Roxanne St. Claire - Make Her Pay

“You should have told me. It would have been a lot easier if I knew you’d known.”

“Well, I listened to my wife on that one. When that Our Lady of Sorrows medallion came up, I was pretty sure, but then all hell broke loose with Alita’s…” His voice trailed off. “What would have been easier?”

“Bringing up the scepter.”

He frowned in confusion.

“And the diamond that was in it,” she added softly.

Sam’s eyes popped open. “ Excuse me?”

“Come with me.” Lizzie tugged him up and back to the kitchen, popping open the freezer and shoving ice trays and frozen pizzas out of the way.

“Char will die if you put it in the freezer,” he said.

“Just temporarily. I’m taking it to my safe-deposit box later.” But would Con track it down, and somehow figure out how to get it from the bank? The man-and his company-seemed to be capable of anything.

She reached for the butcher paper she’d wrapped it in, pulled it out, and handed the package to a stunned, visibly pale Sam. “I found it the second day and sneaked it off the boat.”

“How?”

She grinned. “Blondes find the gold, Sam.”

He laughed, still bewildered. “Can I see it?”

She had a better idea. “Can you keep it? is the question. I think it’s dangerous, and obviously valuable. And I’ll warn you, Con Xenakis is looking for it. That’s why I’m hiding here-he doesn’t know about this house. But like you said, he’s resourceful. By the time he figures it out, I want to be gone.”

“Gone where?”

The rightness of her decision settled around her like a warm blanket, making her smile. “To find my sister.”

“Can you leave in the middle of this investigation?” he asked. “The FBI agent instructed us to stay.”

“They already have Alita’s killer.”

He almost dropped the scepter. “Lizzie, if you drop one more bomb on me, I’ll have a heart attack. How do you know this?”

“Long story, but Flynn and Alita were having a fling. He was stealing treasure and she was helping him. We think he killed her.”

“We?”

She felt a soft flush. “Con and me.”

“So are you working with this guy, or do you hate him?”

“I hate him,” she said definitively. “And the FBI agent told me I could leave town for an emergency. I call finding my sister an emergency if I can be reached. If you have this, I can go knowing it’s in safe hands.”

“Of course, but what if Con comes looking for it? He might suspect you gave it to me.”

“Hide it. And don’t tell anyone, not even Charlotte. That way she won’t be lying when she denies everything.”

Sam pulled the scepter closer. “You have my word it’ll be safe.”

“Good. Because when Paxton files the claim for the shipwreck, I don’t want this to get lumped in with everything else. My hope is that someone will recover the mate, and then I’ll go public and shame him into putting them into a museum, instead of selling to a collector. And when I do, the real story of my ancestor will be told.”

Sam beamed. “Your father would be so proud, Lizzie.”

Lizzie hugged him, the butcher paper crunching between them. “Thank you, Sam.”

“So, now what? You’re off to Europe?”

“I’ll let you know. Hopefully I’ll hear from Brianna first, before I go.”

“Hopefully,” he agreed.

After Sam left with the treasure, Lizzie went back to the office, feeling better than she had in hours. She checked her e-mail, and then started clicking around the airlines for flights. There was nothing under a couple thousand, and even if she paid that, she couldn’t get on a flight for two days.

The day and her decisions hit her hard and, yawning with exhaustion, she climbed onto the bed in the tiny back room. Curling on top of the spread, she tucked her knees into her chest and closed her eyes, asleep before her next thought formed.

The pressure on her foot almost pulled her out of sleep, but it wasn’t enough. Her head was heavy, her limbs aching with fatigue. She instinctively shook her foot, a million miles from consciousness, but the pressure just got heavier.

She fought to wake, but sleep won, keeping her eyes glued and her body still.

And that cold weight on her leg…

In her dream, she imagined it was Con. He’d slipped into her room, looking for more…

Reality punched. Awareness squeezed. And Lizzie jerked up, yanking her leg free and flipping over… and stared, a strange moan of horror coming out of her mouth.

Two and a half feet of slithering black, red, and yellow stripes. As soon as she jerked, the snake did, too, circling into itself and lifting its head to her with a long, threatening hiss.

Fighting for calm, and losing, she inched her legs away, staring at the distinct bands of color.

Red touch yellow, deadly fellow. Red touch black, okay Jack. The rhyme taught to every Florida child screamed in her head. Shaking, she inched back to the headboard as slowly as possible, staring at the snake. Each red band was lined with yellow.

Her throat closed out a scream, her chest bursting with an unreleased breath.

The snake slithered closer.

Damn! All that brush around the house was like an open invitation to snakes.

Could she vault off the bed fast enough?

The snake hissed again.

She pulled her legs up and stood, just as the snake lunged.

She flattened herself to the wall and screamed, knowing it was probably the last sound she’d ever make.

THE MOTORCYCLE ENGINE would alert Lizzie that he’d found her, so Con parked it at the corner and walked to the cul de sac that ended at the beach. The other homes were visible from the street, but her house was buried in a jungle of green.

As he reached the edge of the property, he froze at the sound of a muffled scream. He instantly launched forward. Ripping at the overgrown shrubbery that blocked his way, he ignored the jagged thorns that cut his face and arms. At the back he racked the slide of his Glock, automatically ducking at the windows so he wasn’t seen by her attacker.

Silence. No talking, no struggle. Whoever had her was quiet.

Or had killed her already.

Crouched low, weapon drawn, he peered in a window and saw an empty office. It had to be the next room; the window was ten feet away. He swiftly worked his way over and maneuvered into position to see, but blinds blocked his view.

Lizzie screamed again, bloodcurdling and helpless. The window was closed and wouldn’t move when he shoved it, so with one solid thwack of his gun he shattered the glass. He ripped at the blinds so hard they cracked right out of the wall, and he thrust his gun through the broken pane.

Lizzie stood on the bed, flattened against the wall, wailing as she divided her terrified gaze from the window to the bed. The head of a deadly coral snake rose above the mattress and hissed.

“Hang on, Lizzie- I got him.”

He pulled the trigger, exploding the snake’s head.

Then he swiftly smashed the other panes and threw himself against the wooden frame, cracking it with his weight and vaulting headfirst into the room with a roll.

As he stood, Lizzie collapsed. He pulled her into his arms, a quivering, trembling, boneless mess, and carried her from the room. He laid her on the living room sofa, then knelt down next to her, stroking her hair off her pale, tear-dampened face.

His own heart hammered with an adrenaline pump and the thought that she had been inches from death. He couldn’t resist a kiss on her forehead, and she didn’t stop him.

Her eyes shuttered with a sigh as the shock wore off. “If you hadn’t come, I… I…” Realization hit her. “What the hell are you doing here?”