Make Her Pay (18 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“THIS IS THE last place on earth I’d expect to find my sister,” Lizzie said as the Gulfstream jet banked over jagged volcanic rocks and a whitecapped sea. “I mean, she likes adventure, but she also likes clubs, restaurants, shops, and… people.”

“Then there must be a very compelling reason for her to be here.” In a matching buttery leather recliner directly across from her, Con ignored the view, his gaze on her. As it had been for the seven-hour flight across the Atlantic and most of the past twenty-four hours.

Lizzie tried to avoid his steel-blue stare, but it was impossible-and, like everything else about him, unnerving. True to his word, Con had been nothing but protective and helpful for the past twenty-four hours. And still as attractive as he was before she knew his connection to Judd Paxton, damn it.

But he couldn’t take that treasure from her, and he sure could help her. So she put up with the misery of having to be so close to him and tried not to be attracted.

She forced herself to look out the window again, drinking in the shocking beauty of a rolling hillside dotted with snow-white stucco buildings, every single one topped in precisely the same coral-colored barreltile roof.

The runway started and ended with water, guaranteeing a white-knuckled landing for even the most seasoned traveler. Bree probably loved it.

Lizzie fingered the papers again. Her sister couldn’t have had this information, so what did she know that caused her to leave Lisbon?

“You are absolutely positive she flew into this place?” Lizzie asked again.

“When we land, the customs officer has been briefed to show us the records, if that will make you feel any better.”

It would. Frankly, everything he could do made her feel better. The stuff he had access to was like something out of the movies. Not only could he confirm Brianna’s travel plans-offering proof that she’d flown to Lisbon, then to Terceira, another island in the Azores archipelago, and finally to Corvo-he also produced the identity of one Gabrielle Roberts.

The woman who’d written to Lizzie was a fifty-year-old divorcée from Indianapolis who’d been traveling around Europe and was staying in Corvo, adding credence to the e-mail. Then, like magic, he had them on a luxurious private jet, zipping directly to the island, cutting out days of travel time for her.

And best of all, he’d given her the manifest of
El Falcone
.

She still couldn’t believe the document was real. But there it was, on her lap where it had been for most of the flight, a scanned image of the original manifest of
El Falcone
, a stunning find from a library in Havana.

The same library where her father had gone on that Cuban trip, she was certain. Did he have this manifest before he died?

“This document confirms everything my father theorized. That although
El Falcone
was not registered with any country, Captain Dare had paid for almost all the items it carried and had lined up buyers for each- making him not a pirate, but a profiteer.”

“And one of those buyers was in the Azores.”

She nodded. “Carlos Bettencourt. The CB from the notes, no doubt. This had to be what brought Brianna here. Because if she can prove this Carlos didn’t pay for his scepters, then Aramis was no thief.”

“How could she prove that?” Con countered.

The landing gear touched the edge of the runway with a slight jolt. “I think we’re about to find out. And if she has, then the scepters belong to Captain Dare and his descendants. Not”-she narrowed her eyes at him-“Judd Paxton.”

“Let’s just find your sister and take it one step at a time.”

After they got through customs, they left their bags with their pilot and flight attendant to check out Vila Nova do Corvo. The only village on the island, it couldn’t be more than a square mile of charmingly dilapidated houses built right on top of one another along a few cobblestone streets, a large Catholic church at its center.

“We could walk this from end to end in an hour,” Lizzie said as they crossed the street from the airport to the village tucked into the foothills of the mountainous island.

“According to our friend in customs, the rest of Corvo is fields, rocks, farms, and lakes. I say we head to wherever people eat and drink. There are only four hundred residents. One of them will know any visiting Americans.”

She curled her fingers into his, a jumble of emotions fighting for space in her chest. “I still hate you.”

He gave her fingers a squeeze. “I know.”

“But I’m very grateful that you’ve done this for me.”

A donkey-drawn cart of fruit and flowers rumbled by, and Con snagged a violet azalea from a bucket in the back, then handed it to her, tickling her chin with the petals. “Forgive me.”

“No.” She took the flower, unable to keep the smile off her face.

He just laughed softly, guiding them up the cobblestone street where a few older women in wheat-colored bonnets and long, dark dresses were coming toward them, talking in Portuguese.

One of them looked up and smiled.
“Bem vindos,”
she said, lifting the edge of her hat to reveal twinkling blue eyes.
“Turistas?”

“Do you speak English?” Con asked her.

Three of them looked at a fourth. “
Fale inglês
, Marta.”

A younger girl stepped forward from the back of the group, her eyes so much like the first woman’s, they could be mother and daughter.

“I speak a little,” she said softly, her gaze on Lizzie and not Con. “What do you look for?”

“An American woman,” Lizzie said. “Another visitor. Brianna Dare.”

She shook her head and lifted a shoulder. “Is she related to Corvo?”

Lizzie took the question to mean does she have relatives there. “No, but perhaps you know Gabrielle Roberts. Another American who has been staying here.”

The girl’s blank look suddenly changed. “Gabby?” She held her hand up several inches above her head, as if to indicate height. “Tall Gabby? For certain I know her. She is often to be found at Sousa.” She pointed. “On Rua das Pedras. There is room to rent there.”

The English was choppy but clear. “Sousa is a hotel?”

“No hotel in Corvo,” she said, shaking her head. “Sousa is…” She made a gesture of eating.

“A restaurant?” Lizzie supplied.

“
Sim
. Restaurant. But no sign on wall. Look for tables by the church.”

“Obrigado,”
Lizzie said, handing her the flower. “Thank you.”

The walk to the Spanish-style cathedral took five minutes. Every building in the vicinity looked like a private home, until they circled to the front and saw two tables set for dining outside a windowless three-story house.

Con tapped on a whitewashed door and it opened, revealing a tiny restaurant with a brick oven in the middle. A woman, also dressed in the dark garb of the locals, turned to greet them, the tangy scent of her cooking wafting toward them.

“Hello,” Con said from the low-slung door frame, still holding Lizzie’s hand. “Is this Sousa?”

She just nodded, looking from one to the other. “Eat outside?” she asked.

“Actually, we’re looking for Gabby Roberts. Do you know her?”

“Gabby?” She held up a finger, then slowly walked to the back, opening a door and disappearing up a set of stairs. A minute later she reappeared, followed by a tall, middle-aged woman whose easy, familiar smile pegged her instantly as an American.

“I’m Gabby,” she said, reaching out a hand to Lizzie. “The tourists always find me.”

Lizzie shook her hand. “Not tourists, I’m Elizabeth Dare. You e-mailed me about my sister.”

Gabby’s jaw loosened in surprise. “Good heavens, you got here fast.”

“Can you tell me where to find Brianna?”

“Of course. She’s up at the Bettencourt farm.”

“Bettencourt?” Excitement zinged through Lizzie at the name of Aramis Dare’s buyer.

“Up the hill-there’s only one road.”

“Who lives there?”

“The lady’s name is Solange Bettencourt, from New York City. Look up fish out of water, and you should find a real nice picture of her.” She laughed a little. “I haven’t been up there since I sent you the e-mail ’cause Mrs. B called and told me your sister was going to be helping her out with the cooking and stuff. You should find her up there.”

She’d come here to
work
for this woman? That was a stretch Lizzie couldn’t even imagine.

“How do we find the farm?” Con asked. “Do we need a car?”

“You could hitchhike up the hill. Any one of the thirty people around who have a car will give you a lift. That’s how I get there, or I borrow the Sousa’s scooter.”

“Can we borrow it?” Lizzie asked. “I’m really anxious to see her.”

Gabby nodded. “She’s going to be happy to see you, too, I think.”

Lizzie pictured the copy of the manifest she’d brought to show her sister. “I think so, too.”

Solange had kept Brianna Dare waiting for more than half the day, then let her into the attic “library” to read some innocuous paperwork about the Bettencourt family tree. Nothing that could support her ridiculous theory that Carlos Bettencourt hadn’t paid for the delivery of treasures he’d ordered. The girl’s ancestor was a pirate, and Solange’s was practically Portuguese nobility.

Not that she cared about that nearly as much as this girl did. She was too, too close. Still, nothing she could find or produce would be as powerful as the fact that the scepter was on Bettencourt property today-and the other would be here soon.

All the wheels had been set into motion to retrieve the mate, and the discovery would make Jaeger sick with remorse.
Then
he’d bring her home.

After the library, Solange brought the girl to the kitchen, suggesting she do a little cooking since Gabby was gone for a few days, then left her there to get the scheduled call.

The satellite phone rang right on time, but Solange hesitated when the ID wasn’t a number she recognized. She answered tentatively, and the familiar voice’s first words shook her.

“The dive is over.”

“What do you
mean
, it’s over?” she asked in a hushed whisper as she closed the door to her upstairs room. “How can it be over?”

“One of the divers was killed in an accident. The Coast Guard brought the FBI in, and Judd’s filed an official claim, so the site can’t be salvaged until next season. We’re done for now, Solange.”

Fury slammed her. “You didn’t find it!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“That’s what I’ve paid you to do!”

“We still have next summer. Of course, it’ll be harder when the dive’s not secret.”

And Judd Paxton would be even more motivated by her husband’s desire to own both of those scepters.

“Brianna Dare is sitting in my kitchen right this minute,” she said, measuring every word for the most impact. “She and her sister have done a tremendous amount of research. It’s only a matter of time until they know all that Malcolm Dare knew.”

“We can handle that.”

Did she really want this many deaths on her conscience? Was vengeance worth that price?

“I can’t…”
Afford another accidental death on my farm
. But she didn’t want him to know about Ana. “…do anything, except slow this girl down. What are you going to do about that one?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, you better do something, and fast.”

“No one knows Brianna Dare is there,” he said, his voice rich with implication.

“She flew to Corvo, and to Terceira from Lisbon. The authorities could track her.”

“Does anyone know she’s at your house?”

She knew exactly where he was going with this. “Just a housekeeper.”

“And would she question it if you told her your houseguest left?”

“Probably not.”

“Then you need to stop her, Solange.”

Her stomach rolled at the thought. Getting rid of Ana had been a momentary act of madness and fear. What he was suggesting was premeditated.

“I don’t know… how.”

“Figure it out,” he ordered.

“Excuse me?” she shot back. “The last time I checked, you worked for
me
.”

“I’m offering you counsel,” he said, softening his tone. “No one knows she’s there at your farm, but that could change any minute. You have to get rid of her- and Solange, you have to hide the body. Destroy it and any evidence.”

Her throat tightened at the thought. “They’ll track her here eventually.”

“And you’ll say she came and went, without any explanation of why she wanted to leave. It makes sense that her father’s research would lead her to you ultimately, but by the time the next diving season starts, this will be ancient history. And I promise you, you
will
end up with the matching pair of the Bombay Blues, the owner of one of the greatest artifacts in the world.”

Jaeger would explode with envy. He’d realize how resourceful she was, how talented. And how he should never have let her leave. He’d love her again.

“Do you really think I have to…”
Kill again
.

“Yes, you do. And you must be very thorough and neat.”

It didn’t sound very neat to her. It sounded… sickening.

“I really have no idea how to kill a person and destroy the evidence.”

“Use your imagination.”

Her gaze flicked to the windmill that blocked her view. “I will.”

She finished the call, sipped some sustenance, and headed back to the kitchen to convince Brianna Dare to tour the windmill.

“Everything of real interest in this place is in the windmill,” Solange said as they walked toward the structure, the soft whoosh of the sweeps getting louder as they got closer. “This windmill was around when your Aramis and my Carlos were alive. Think about that, Brianna.”

“Amazing,” the girl replied, clearly not that interested. If she knew what was hidden there, she’d be much more enthusiastic.

The secret made Solange smile. “I considered taking it down because it blocks the view.” Solange opened the door to the first level, where the sound changed to a constant groaning, creaking, moaning noise caused by the massive wooden mechanism that took up most of the wide, round structure. “But then I had a change of heart.”