Make Her Pay (15 page)

He covered her hand, and she pulled it away so that his palm pressed on her mound, the silk already moist. He stared at his fingers splayed from hipbone to hipbone, and her thighs spread in response to the heat in his eyes.

He kissed her mouth as he slid his hand into her panties, his fingers large and hot on her swollen flesh. She captured his tongue deep into her mouth, and rocked to tempt his fingers to do the same in her body.

He did, then inserted another, stroking her, making her clench around him, thrumming with need. What shreds of control she had left disappeared as she kissed him, their tongues tangled, their teeth tapping, his hands taking ownership inside and out.

Sweat tingled her skin while he kissed her throat, licked and nipped down to her breasts, her stomach, gliding his erection out of her hand as he repositioned himself to taste every inch of her. He spread her legs, sliding down to wedge into the tiny floor space at the foot of the cushion.

He pulled at the panties, and she bent her knees until they bumped the ceiling, laughing as they worked to get off her last piece of clothing.

Finally he buried his face in the center of her, inhaling with a moan of appreciation, then sucking softly on her throbbing clitoris. Heat crackled over her, jolting her senses, fracturing her nerves.

She lifted her hips and he covered her with his mouth, licking and flicking his tongue over her flesh, making her moan in delight, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she got closer… and closer… finally falling over the edge as an orgasm surged.

He held her hips and kissed his way back, whispering her name and senseless words until he grabbed the condom. He tried to bite it, tearing ineffectually, his expression dark and consumed.

“Let me,” she offered, taking it from him to put it on, stroking him until he was completely swollen and stiff. “Please.”

He eased inside her, filling her, huge and solid and wholly masculine. All the way in… almost all the way out. Slowly at first, then faster, steadier and harder.

With each thrust, each pulse, each deep connection, he lost more and more control. Her senses smashed together. The sight of his face about to come, his eyes closed, ecstasy on his features. The smell of sex, mixed with the erotic panting of their shallow, excited breaths. The taste of his kiss, the feel of his body.

And finally, he came with so much force it overwhelmed her, driving into her with relentless, pounding, full-body strokes accompanied by a long groan of gratification.

Then all was quiet. Still. Sweltering. Sweet. The only thing moving was the insane beat of their hearts.

“You were right,” she whispered in his ear. “I
was
playing with fire.”

He turned, his eyes dark. “I tried to warn you.”

She just smiled. “That’s not what you were warning me about. You think I’m going to fall for you and you’re not the man for me.”

“I’m not.”

She stroked his hair, his cheek, his lips. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

“Because your judgment is skewed. You think I’m something that I’m not.”

She snuggled in closer, loving the scent of him, the feel of his rock-hard body, the warmth of his skin. “You just don’t know yourself that well.”

“That, my dear, is where you’re wrong.”

The way he said it sent a chill up her spine. “A man in your job, with your background? How bad can you be?”

“Bad.”

Lizzie sighed into his neck, the sound of satisfaction and resignation. He had to tell her the truth soon. After what they’d just done, he couldn’t let her find out what he was doing by accident.

He’d tell her before the sun came up, before they got back on the
Gold Digger
. Before she uttered another mistaken syllable about him.

“Is that your phone?”

He rolled over as his phone vibrated, reaching for it next to the ankle holster, gun, and jeans. He didn’t have to check the ID; the tone told him it was his boss. “Hey, Luce.”

“Where are you?”

“Floating around the Atlantic looking for the missing
Gold Digger
.”

“It’s not missing anymore. It’s in Port St. Lucie, under Coast Guard investigation, as is every single person on board.”

“What? Why?”

“Standard procedure when there’s a death connected to a vessel at sea.”

A
death
? He moved away from Lizzie’s warm body. “What happened?”

“One of the divers, Alita Holloway, died during a dive. When the captain called in the death to the Coast Guard, they had him bring the vessel into port immediately to pronounce her. The FBI has already been notified.”

“What happened to her?”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning through the air compressor.”

“That was no accident. The same thing happened to me. Why are we just finding this out now?”

Lizzie sat up, curious.

“No one called Judd Paxton until a half hour ago. They were too concerned with calling the Coast Guard command center and following regs.”

“Was Flynn Paxton on board?”

“He arrived an hour before the accident.”

Con blew out a disgusted breath. Of course. Flynn thought Alita stole the medallion and he killed her. No wonder he’d ditched them on the mainland.

“We’ll go to the investigation now,” he said. “We have critical information and I can tell you…” He looked at Lizzie, hesitating to say Judd Paxton’s name. “The client isn’t going to like it.”

“Why not?”

“Because Flynn Paxton is stealing the treasures as they’re brought up and selling them on the black market. We caught him red-handed. More important, Alita Holloway was not only his lover, but she was also in on the take. And he thinks she betrayed him with the medallion that I recovered a few hours ago. We’ve got motive and opportunity, and I’m sure he had the means to take the air-intake filters off the compressor.”

Lizzie gasped softly, but he ignored it.

“You need to give every bit of this to the Coast Guard and FBI.”

“Will do. Right now. When are you going to tell our client?”

“We both are,” she said. “I’ll fly in for a meeting down there tomorrow.”

He unconsciously closed his fingers around Lizzie’s hand, her skin still warm from the full-body rush he’d given her.

“Once you do that,” Lucy continued, “this assignment is complete. The dive is over. Judd is prepared to file an official claim with the state, and initiate a standard search and recovery of
El Falcone
at the start of the next diving season.”

Con threaded his fingers through Lizzie’s and gave her a long look. “Anything else, Luce?”

“You will return any treasure you’ve recovered and helped to hide. It rightfully belongs to our client.” There was no arguing with that voice. “After the meeting, we’ll discuss your next assignment as a Bullet Catcher.”

He didn’t answer, still holding Lizzie’s hand and gaze. He lifted their hands and pressed his fingertips to her cheeks, getting a warm, if slightly confused, smile from her.

His heart cracked a little. He’d tried to warn her… but not very hard.

“You do want to continue working for the Bullet Catchers, don’t you, Con?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, holding Lizzie’s gaze as he placed a kiss on her knuckles.

“Then explain to her who you are, what you’ve been doing, and get the scepter and diamond back as you planned to from the beginning. That shouldn’t be too difficult, right?”

“Not at all.”

“And Con?”

“Yes?”

“Excellent work on this assignment. You’ve got all the right stuff.”

“Thanks, Luce.” He hung up, felt a gentle squeeze on his hand, and closed his eyes. That touch was the last act or word of affection he’d ever get from Lizzie Dare.

Because she was about to find out that on top of everything else, he was a liar, a traitor, a user, and, of course, a thief.

He’d
tried
to warn her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WHOEVER WAS ON the phone and whatever she’d said to Con, everything had changed. His expression, his body language-the whole aura of pleasure had evaporated from the tiny cuddy.

And she’d picked up enough of the conversation to know it was bad, bad news.

“Just tell me,” she said, seeing the pain on his face. “I can handle it.”

He closed his hand tighter over hers. “Alita is dead.”

Lizzie tried to suck in a breath. “What?”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning on her dive this afternoon. The Coast Guard ordered the vessel into port to investigate the diving death, and they’re down in St. Lucie. The FBI’s been called in. And, yes, it happened an hour after that little weasel got back.”

“Flynn killed her. He thinks she gave the medallion to you.”

“That’d be my guess.”

A shock wave rolled over her.

To investigate the diving death
.

Those words were all too familiar.

“We have to get down to the port to talk to the investigators and tell them everything, including what happened on our night dive,” Con said.

She nodded, her head finally clearing. “Who called you?”

He hesitated just one second too long. “My boss.”

“Your boss.” She waited for an explanation that didn’t come. “From… where? Aren’t you going to tell me? Even now?”

He said nothing, grabbing her underwear and shirt and handing them to her. “We have to go. Now.”

She took the items, but didn’t move. “Con? Tell me.”

“Lizzie, a woman is dead. We have a lot of information that could help make sure that the right-”

“That’s not what I mean! You talked about a client. Who do you work for?”

“Judd Paxton.”

“What?” The word was more of a croak than a question.

“Judd Paxton is my client.” His voice was low, calm, deadly. “The woman on the phone was my boss. She runs a security and investigation firm called the Bullet Catchers. Judd Paxton hired her to place an undercover representative on the boat to track and secure the treasures, and discover who on the crew was tampering and stealing them.”

She blinked, speechless. In her chest, something shattered. Her heart, no doubt. Her pride. Her faith in mankind.

As he ducked out of the cabin she lunged at him, seizing his arm to yank him around.

“You liar! You bastard! You helped me under false pretenses, taking everything I’ve told you right back to Judd Paxton.” Rage caught in her throat, stealing her breath. “You slept with me, letting me think you were some kind of… of… hero.”

“I never told you that. I never,
ever
said those words.”

“I did, and you didn’t correct me.”

“I didn’t confirm or deny. You went off on some kind of-of fantasy.”

“And you let me.”

“I didn’t-”

“You didn’t exactly put your hand over my mouth, shut me up, and say, ‘Hey, Lizzie. I work for the enemy.’”

He turned, put his hands on either side of the opening, and hoisted himself up to the deck. She stayed kneeling on the cushions where they’d just made love, clutching the underwear that she’d just begged him to take off her.

What an idiot! She smacked the cushion so hard a jolt ran up her arm, and then remembered Alita. Mourning and disbelief replaced anger, making her ache, making her relive the loss of her father.

And suddenly she missed her sister so desperately, it hurt more than anything else.

Shaking a little, she started to get dressed. If she was feeling sorry for anyone, it should be for Alita. She could save her own pity party until Flynn Paxton was in jail.

The reality of that hit her again as the engines started and the boat took off, knocking her backward. Swearing as she stabbed her arms into her sleeves, she fumbled with the buttons he’d flicked off with ease, then yanked on her hoodie.

This would all take Judd Paxton down a peg or two. Now he’d have to come clean about salvaging
El Falcone
and-

Oh God. The scepter and diamond. Con knew where they were!

She turned to his backpack. The engine noise covered the sound of the zipper as she opened it and stuck her hand in, rooting around for the velvet box that held the medallion. She found it and pulled it out. This medallion belonged to her-not that bastard Judd Paxton.

She opened the lid to hide the treasure in her pocket-

It was gone.

She snapped it closed and launched herself toward the deck, yanking herself through the opening to glare at Con.

“Where is it?” she demanded, her pulse soaring. “Where did you put my medallion, you lying thief!”

He stared straight ahead. “It belongs to Mr. Paxton. He financed the salvage effort and he will file a legitimate claim with the state for it.”

She hated him. Right down to the bone, she hated him. “You’re going to give him the scepter and the diamond, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Over my dead body.”

He turned to look at her. “If you’re not careful and we don’t get Flynn Paxton into the hands of the authorities, you might be right about that.”

She threw herself on the passenger seat, wrapped her arms around her knees, and refused to respond. He might have the medallion, but he’d never,
ever
get the scepter or diamond. She swore it on her father’s grave, even if she had to throw it back into the sea.

Judd Paxton would never get his hands on her treasures, and neither would Constantine Xenakis.

The Coast Guard investigated the boat, but the FBI was handling the people. The federal agent assigned to the case was kind enough to give Con his FBI sweatshirt, and Con repaid him with a two-and-a-half-hour interview, turned over the medallion, and gave him enough information to build a compelling case, plus zero in on a black-market collector as a side bene. By the time he finished, agents had already been dispatched to detain and reinterrogate Flynn Paxton, and he assumed someone would be watching Gerry Dix, too.

At the end of his interview, with dawn on the horizon, Con had walked through the
Gold Digger
, offering detailed bits of information to the investigators and showing them the tampered air intakes. None of the other crewmembers were still there, including Lizzie. Especially Lizzie.

She’d been stone, cold silent on the ride back. The water in her eyes as she stared ahead could just have been from the cold air, but he suspected the impact of a crewmate’s death and the shocker news he’d dropped on her might have drawn a few tears.

Which made what he had to do before that afternoon’s meeting with Paxton, and possibly Lucy, even more difficult. When he finished his interview he’d learned that her interrogation had ended well before his. And she’d obviously driven home, since this had been the port of departure for the
Gold Digger
.

One of the agents offered to give him a ride up to Sebastian to get his bike, which he took. He figured Lizzie never mentioned the scepter and diamond in her interviews with the FBI, and neither had he. They weren’t part of the investigation; no one on the boat knew they existed yet.

As the sun rose to his left over the ocean, he rolled back down the beach highway, following the route to her sister’s house, laying out a mental plan for how to convince her to hand it over.

He wouldn’t use force, and he sure as hell couldn’t seduce them out of her.

Maybe she wouldn’t be home yet, and he could just steal them.

He rumbled down the side street to the stucco ranch house that sat among palms and live oak trees, and tensed at the sight of a Scion in the driveway. He couldn’t steal the goods, then.

At least he’d get to see her one more time. Parking the bike and bracing for a fight, he went straight to the front door and knocked.

Nothing.

He headed down one side of the house, peeking in windows, seeing no sign of life, then walked around to the back patio. The sliders were locked, as was every window. He pounded on the glass, peered into the dark kitchen, and began to think about a new plan.

Breaking in.

A few minutes later, he climbed through the kitchen window and over the counter to land silently on his feet.

“Lizzie?”

There was only silence, one that only a person with hearing like his could sense. Not a breath, a scuff of a foot, nothing.

Peering into the shadows, he walked through the tiny living room and paused at the dining room, listening. He peeked into the office, but it was still and dark.

“Lizzie!” His voice bounced through the empty house.

Frustration built, along with dread that she’d beaten him at his game, and he marched straight back to her bedroom. He twisted the brass knob, but it didn’t turn.

She’d locked herself in her room with the treasure?

“Lizzie!” He pounded once and pressed his ear to the wood, listening for any sound. Nothing.

The room was vacant, or the person in it wasn’t breathing.

Her car was in the driveway. The house was silent. Maybe they hadn’t gotten Flynn in custody yet…

With one mighty shove of his shoulder, he splintered the door open. It popped wide and slammed against the wall.

Empty. Something damn close to a rush of relief rolled through him. Better she was gone than dead.

He opened the closet, then turned to the antique bed, high enough off the ground that she could easily have crawled under there.

He lifted the skirt, peered into the shadows.

Flattening himself on the floor, he shimmied in, able to turn partially on his side before his shoulder hit one of the wooden slats that held the box spring in place. Everything looked untouched, just a normal box spring-but he was sure of what he’d heard. When he maneuvered onto his back, his hands ran over some grit, a few pieces like rock. Digging into the carpet, he grasped a small chunk and examined it.

Purplish. Sandy. Coral.

He pressed his hands slowly over every inch of the box spring and slats to find some kind of hiding place. Then he realized that most box springs were covered with sheer gauze, leaving the inner springs visible.

But this one had a quilted fabric sewn on it, so well done that it looked perfectly normal. He started palming every square of the material until he found it.

A snap, sewn in to be invisible. He yanked at it, opening it, then another. Between the two snaps was a long nylon zipper. Exactly the high-pitched zip he’d heard when he’d listened outside the room.

He slowly dragged it open, half ready for the scepter and diamond to fall down on his chest.

But nothing fell. Behind the zipper was a large metal holding area, like a safe with no door. He reached all the way in to the back, then ran his hand from one side to the other.

Completely empty.

Forty minutes later, he was parked in the lot outside the Paxton Treasures Salvage Museum, ten or so miles north of the development he’d robbed the day before, when a limo pulled in, taking up three of the four spaces.

It was either Paxton, Lucy, or both. Climbing off the bike, Con ambled over as the driver came out, nodded to him, and opened the back door.

“Go ahead. She’s waiting.”

He slid into the cool car, squinting into the tinted-window dimness to see Lucy in the far back, her legs crossed in pale silk pants, her one foot quietly tapping a three-inch stiletto, a phone at her ear, her dark, Asian-tilted eyes on Con from the second he dipped into the car and took the seat across from her.

She held up one finger. “Judd, I realize this is a terrible blow to you and your wife.”

So he’d get to hear the client’s reaction firsthand.

“You wanted to know the truth, and now you do,” Lucy continued, giving Con a long look.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, then,” Lucy said, snapping her phone closed, her eyes narrowed into ebony slits as she shook back thick, shoulder-length black hair. “Do you have the scepter and diamond?”

“No. Does Judd think I do?”

“I never mentioned them, in the off chance that you failed.”

“I just don’t have them
yet
.”

“Then when?”

He rubbed his hands over his face, exhausted, frustrated, disgusted. “Soon.”

“Do better than that.”

“Very soon?” He shot her a smile, but didn’t get one in return. “I’ll find her, Lucy.”

“I’m not interested in your finding her. I want the scepter and diamond that belong to my client.”

“She has them. And she can’t go too far. I’ll get them. Today.”

“You better.” She leaned forward, her expression clear. “Or I will assume you stole the treasure.”

His jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Your track record doesn’t support any other theory.”

“Fuck my track record, Lucy.” He slapped his hands on the leather seat. “I didn’t take them, just like I didn’t keep the medallion, which would have been very easy to do.”

“Give me your bag.”

He burned her with a look, venom boiling in his veins as he tossed it to her. “Suit yourself. The FBI has the medallion, and you won’t find anything in there but tools of my trade.”

She opened the pouch and rifled through his personal items, then the rest of the bag. “Consider it a test,” she said. “Produce the scepter and diamond, and I’ll know what you’re made of. If not, I’ll also know what you’re made of. The former is a Bullet Catcher. The latter… a fake.”

The venom turned cold and he just stared at her, vaguely aware of another car pulling into the lot.

“Here’s Judd. I think I’ll handle him alone.” She set the bag on the floor between them. “I’m sure you’ll need some of the things in there to work your magic. For instance, the pack of condoms. I see there’s one missing already.”

She didn’t look at him as she glided out of the car, leaving him with the knowledge that he only had one possible course of action. He had to screw Lizzie Dare again, in more ways than one, and prove without a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t the man she thought he was.