Make Her Pay (24 page)

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.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE INSTANT HE turned into the Bettencourt farm drive, Con saw the muddy tire tracks. A four-wheel drive.

Someone had recently left the farmhouse, headed away from town.

He motored past the windmill, not caring about the scepter he’d left behind. That didn’t matter now.

Nothing mattered but Lizzie, and getting Charlotte and Sam Gorman in for questioning.

He parked the bike close to the house and had his weapon out by the time he reached the front porch. The door popped open before he knocked.

“Where is she?” Sam asked, scowling. Then his gaze dropped over Con’s shirt. “Why’d you change?”

Con just looked beyond him into the dim front room. “Where’s Lizzie?”

Sam blinked, his jaw slack. “I thought she…” He paled, stepping back to let Con in.

“What do you want?” Charlotte Gorman strode into the room, her hands locked behind her back.

Con wasn’t taking any chances. He greeted her by raising his gun and aiming it. “I want Lizzie. And I want you two to take a ride with me. The Azorean police have a few questions for you.”

“Get out of here, you thief,” Charlotte snapped at him. Her fearless tone confirmed what he suspected: she had a gun of her own behind her back.

Sam held up a hand to her. “Char, I’m not ready to hang this man, despite the fact that he has a weapon pointed at us. Where did you go, Con?”

Con didn’t know what he was talking about, so he looked from one to the other, measuring the dynamics, getting the impression these two were not in sync.

“We saw you,” Sam said. “In the windmill. Lizzie and I were watching from the window.”

Charlotte sucked in a breath so softly, anyone else would have missed it. But Con heard.

“It wasn’t me. But
you
know who it was, don’t you, Charlotte?”

“I most certainly do not.”

He closed his finger over the trigger and pointed it to her face. “Tell me where Lizzie is right now.”

“She doesn’t know,” Sam said, patting his hands in the air to silently beg for the gun to be lowered. “She went after…” He just shook his head. “She went after
you
.”

Whoever she went after, it wasn’t him. “When?” he demanded.

“A few minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Charlotte demanded. “How could you let her leave?” She threw a look at Con. “I mean, it could be dangerous running after a man who’s got… a…” Her voice trailed off. “A reason he could be dangerous.”

Sam turned to her, his expression changing. “You know, Char, don’t you?”

“Know what?”

“You know what he-what
someone
-took from the windmill.” Sam glowered at his wife. “That’s what you’ve been looking for, isn’t it? That’s why you insisted on coming here.”

Con didn’t have to ask any more questions; there could only be one thing someone would take from the windmill.

“Sam, you’re wrong,” Charlotte insisted. “I told you that I go way back with Solange-”

“Shut up,” Con said, taking a step forward, the gun on her, his eyes on the other man. “Where did she go?”

“I really don’t know,” he said softly, shooting a vile look at Charlotte. “I don’t know anything or anyone, anymore. Even my wife. Especially my wife.”

“Not my problem,” Con said. “But you two are. I need to take you in for questioning.”

“All right,” Charlotte said. “We’ve done nothing-”

“No.” Sam cut her off and pointed at Con. “You need to find Lizzie. And you need to find her now. She’s in danger.”

The rightness of that punched him. But if he left these two, they might get away. They might get picked up in town, but he couldn’t be sure. His assignment from Lucy was to bring them in.

But Lizzie…

He notched his head at Charlotte. “Put your weapon down.”

“What?”

“Put your damn weapon down-fast!”

She brought both hands around to reveal a pistol. Con was about to pocket it when Sam reached out, his blue eyes burning at the woman he’d married.

“Give it to me,” he said. “I’ll keep her here until you get back.”

Con almost laughed. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” Sam said, his expression underscoring that. “I’ve known this woman for two years, but frankly, I don’t know her at all. And what I do know, I’m not sure I like.”

“Sorry, not putting you in charge of security anyway.” Con was already considering all his options. He could tie them up, lock them here until the police came. But that would take time, and Lizzie might not have time. He had seconds to make a decision.

“For the love of God, Charlotte, help the man.” Sam’s insistence surprised Con, both with its vehemence and its ring of desperation. “Who did Lizzie just follow? Where did he go?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her mouth pulling down. “I really don’t. I mean… I think I know, but I have no idea where he’s gone.”

“Who?” Sam and Con demanded at the same time.

“A liar. A double-crossing thief.”

Con wanted to throttle her, but forced himself to keep his voice calm. “Where did this double-crossing thief go?”

“I honestly don’t know. He must have known where the scepter is, and is hiding it.” Her voice was heavy with defeat.

“I think he went north,” Sam said, still holding his hand out to Con. “Please, Lizzie loves you. And I love her as a daughter. Please trust me to keep Charlotte here while you go get her. Go
now
. Every minute counts.”

He handed Sam the gun. “Screw with me, and you’ll regret it.”

“You can trust me.”

He had to.

Running from the house, he jumped on the bike to follow the tire tracks. When they dried up, he continued north on the only road on the island, imagining all the things that could happen to a woman who thought she was following a man to trap him in the act of breaking her heart.

Hopefully, Lizzie was mad enough at him to hurt the guy before he hurt her.

Because if he lost her…

He revved the Ducati over eighty and careened down the center of the road; every second counted if he was going to have the chance to tell her what he hoped she already knew.

The crack of a gunshot echoed over the rolling hills, the sound ripping through his heart.
Lizzie!

Lizzie jumped a foot when Dave fired the gun at the ground near her feet, sending a small explosion of dirt and moss into the air.

“Thought I saw a snake,” he said with a snide smile. “You’re scared of them, are you? You’re lucky I didn’t put two in that room.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, backing up, aware that what was behind her was every bit as dangerous as what was in front of her. “The only snake on this island is you.”

“And Charlotte.” He pulled a dive mask from the bag, the gun still aimed in her direction. “She’s snakier than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Charlotte?” Disappointment and shock weighed her down. “And
Sam
?” So much for her dad’s great character judgment.

“Nah-Sam’s not the mercenary his wife is,” Dave said, stepping closer. “He’s pretty clueless. You don’t get one of these, Lizzie.” He hooked a dive mask around his wrist, a movement she’d seen him do a hundred times aboard the
Gold Digger
. “But you can carry the tank. One tank-for me. Get down here.”

She didn’t move, still in shock. Dave had monitored the dive schedules and had access to the air compressor; he could remove an air intake valve and kill a diver.

All that time, all those inside diving jokes, all those days and nights and cakes and first hands celebrations… all that time, the divemaster had been her father’s killer.

“Were you with him when he died?”

“It wasn’t nice, Lizzie. I liked him.”

She choked. “Well, I
loved
him, you son of a bitch.”

“Hey, I was just following my benefactor’s orders. But now that I’ve gotten rid of her, and you, I’ll hide this.” He took four more steps. “Now
move
it. I need you to carry the tank.”

Dave Hawn. Dylan Houser. “How many identities do you have?”

“A few. Depends on the job, the treasure, the dive. Real name’s Doug Haberstroh. That’s what I’ll use when I have both scepters.”

“Are you kidding me?” She was horrified. “You killed a man for what? Fame? The recovered treasure? What?”

His expression changed. “Shut up, Lizzie. Talk time’s over. Let’s dive.”

She shook her head again, backing up, sneaking a peek to see her options. Slim to none.

All she could do was take off to either side, get back down to the road she’d driven up on, and buy time. And dodge bullets.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said sternly.

There had to be another way. Another approach. Something he’d believe, something he’d fall for. A way to get him closer, away from the water, and… over that edge. She didn’t dare look behind her to the cliffs.

But how?

Her gaze shifted to the scepter. She wet her lips, lifted a brow. “Can I touch it?”

“Very funny.” Still, he glanced at the scepter for a second. “But I understand the appeal. It is amazing.”

“Just…” She reached out her hand. “Once. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He was a ruthless killer but he was also a treasure hunter, and he understood the appeal of gold and gems. He raised the golden rod, the diamond capturing the pale blue of the cloudless sky.

“And worth gazillions.” He looked at the diamond, grinning. “Can you imagine two of them?” He stepped closer and held it up, taunting her as he had with many treasures that other divers brought out of the sea. “Two of them will set me up for life.”

But… Sam had the other one. “How do you plan to get two?”

“I’ll be the divemaster when Paxton officially salvages
El Falcone
next season, and I’ll get my hands on scepter number two then. Charlotte and I have it figured out.”

So he
didn’t
know she’d recovered the other one. Sam hadn’t told Charlotte. Sam
wasn’t
in on this. She sent up a silent thanks, because being betrayed by Sam would just be too much.

And Sam knew where she’d gone. Would he tell Charlotte? Oh, God, would he tell Con? She clung to the hope, but it could be hours before Con found her. She could be buried in a cave under water by then.

“Come on, Dave. Let me see it,” she begged.

He tipped it back. “Come and get it, Lizzie.”

She took a half step closer, not wanting to get too far from the cliff, her only weapon of defense at the moment. “How did you know the scepter was on Corvo?”

“I hooked up with that whackjob Solange ages ago in New York, and she put me in touch with Charlotte, who’s so determined to get these things, she married Sam for the access. It’s a small diving and treasure world, Lizzie, as you know.” He indicated the lakes at the bottom of the crater. “You’ll be missed, like your dad is.”

White-hot anger spiked through her and she lunged for the scepter, yanking it from his left hand. He waved the gun, not able to hold onto the scepter and get his finger on the trigger, just enough of a hesitation that she grabbed the scepter with both hands, wrenching it from him. She instantly rammed it onto the gun, knocking it five feet away.

“Bitch!” He leaped toward her and she dove to the side, then whipped the scepter at his back with all her strength, knocking him forward to the very edge of the cliff.

His hand clamped on her shoulder and he pulled her with him, but she instinctively collapsed her knees, taking away his support so that he fell and slid over the edge. As he did, he managed to snag the hem of her jeans, yanking her toward him.

She kicked wildly, her shoe in his face, trying to lose him and push him over the edge, but he held tight, swearing and clawing his way back up and pulling her down at the same time.

She kicked again, then pounded the scepter on his fingers, cracking his bones and drawing a loud shriek of pain. Fury, hate, and the need to make him pay for her father’s death exploded in her as she slammed at his hands over and over again, until he lost his grip on her. On the last whack, he managed to grab the scepter, using it to pull her down with him.

She cried out as she slid, grabbing the first jutting rock to hold her. He still held the bottom of the scepter, her hands clamped over the end with the diamond. She shook it hard, trying to make him let go, her other hand clinging to the rock that stuck out from the cliff.

He had nothing to hold on to but the smooth scepter.

One more violent shake, and suddenly all the weight was gone. She looked down to see his horrified face as he fell straight down onto the rocks far below, the ocean instantly closing over him.

She opened her mouth and screamed with every bit of power she had.

The waves crashed below her, and the endless, relentless wind of the Azores blew. She had rapidly draining strength left in one hand, and a priceless treasure in the other. Which hand would let go first?

Con shut off the Ducati’s engine when he saw the Gurgel, determined to use his most powerful tool: his ears.

He heard waves against rocks. A horse neighing in the distance. The burp of a frog, the squawk of an exotic bird.

And a low, desperate plea for help.

Throwing the bike down, he ran up the path toward the top of the crater. Where was she? “Lizzie!”

A soft whimper was the only response, coming from… below? He dove toward the edge of the cliff, looking down a menacing drop. She clung to a jutting stone with one hand, six or seven feet below him, her body pressed against the almost vertical cliffside.

“I’m coming,” he said, already rolling into position to climb down.

“Con.” She could barely speak, tilting her head up to him, her face filthy with sweat and blood. “Dave killed my dad. And I killed him.”

“Don’t let go, Lizzie. Hold on.” He couldn’t find a foothold, and slid the toe of one shoe into a crack. There was no way to get closer than two feet, maybe eighteen inches, and still hold on to the rocks that formed the edge of the cliff. “Can you reach me with your other hand without falling?”

“I don’t… know…” She twisted a little, and then he saw the scepter. He could reach that!