his satellite phone and called the pilot waiting at the airport, instructing him to come guard Brianna until he returned. Then he waited until the pilot arrived, an eternity that was probably less than fifteen minutes.

Outside, he scanned the streets. A cab was unheard of, and unacceptably slow. There was no time to get the scooter, and even if he did, it wasn’t fast enough, either. He needed-

A Ducati.

The speedy little sports bike was parked directly across the street, the key in the ignition. Of course. There was no crime in Corvo.

Well, there was some now.

He looked left and right again, the only people in sight an older woman walking toward the church with a white-haired priest.

He jogged across the street, threw a leg over the seat, and closed his fingers around the keys. The engine turned over with the distinctly mellow growl of an Italian bike and Con took off, knowing exactly where he had to go.

As he passed the priest, he silently asked the old man to pray he wasn’t too late.

“He’s a thief, Lizzie, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you are.” Charlotte looked up from Solange’s open desk drawer, where she’d been rummaging since they’d arrived at the farmhouse, her normally calm demeanor agitated as she searched for something she claimed could really “help them understand the documentation” that Con had unearthed.

But every time Lizzie or Sam tried to press her on exactly what it was, her answers were vague and she changed the subject to harp on Con.

The facts she’d somehow managed to get on Lizzie’s lover were irrefutable. Any claims that he was not a former thief would sound as hollow to them as they did in Lizzie’s head.

Especially once she’d convinced them to stop by Sousa’s to tell Con where they were going, and he was gone. No note, no explanation. Just gone.

Where would he go without stopping by the clinic to tell her? It was possible she’d missed him between the restaurant and the clinic; there were plenty of winding back alleys throughout the town. Still, worry and uncertainty pushed at her heart. And the accusations didn’t help.

Charlotte slammed a drawer shut and stood, shaking her head. “Let me check the bedroom.”

Lizzie dropped onto a window seat that looked out over the property, stretching all the way to the windmill and the sea beyond. At a distance of what was probably the length of two football fields, the windmill looked small and sweetly picturesque. But it wasn’t so small when she was scaling the side to get to the brake. And it sure as hell wasn’t sweet when those gears nearly crushed her sister.

And Con had risked his life to save Brianna. He’d been a thief at one time, but he was a hero to her. She blew out a breath.

“If it’s any consolation, Lizzie Lou, I like him.” Sam had come up from behind, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I know Charlotte has all these connections in the world of art and collectors, so this dirt on Xenakis undoubtedly has some merit, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you, honey. A man who feels that protective about a woman can’t be all bad.”

She smiled wanly up at him. “If he’s so protective, why did he disappear?”

“He couldn’t have gone far on this island. Give him time.”

She nodded, looking out again. “This is when I miss my dad the most, you know. He was a great judge of character.”

“I don’t know about that.” Sam chuckled. “He liked me.”

“He did like you, a lot.” Never liked your new wife, though. But there was no reason to hurt Sam.

“That thief’s probably already been here.” Charlotte’s voice floated in from the bedroom down the hall.

“What is she looking for?” Lizzie whispered to Sam.

He lifted a shoulder. “She says she’ll know it when she sees it. You know how she is with treasure and art. Has a nose for it.”

“Did you tell her about the scepter?” she asked softly.

His expression grew pained. “Actually, no. I should have, but…”

“You were smart not to,” Lizzie assured him. “For her own protection.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound so convincing, but before she could pursue it, Charlotte made a disdainful tsk from the bedroom.

“He was probably here cleaning this place out while we were in the hospital with your poor sister,” she said loudly.

“My sister whose life he saved,” Lizzie said under her breath.

Sam put a hand on her arm. “If you like this man, or even if you love him, go with your gut, honey. Be honest with him. Give him a chance to explain who he is and why.”

“I did.”

“And did you like what he had to say?”

“Most of it.”

“Well, there you…” Sam’s voice faded as his attention shifted outside.

A figure moved in the far distance of the road. Lizzie sat up taller, squinting to see more clearly. She was able to make out the shape of a man in dark clothing with dark hair or a hat, dropping a motorbike to the ground and then bending over, running as though he were trying to maintain cover, as he headed toward the gravel drive that led to the property.

Was that Con? It was too far to make out any detail, but it sure looked like he wore a dark baseball cap- exactly like the one she’d playfully put on his head when she left to see her sister.

But why was he trying to hide?

“That your boyfriend?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on the way he moved, the shape of his body. “From this far away, I think so.”

Relief rolled over her. He’d come to find her.

“What’s he doing?” Sam asked.

“I wish I knew.”

He reached the gravelly perimeter surrounding the windmill, and hesitated. Was he looking up here? She couldn’t tell. If he was looking for signs of life, he wouldn’t see it, as Charlotte had insisted on parking their borrowed four-wheel drive in the back. Con had no way of knowing she was there.

She started to reach for the window, to open it and call to him, but something in the way he moved-or didn’t-stopped her. Then he disappeared into the windmill.

“Maybe he thinks I’m in there.”

“I’m going up to check the attic,” Charlotte called as she passed, pausing at the doorway. “You ought to listen to me, Lizzie. The man is a known thief, and nothing is ever going to change that. Be glad you found out before he could rob you blind and break your heart. Can you imagine how badly he’d like to get his hands on those scepters and diamonds? It’s no wonder he glommed onto you-”

“Char,” Sam said softly. “Stop.”

She just headed down the hall, her footsteps heavy on the wooden stairs at the end.

“I trust Con,” Lizzie said emphatically, as though saying it out loud made it even truer.

Then he stepped out of the windmill, a swath of something white in his arms. Lizzie stared, leaning as close to the glass as she could to make out the man and what he carried. As he turned, a gust of wind fluttered the fabric, and the sunlight glinted a flash of golden light, a prism of blue. Brilliant, even from this far away.

“Oh my God,” she said.

“Well, look at that.” Sam’s voice was stunned, and sad. “Oh, honey, maybe Charlotte was right about him.”

“No.” She refused to believe that.

Come to the house now, Con. She willed him to run toward the farmhouse, looking for her. Or pull out his satellite phone and announce what he’d found.

But he didn’t. He turned toward the road-away.

Her heart thudded in her stomach as realization hit.

“He knew it was in there,” she whispered to herself. “He knew all along.” While they made love. When he showed her the documents. When he playfully kissed her good-bye and… never said a word. For a second, she could barely breathe.

He had used her. He’d used the documents as a decoy, then sent her to see her sister and…

Partially covered by the thick lilac bushes, he slowed his step, pulling something-a phone, she realized- out of his pocket. Who was he calling? Lucy? Paxton? Another buyer?

“I can’t believe this.” The words were strangled in her throat.

“You have to find out the truth,” Sam said.

She turned to him. “I’m looking at the truth.”

“The truth is not always what it seems to be,” he said, his blue eyes fierce on her. He stood and pulled out a set of keys. “I’ll stay here with Charlotte. Can you drive that Portuguese Jeep? The Gurgel?”

She nodded.

“Go.” He put the keys in her hand. “Go find out what he’s doing and why. I just don’t believe that man would hurt you. I saw good in him.”

“Oh, Sam.” She blinked back tears she hated, and put her arms around the other man. “So did I.”

“Go.” He gave her a little nudge, and tilted his head toward the hall. “Before she gets back and changes your mind. I’ll tell her you…” He stared beyond her again. “He’s headed north. What the hell’s up there but rocks and cliffs?”

She shook her head, trying to remember the map she’d studied on the plane. “Nothing but hiking trails and farmland,” she said. “And a mile-wide volcanic crater at the tip of the island. There’s only that one road, as far as I know.”

“Then go catch up with him, Lizzie. Find out what the man’s made of. Your dad would want you to.”

Would he? Or would he tell her to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction?

“And maybe get that scepter and diamond back,” Sam added with a wink. “You know what they say, Lizzie Lou?”

“The blondes find the gold.” They said it at the same time and she gave him another squeeze, jumping off the window seat. “See ya, Uncle Sam.”

She hadn’t used the name in many years, but he’d earned it.

Lizzie trotted quietly down the steps, out the back door, and leaped into the topless Gurgel.

This was definitely the right thing to do, she told herself as she turned the key. Regardless of what he was doing, who he was double-crossing, or why, he would never hurt her physically. Emotionally? Yeah, he could do some damage-some major damage-to her heart.

So what’s the worst that could happen? She could hear his voice posing the question as she drove to the front.

Well, she could find out that he was a lying thief, or still on Paxton’s payroll.

“That wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she said into the wind, her heart rising with the speedometer. “Better to know now than later, when I’m in love with the rat bastard.”

Mud sloshed under the wheels as she powered down the drive and reached the road. Why would he go north and not toward the town where he thought she was?

The man is a known thief and nothing is ever going to change that.

She hesitated at the intersection, thinking she heard another engine around the curve in the opposite direction. After a second, when nothing came around the corner, she hit the gas to head up the hill, silencing Charlotte’s voice in her head.

Yanking the wheel to the right, she slammed her foot on the pedal, shooting up the winding asphalt, the emerald foliage and lavender-blue flowers blurring as she focused on the road. She twisted around one corner, then another, still not seeing him. At a straightaway, she squinted into the wind, seeing a spot on the road maybe a mile away. Was that him?

He turned the next corner and she powered on, her hair blown straight back as the wind smacked over the windshield and pounded her. All that was left was the narrow, steep road up to the perimeter of the volcanic crater, the asphalt cracked and pitted up here.

Where in God’s name was he going with that scepter?

With each quarter mile, new emotions took hold, numbing the pain in her chest. Fury. Resentment. Disgust.

She’d been duped.

So what? She wasn’t the first woman in history to fall for a con man, and she wouldn’t be the last. But she wanted that goddamn scepter, and when she got it, she was gonna smack him with it. Just so he knew exactly how she felt.

She spotted him ahead.

The road disintegrated at the top of the mountain into gravel and rocks, and she stopped the Gurgel, knowing she couldn’t make it as far as he had on the motorbike.

She jumped out and started hiking, watching him in the distance as he climbed, still holding the whitecovered scepter, over the last crest of the cratertop.

Why the hell hadn’t he heard her? He had the ears of Superman. Was he that focused on his job? Or was she still too far away?

He disappeared over the edge.

Panting, sweating, burning inside and out, she finally reached the top of the crater, a hump of dirt about five feet wide. On one side was a steep, fifty-foot drop straight down to the ocean, on the other, a sloping grassy bowl leading down to a group of lakes at the bottom of the crater.

Lizzie pulled herself over the top, staying low to surprise him, trying to be quiet.

He was about twenty feet away, crouched over a large black bag. He’d left that there? When? How long had he planned this treachery?

Angled away from her, his face blocked by the low bill of her Gold Digger cap, he opened the white fabric to reveal the scepter. A soft laugh of victory escaped from his lips, the sound bruising her heart.

How could she have misjudged him so completely?

He stood and she did the same, ready for the confrontation. She opened her mouth to call his name just as he whipped off the cap… and shook out long surfer-blond hair.

“Dave?” The word was barely a croak. Divemaster Dave?

Instantly he swooped to the ground, picking up the scepter in one hand, a gun in the other.

Her jaw dropped, disbelief rolling over her.

She took a step backward, chills running down her back. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“We’re hiding some treasure in the crater lake caves.” He pointed the scepter toward the calm blue waters of the lakes. “But you’re going to have to stay down there with it, Lizzie. For a long, long time.”

“What? Why are you… I just don’t get it, Dave.”

“Not Dave,” he said, climbing the slope to close the space between them. “Most people in the diving world call me Dylan. Your dad did.”