Make Her Pay (11 page)

She backed into the room, and closed and locked the door. Like that little scrap of metal could keep him out. But he didn’t need to be in the room to know what she was doing; he could hear her moving around.

He put his ear to the door and picked up the ruffle of some bedding, the brush of someone crawling on carpeted floor, and pictured her crawling under a bed. She liked that hiding place; it was the same thing she did with the scepter.

He pressed his ear to the door and heard a snap, then a zipper too high-pitched to be the backpacks. Something hit wood… the scepter? If he had to find it without her, he now knew enough from what he’d heard.

A loud knock on the front door pulled him away from her door. When she didn’t emerge and the visitor knocked again, harder, he missed the nuance of the next sound.

“Lizzie,” he called. “Someone’s here.”

“One sec.” The zipper sound again, and a snap, then another.

He inched to the door to hear what she was doing, but another sound caught his attention. The lock opening in the front.

Automatically, he reached for his weapon. He advanced down the hall toward the front, listening. Whoever it was made no effort to hide that he or she was there. A female, judging from the sound of heels on tile, moving fast across the living area.

He gave it three seconds, then popped around the corner to surprise her, and got a deafening scream in return.

Behind him, the door to Lizzie’s room crashed open and she tore out. “What the hell?”

An older woman with graying hair, huge brown eyes, and impressive lungs stood frozen with her hands balled to her cheeks.

Lizzie shot right past him and almost lost her balance at the sight of the woman.

“Joy!”

The scream stopped. “Oh my. Lizzie. You scared me!”

“No,
he
scared you.” She glared at the Glock. “You can put that away. This is a neighbor, Joy Caldwell. What are you doing?” she asked the woman.

She held up a handful of mail. “Getting the mail while your sister’s out of town.”

“Damn. She really is gone?”

“She went to Lisbon, honey. I don’t think she was expecting you to stop by anytime soon. Aren’t you out diving?”

Lizzie just shook her head. “Is she alone?”

“I believe so.”

“She didn’t happen to say why she was going to Portugal, did she?”

Joy shrugged. “I thought it was for fun. She was awfully darn excited and, well, you know Brianna. Just doing something spontaneous.”

“Thanks for the mail, Joy,” Lizzie replied, resignation in her voice. “Did she leave an itinerary?”

“I’m sorry, no.” The woman’s gaze flicked to Con. “Are you a cop or something?”

“Something.”

Lizzie gently nudged Joy to the door. “I’ll call you if I hear from her, and you do the same. You have my cell phone number, right?”

“I do.”

Lizzie closed the door and turned to face Con. “First of all, why in God’s name are you armed? And second, do you think your amazing contacts can help me find my sister?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FOR ALL THE money this guy must have to be able to buy the medallion, Gerard Dix’s winter home in St. Richard’s Island wasn’t
that
nice. The McMansion couldn’t go for more than two or three mil, and the furnishings were right out of the pages of
Southern Living
. Nothing like what Flynn would have if
he
could shell out six figures for a necklace. But ever since his mother had married Judd Paxton and Flynn had been exposed to true wealth, he’d noticed that some of the richest people didn’t reveal it to the world. But Dix was happy to part with his money, clearly enamored with the medallion. After he examined it, he disappeared from the spacious pool deck, leaving Flynn alone with a watery iced tea, then he bounded back, beaming, with cash.

“Well done, Flynn. I had a good look inside. It certainly needs a little more treatment and cleaning, but I have no doubt that this is genuine and valuable.” He pulled out a seat across from Flynn at the glass-topped poolside table. “You’ve clearly inherited the salvaging gene.”

Flynn’s lip practically curled. “Judd’s married to my mother, Gerry. No blood or genes shared between us.”

“Oh, excuse me. Since you have the same name, I assumed you’re his son.”

Fucking liar. Everyone in this world knew Flynn was the stepson riding on the coattails of Judd’s success. “You do remember our agreement?” Flynn crossed his arms and rested them on the table. “Keep Judd out of this.”

“No worries, son. I’m no friend of the man’s. He’s never wanted to play by our rules.”

Those would be the rules of commercial underground. “So true,” Flynn agreed. “Judd likes to keep his name front and center, and we… don’t.”

Gerry chuckled. “Isn’t that the truth? I hate to say it, but he’s a bit of an egotist.”

“Ya think?” Flynn rolled his eyes. “He loves nothing more than seeing his name in print, on walls, in books. His motto? ‘Underwater treasure diving should be synonymous with the name Paxton.’ ”

“He’s achieved that,” Gerry said with a note of admiration. “I admit, now that I know he’s not your real father, you seem like less of a…”

“What? A traitor? A thief? A person willing to backstab the man who married his mother?”

“No, no, it’s just that-”

“That what?” His voice got edgy, as it always did when his stepfather’s name was mentioned. “That Judd Paxton’s blood son wouldn’t screw him in the back?”

Gerry inched back, assessing Flynn. “Frankly, yes. That’s what I was thinking. You
are
cheating your father out of money.”

Fuck you, Gerry. It was
your
money.
Flynn managed a tight smile. This was, after all, a good customer. “He’s not in this business for money.”

“Coulda fooled me. Judd Paxton is a very wealthy man.”

“He’s in it for the glory. Notice his name on the museum doors? The grants to universities? The mile-high mountain of press coverage? That’s what gets my old man off.”

“Your old
step
man.”

Flynn’s blood bubbled to a low simmer, but he covered the anger by crossing his legs and leaning back. “But he won’t have his name on that piece.” He slanted his head toward the house where Gerry had taken his treasure. “And I have a feeling there could be more on this dive. A lot more.”

“I’m always interested,” Gerry said, standing up. “Just give me a call.”

Flynn maintained his calm demeanor as they walked to the front of the house, kept his temper in check while they shook hands and said good-bye, then climbed into his SUV, driving slowly around the circle even though he wanted to smash his foot on the pedal. He pulled onto A1A with a remarkable amount of composure, considering that his heart rate soared higher with every moment.

Then he smashed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel so hard it sent pain up his arm. Stealing from his stepfather wasn’t enough. His full-scale piracy only created pity and support for the great and powerful Judd Paxton. And frankly, being an irritant to the man just didn’t give Flynn the satisfaction he needed anymore.

Judd Paxton had to
suffer
for being an egotistical prick. For fucking Flynn’s mother, and never truly acknowledging Flynn as his son. Judd Paxton needed to get it where it hurt him the most: his reputation.

Flynn drove back to the marina like a maniac, formulating a plan. If the authorities found out about the unregistered dive, Judd would merely get his knuckles rapped and he’d buy his way back into the Florida state reps’ good graces. He’d done
that
often enough.

No, it had to be something bigger. Something more shocking. Something that would expose the dive and leave a permanent stain on the name Paxton.

Judd wanted headlines? That’s what he’d get.

An ankle holster? Lizzie watched dumbfounded as Con stashed the gun into a leather contraption around his ankle. “You want to explain that to me?”

“I’m armed because it’s stupid not to be when carrying around an artifact that I have no doubt people would kill for,” he said, straightening his jeans. “And to answer your other question, yes, I can get confirmation whether or not your sister was on a plane to Lisbon. If she’s registered in a hotel there, I can probably get a phone number for you, too.”

She wanted to jump all over the first explanation, but the urge to throw her arms around him for the rest of it was stronger. She quelled both reactions, watching him warily as she deposited Brianna’s mail on the dining-room table. “How? How can you do that?”

“I told you, I have-”

“Connections. Yes, I know, but…” She shook her head, the very first question she ever had about him snaking back into her mind. A question she’d conveniently tamped down as she grew more attracted to him, and more dependent on him. It was time to ask. “Who
are
you?”

He gave her a slight smile. “That’s not what you want to know, Lizzie.”

“It’s exactly what I want to know.”

“No.” He pulled out one of the dining-room chairs and offered it to her. “What you want to know is what I’m doing on this dive, and why I’m helping you.”

She stayed standing, until he put a strong hand on her shoulder and guided her into the chair, as if whatever he was going to tell her would make her lose her balance. Her heart did just that, so she took the seat, while he pulled out the other and sat knee-to-knee.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He finally said, “There is a reason that I carry a gun and a satellite phone, why I’m willing to help you take and hide treasures from the boat, and why, with a single phone call, I can find out the names of a resident in a development or a list of passengers on a plane.”

He waited a beat, while her brain whirred over possibilities.

“It’s the same reason,” he continued, “that I came after you in the lab when I thought you were stealing, and was able to have a motorcycle waiting when we arrived, and can pick up my phone and find out who lives in the house where Flynn Paxton was visiting.”

“Oh my God.” She put her hand to her mouth as realization and understanding dawned. “You’re an undercover agent for the government.”

He said nothing, just looked her right in the eyes and didn’t react. Of course he wouldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to confirm or deny.

That’s
why he was armed and… dangerous.

He worked for the government, probably investigating Paxton’s whole operation to stop the siphoning of treasure that was supposed to generate millions in taxes and co-profits for the state.

A thrill exploded in her heart.

“FBI?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“State government? Art crimes? Tax evasion? Police? What is it?”

He just kept his mouth closed and let out a soft breath, obviously pained by the conversation.

“You’re not allowed to tell me, are you?”

“Lizzie, I want to.” He put his hand on her leg and leaned closer. “I really want to.”

“But then…” A smile pulled at her mouth. “You’d have to kill me.”

“You just need to trust me,” he said, not smiling back.

“I do,” she said with conviction. It all made so much sense now. Of course he wanted to take over everything and do it his way. Of course he wanted to know where she put the scepter and diamond, and go out of his way to follow Flynn with a priceless medallion.

If he was with the government, he was on
her
side.

“You
know
I don’t want to profit from this dive, don’t you?” she said quickly. He had to understand her real objectives, especially now. “You know that my goal is to share everything we find in an exhibit that millions of people can enjoy.”

“And clear your ancestor’s name,” he added.

“And the government would want that, too, right?”

He didn’t answer, his gaze cutting her.

“You can’t say anything, can you?”

“I can say this: We both want the same thing, we just want it for different reasons.”

She leaned back, a tsunami of emotions washing over her. Admiration. Relief. Joy, even. And something else. Something like a big, bad, nasty crush.

“You’re really one of the good guys,” she said softly.

“Not entirely.”

She smiled. “Funny time for you to suddenly get humble.”

“I don’t want you to…” He trailed off, at a rare loss for words.

“Tell anyone?” she offered. “I swear I won’t.”

“Good,” he said. “But I also don’t want you to think you know everything.”

“I’m sure I don’t.” But she knew enough.

He stood, reaching for her hand. “We need to get back to the marina, as soon as I make a call and get that information you want.”

“About my sister?” Gratitude pulled and settled like a lump in her throat. “Thank you, Con.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said. “Because you’re really helping me, too.”

He made a call, walking away and speaking softly, reading information from the boarding pass printout. She managed not to follow him or stare like a lovesick puppy, but the sensation that rocked her body wasn’t too far from that.

He’d
trusted
her. He hadn’t actually broken his… code, or whatever they called it. But he never denied her assumption, and that very thing confirmed it.

He’d moved into the office, and she headed back there, taking Brianna’s mail with her.

“It’s Houser,” he said, the name stopping Lizzie cold. “Dylan Houser. Cave diver from California. Just let me know what you can get on the investigation into that drowning last August.”

Dad’s drowning? She felt the blood drain from her head.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said when he turned to her, reading her reaction. “I thought I might be able to get some information on your father’s accident.”

She tried to swallow but couldn’t. “Why?”

“Because it strikes me as odd that a diver as experienced as he was would cave-dive alone.”

“You don’t think… it was…” She almost couldn’t say the words. “An accident?”

“It’s my nature to be suspicious, Lizzie.”

And his job. “There’s an investigator’s report on record-”

“We’re going to get it.”

Of course “they” were.

He reached a hand to her. “I just want to help you, Lizzie, because you’ve done a lot to help me.”

All the way up A1A to the marina, Lizzie wrapped her arms around Con’s powerful body, all her different feelings fusing until she felt like she might combust.

The revelation about Con. The disappearance of Brianna. The resurrection of her father’s drowning. The scepter, the dive, the truth…
The man in her arms
.

She closed her eyes and rested her chin on his shoulder, none of it making sense, yet suddenly all of it making sense.

He rolled into the marina lot half an hour before their cutoff. As she got off the bike, Lizzie frowned, looking for Flynn’s cabin cruiser.

“Didn’t we dock in that slip?” she asked, pointing and not seeing the tuna tower of his cabin cruiser.

Con pulled off his helmet. “Did he move the boat?”

They scanned the area, then walked to the dock that handled boats of that size. Nowhere.

“Who ya lookin’ for?” The voice came from behind them, a young man. “That big Tiara?”

“Do you work here?” Con asked.

“Yeah, and I came on just when that guy took off in a big, fat hurry. The son of a bitch didn’t even pay his docking fee. Said he’d be back tomorrow. But if that prick stiffs us in a half-million-dollar boat, I’ll be pissed.”

“Tomorrow?” Lizzie blew out the word, disgusted. “I can’t believe he did this.”

“I can,” Con said quickly, walking her away. “He’s got to go do damage control immediately. Has to go back to the boat and claim the medallion was taken from him, and come up with a story to tell his stepfather.”

“So you think he left us here on purpose, so we couldn’t contradict him or question him?”

“More than that, he doesn’t want me anywhere near that boat, because he thinks Alita took the medallion and gave it to me. He can pay her off, but not me. The longer I’m away, the better chance he thinks he has of getting me fired.”

“Can he?”

“Actually, no.” A soft beep got his attention and he pulled out his phone, stepping away and speaking softly. When he returned, he look pleased.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, forcing her voice to be light. “You got us a boat with one phone call.”

He smiled. “No, I have another plan for us tonight.” The way he said it sent a slow burn through her.

“And what would that be?”

He put his arm around her, his mouth very close to her ear.

“I’ve developed one other very specialized skill in my life.”

She looked up, getting a little kick from the shared secret and a bigger one from the sheer proximity of his mouth to hers. “Which is?”

“You could call it reclamation. The man who lives at 662 River Run is a known black-market art collector. I think I have to
reclaim
the medallion he illegally purchased today.”

She melted right into him with a sigh. “You are something else, Con.”

“Yeah.” His tone was wry. “I really am.”