Make Her Pay (9 page)

Closing his hands over her hips, he crouched lower, to get under, get his tongue in deeper.

“Con.” She dug her hands into his head. “What… are…”

He sucked gently, kissed the inside of her thighs, adjusted his position to kneel right in front of her.

“Hypothermia treatment,” he said softly, glancing up and letting his eyes do the smiling. “To be sure you’re warm.”

He curled his tongue inside her again, magnetically drawn to the taste of her, his cock throbbing a full erection from the sight and smell of her woman’s body. He wanted to be inside her.

“I’m… oh… warm.”

Snap
.

His head jerked back at the sound.

“Wha-”

“Shhh.” He held up a hand to silence her question, rocking back and propelling himself up to a stand.

The click of a latch was barely audible over the blood in his ears, but Con was up in an instant, using every cell in his body to pinpoint the source of the sound.

“I didn’t hear-”

“Don’t move.” He spun and shoved open the head door and stepped into the cabin, his attention on the knob as it turned. He held up his hand to silence Lizzie behind him, walking to the door, wanting the full impact of surprise on his side.

The hatch slowly creaked open, separating from the rubber strip with a suction sound.

Charlotte Gorman’s nose peeked in first, then her face, her eyes popping at the sight of Con. “Oh.”

“Can I help you?”

Her gaze dropped over his torso, her color rising as she jerked back behind the door in embarrassment. “I was looking for Lizzie.”

Lizzie bounded forward, the towel wrapped under her arms and knotted now, passing Con with a quick look. “It’s only Charlotte.”

He held her back with one hand, pointing to the scepter on the bed, the silent message clear.
Don’t let her in
.

“Let me just talk to her,” she whispered, nodding to assure him she wouldn’t let her in.

“She was breaking in.”

“She has a
key
.” She stepped to the opening, keeping it cracked just enough to peek out. “I’m, uh, kind of busy, Char. What’s the matter?”

Con stood right behind Lizzie, glaring at Charlotte, who ignored him. “It’s Sam. He’s really sick.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. He’s been moaning. He has chest pains.” The older woman’s eyes looked pained, with deep circles and a feathering of lines all around. “Can you come and see him, Lizzie?”

Lizzie glanced over her shoulder at Con. “Would you know the signs of a heart attack?”

He nodded.

“Then…” She faltered. “Could you check on him?”

“Lizzie.” Charlotte reached to take the woman’s hand. “I need you there. Please. I’m scared.”

Con pulled Lizzie deeper into the cabin, against his chest. “Give us a minute, Mrs. Gorman. One of us will be over in a minute.”

She finally looked at him, her expression a mix of pain and relief and a little distrust. “Sorry to interrupt. But I’m scared.”

“We’ll be right there,” Lizzie assured her. “You go stay with Sam. If we need to get him to the mainland to a doctor, we will. We’ll do whatever we have to, I promise.”

When she left, Lizzie turned, but Con didn’t move.

“We have to help her,” she said.

“She was breaking in.”

“Con, she has a key to my cabin. She’s my friend. And her husband’s sick.” She pushed by him and started lifting up random clothes looking for something to wear.

“Why didn’t she knock?”

“Maybe she heard the shower or didn’t want to wake the rest of the crew. Maybe we didn’t hear her. The shower was on, and we were… breathing heavy.” Stepping out of his grasp, she gave him a little nudge. “Please get dressed and we’ll hide that and go see him. The man could be dying.”

She hadn’t knocked. Con knew that for a fact. He watched the towel fall, leaving Lizzie naked, damp, pink. “You warm enough now?” he asked.

She nodded and glanced over at him as she pulled her panties on. “You still disoriented?”

He smiled. “I was just getting there when the 911 call came.”

“Timing is everything,” she said with a shrug.

“Yeah. And hers was impeccable.”

CHAPTER TEN

BRIANNA DARE SHOULDERED her travel bag and powered through the streets of Lisbon. Lizzie was going to kill her, but then she’d throw her arms around her and get all emotional about how she had to watch out for Brianna because they didn’t have a mother. And now they didn’t have a father, Lizzie was worse than ever.

At the base of the funicular that would take her up a steep hill to another noisy, crazy, insanely gorgeous part of the city, Brianna climbed on board. A man muttered something to her in Portuguese and checked her out. A woman elbowed past her to get onto the Santa Justa elevator to Upper City. Smells and colors and sounds swirled around her, and Brianna couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. Freedom felt
so
freaking good.

She was out of Vero Beach. Out of that stifling, suffocating house with nothing to do but organize Dad’s pile of chaos and look for paper clues, while Lizzie had all the fun on a dive.

She’d left her cell phone at home-it wouldn’t work over here anyway-and hadn’t told Lizzie what she had decided to do. Her sister would be furious, but if she was successful on this trip, Lizzie would forgive her in a heartbeat.

From his notes, it was clear Dad had wondered about the identity of “BC” and how he or she fit into the legend of
El Falcone
. Brianna was about to find out, and it was something Lizzie wanted to know almost as much as she wanted the treasure itself. Without that piece of the puzzle, it would be hard to prove their ancestor was anything but a slimy pirate.

As the car started to ride up the rails, Brianna reached into her bag to double-check the address and directions. Maria Rossos Della Buonofuentes spoke enough English that they could communicate over the Internet, and according to her directions, Brianna was one stop and a quick walk from her destination.

Off the funicular, she headed up another hill, so steep that the cobbled streets were like steps. Everywhere, her senses were assaulted with foreign beauty and sounds and smells. Creamy stone church spires curled into a blue sky right next to candy-colored storefronts, their balconies festooned with laundry. Vendors and fishmongers cried out as she passed, tempting her to stop and taste and experience it all.

But she had a mission, and she was focused on that.

At the entrance to a large park, she saw the café across the street.
Solar do Vinho
. Exactly as Maria’s directions said. She waited for a brightly painted trolley to rumble by, then dashed across the street and into the wine bar.

It was almost five, so she was a few minutes early, and the tiny café was nearly deserted. Except for a woman who sat in the far corner, a bright orange scarf around her head, just as she’d promised.

“Hello, Maria.” Brianna plopped down across from her, letting her bag fall to the floor. “I’m Bree Dare.”

Dark, sad eyes crinkled with a smile. She was younger than Brianna had imagined and really pretty. She held out a cool hand and clasped Brianna’s, not in a classic handshake but more of a knuckle squeeze.

“You have made it.” Her English was flawless and musical.

“I didn’t even see my room,” Bree admitted with a laugh. “I just left my bags with the concierge and came right here. Do you have it?”

Maria crossed her arms. “I do. It took quite a bit of research, but I have finally located the property for you.” She drew a cylindrical roll from her bag and spread the paper out.

A map. An island. “Where is this?”

“This, my friend, is Corvo. The farthermost island in the Azores, with a population of less than four hundred, if you include the horses and cows, and one very, very tiny town. Many windmills that are not like any you’ll find in the world. Stone windmills with remarkable machinery that never stops, no matter which way the wind blows. Corvo is famous for them.”

Windmills? Whatever. “This is where the family I wrote to you about, the Bettencourts, live?”

“One of them. Bettencourt is a common name in the Azores, but I believe this is where the branch of the family you are looking for once lived.”

“Are you sure?” Brianna frowned at the map. “It’s really… out there.”

“You are looking for Carlos Bettencourt, and this is the land that was in his family name. I’ve run genealogy on many of the lines of this family for other clients. This particular branch goes back to Corvo, although that tree is so large that even a seasoned genealogist like me has trouble keeping them straight. Most of the family lived on Terceira, one of the other islands in the Azores, and there is even a palace there named for them.”

Brianna nodded, dividing her attention between the map and the woman. It was like a little rock a thousand miles away.

Lizzie would
really
kill her if she went there. But after what she found in Dad’s office… how could she not?

“Did you find anything out about this Carlos guy?”

“A small amount. Evidently, he broke away from the family and was exiled to this home.” Maria tapped the map. “I had a long conversation with a historian at the University of Lisbon, who said that Carlos Bettencourt was willing to do just about anything to get back in the good graces of his wealthy, renowned family. One of the things he did was commission a gift for the king and his bride to commemorate their wedding in 1862.”

Brianna tingled all over. This was the right Carlos Bettencourt. They’d found CB! Maybe. “Do you know what he gave them as a gift?”

“Nothing. Apparently he registered to give them scepters and promised they would include two of the most beautiful, rare, matching blue diamonds from India. But no such gift was ever received.”

Somehow, Brianna managed not to react. This woman was simply a paid consultant; she didn’t need to know the emotional value of her information. She might charge even more then, and Brianna was already paying a small fortune for this whole trip.

If Carlos Bettencourt paid for the scepters and Aramis Dare ran off with them, then history’s recounting that he was a blackhearted thief was correct. But if Carlos had refused to pay Aramis, as one letter Dad had uncovered said, then the scepters, when found, belonged to the Dare family.

Her heart hammered with hope. “So what happened to the scepters? Are you certain they were never given to the king and queen?”

“There is a list of wedding gifts in the archives of the Palace of Queluz, one of Portuguese royalty’s main residences. They are mentioned as promised by Carlos Bettencourt, but never delivered.”

“Did the historian you talked to know what happened to Carlos?”

“According to the family records, he traveled by ship to the Americas and never returned. His property on Corvo, however, has stayed in Bettencourt hands for over a hundred years, which isn’t unusual in the Azores. One family can stay in a house for many generations.”

Bingo. And would that family have any records she could study?

She had to find out. “Thank you, Maria. This, on top of the information you provided about my own ancestors, is so valuable.”

“Valuable indeed.” The other woman raised her eyebrows and waited.

“Oh, of course.” Bree reached into her bag and handed Maria the envelope, swallowing guilt. Lizzie would have paid that much, too. And Dad would have paid ten times the amount for the identity of the mysterious BC.

Brianna stood, taking the map. “This property, you said it’s a farm?”

“Probably. There’s a main house and a windmill. Habitable, but very rural.”

“How do you get there?”

“A flight from Lisbon to Terceira, then I’m afraid just a very small plane can land on Corvo, which has a treacherous little airport.” She smiled. “It’s very windy on the archipelago of the Azores. Not for a faint flyer.”

“Good thing I’m not.” Brianna grinned back, loving the possibility of the adventure. “And you’re sure that Bettencourts live there now?”

Maria tucked her envelope in her bag and stood. “The deed is in the name of an American named Jaeger Bettencourt, so it is hard to say who might actually be living there. It wouldn’t be unusual for a local family to rent it and run the farm for an American, or an Azorean family could live there. It could be abandoned, for all I know.”

With luck, there would be someone there. Maybe even a Bettencourt. And hopefully, they didn’t care about some ancient folklore and lost artifacts.

Brianna was about to find out.

A few minutes before dawn, Lizzie slipped out of her bunk and tiptoed up to the main deck to coil up the air hose and hide the evidence of what they’d done. But someone had already put the deck back together.

Had Con done this? After they’d spent about an hour with Charlotte and Sam, certain his pains were heart-burn brought on by his weakness for Brady’s hot salsa, and not a heart attack, Lizzie had gone to bed. But not to sleep. And not with Con, which was a shame.

She walked over to the air compressor, which had been replaced in its normal position. Bending over, she put her finger on the valve to check-

“They’re back on.”

She spun around to see Con at the top of the stairs, a black T-shirt making him look even bigger and badder. “Did you do this?”

He shook his head. “I came up here about five minutes ago, and the place was neat as a pin. I was just checking the lab, which is still locked. The engineer and his assistant are awake, and Brady and Flo are cooking. The rest of the crew is still down.”

“Flo might have cleaned this up, although that-” she indicated the neatly coiled air hose-“has Divemaster Dave’s signature all over it.”

“Would the cook’s wife have noticed the air intakes were out and replaced them?” His look was as skeptical as his tone.

“Well, she’s responsible for housekeeping, but that doesn’t usually include the deck.” She blew out a troubled breath. “I need coffee, stat.”

In the main salon, Lizzie mentally flipped through every person on the boat who could have come up here and covered their tracks. The same way she’d flipped through everyone who might have tried to kill one of them last night.

And
why
?

Could someone know she had the diamond? The need to get it off the boat burned hotter than ever.

“I still think Dave came up here earlier and cleaned up,” she said softly to Con as they walked toward the galley buffet table. “He’s a hound about recoiling the air hoses.”

“And checking the air intake?”

“Of course. That’s his job. Maybe-”

She stopped as Brady came around the buffet with a steaming pot of coffee.

“Mornin’, Lizzie. Con.”

“Hi, Brady,” she said. “Are we your first customers this morning?” Maybe the cook could give them some insight.

“So far.” He set the pot on the warming pad and flipped two mugs down from the shelf for them. “You’re not diving this morning, Lizzie, so how ’bout I make you some Sunday morning pancakes?”

“You’re too good to me, Brady.”

“I’ll take some, too.” Flynn ambled in. “Fast. I’m going to get that medallion into the Paxton lab, now that it mysteriously showed back up in our lab.” He flicked his gaze at Con, but Lizzie stepped forward to seize the opportunity.

“I’ll go with you to the mainland, Flynn.” He scowled, and she continued, “I really need to get down to see my sister.”

“To see your sister?” Flynn half-laughed. “In the middle of a dive? I don’t think so, Lizzie. You’re not paid for vacation days.”

“Flynn, please, she’s… she’s had a hard time recently and I just want to pop in and see her for a few minutes.”

It wasn’t ideal; she’d planned to figure out a way to get there during the week when the bank was open and she could get the scepter in the family safe-deposit box. But this opportunity might not arise again soon, and she had to get that thing off the boat. Her sister could be responsible for it overnight, and secure it in the box tomorrow morning.

“You’re going through the Sebastian Inlet, right?”

He nodded. “There’s no time to get up to the port and back.”

“Vero’s just twenty minutes away from the inlet. I’ll be back at the boat before you’re back from the lab. I promise.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, Lizzie. That’s a rough ride through the inlet-even I wouldn’t attempt it after sundown. If you get stuck in Vero, I can’t wait for you, and God knows how long it could be till you get back to this boat. I don’t think so.”

She hated having to beg this son of a bitch for anything. “Flynn, really, she lives so close-”

“I’ll go with you,” Con said.

Flynn looked up from his coffee, surprised. “That won’t assure she’ll be any faster.”

“I’ll keep her on schedule, but more important, I can help you navigate the inlet. I know it well, even in the dark. You should have a second pair of hands on board going through that place, anyway.”

Lizzie swallowed her arguments. What was she,
no
hands? She didn’t really want him to come, but if it got Flynn to agree to take her, then she’d accept it.

Flynn eyed them both, obviously enjoying the little power trip of granting permission to his minions. “You better have a way to get to Vero Beach, Lizzie, because I’m not driving you down there. I have things to do.”

“I’ve got that covered,” Con said.

“Great,” she replied.
Maybe
. She got what she wanted, but would Con call every shot? “Then I’ll get my stuff together and pass on breakfast, Brady. I’ll meet you up here in twenty minutes or so.”

Con would bring the diamond, so she had to get the scepter wrapped and hidden in a bag. In her room, she dragged her canvas zippered tote, then pulled out the mattress from the bunk where she’d hidden the scepter.

And stared at the empty spot, her heart lodging in her throat. “Oh my God.”

Con. It
had
to have been Con. Right? If not…

She didn’t even want to think about it. Grabbing a handbag, she marched back up to the salon where Flynn and Con were talking and eating.

“Change your mind on the pancakes?” Con asked, moving over to make room for her.

She noticed his khaki-colored, beat-up backpack on the floor… big enough to carry what she knew in her gut he had.