Roxanne St. Claire - Make Her Pay

“Whoa. That’s kind of… intense.”

What was intense was right under her feet. She was inches from the treasures she sought and had no idea. What else could be hidden under the stairs?

A body, perhaps.

A shiver ran down Solange’s spine. Could she actually do this?

She had to. “Look at that, Brianna,” Solange said, pausing at an opening. “That is the great spur wheel.”

This wheel stood on its side, unlike the one at the bottom. Its massive, sinister-looking wooden teeth meshed with three other cogs, all sharp enough to macerate stone into sand.

Brianna stopped and stared, the groan of the wheel almost deafening at this point.

“If you don’t use it for power or milling, why is it running?”

“Oh, it never stops,” Solange said. “The wind in the Azores never, ever stops.”

“You mean you can’t stop the mill at all, ever?”

“There’s a brake somewhere, I believe.” Solange put her foot on the very stone where she’d hidden the scepter. “Come on-the top is the best part.”

The stairs ended at a small door, not five feet high.

“You’ll need to crouch a little to get in,” Solange warned. “But go ahead. It’s worth it.”

Brianna entered and let out a gasp of surprise. “Wow, this could be dangerous.”

Yes, it could. A two-foot-deep ledge circled the inside of the windmill, open all along one side to where someone could easily tumble right into the grinding mechanism.

Solange looked at it, and imagined that happening.

Brianna put her hand on the wall, bracing herself and peering over to look at the wheel. “That’s not for the faint of heart,” she said, but didn’t appear worried. “Why don’t you put a railing up or something? If someone falls in there, you’d have a helluva lawsuit on your hands.”

“No one ever comes up here,” she said.

“Well, apparently your nurse came up here recently.”

Solange gave her a hard look. “She wasn’t my nurse. She was my housekeeper. And a very disturbed and sad young lady, I might add.”

“Really?” The note of accusation in her voice was unmistakable.

“Really.” Where had she heard anything about it? Gabby? She knew bringing that woman up here had been a mistake. If they’d talked about Ana…

“So is this door where the windmill blades are?” Brianna reached for the door to the balcony and sweeps, but Solange stopped her.

“That’s really not for the faint of heart,” she said.

“Don’t worry, I’m not.” She twisted the knob and opened the door, almost stumbling backward at the unexpected gust of air. “Whoa.”

If she stepped out there, it would be so much easier. But inexplicable. Another fall from the windmill down the cliffs? Besides, she couldn’t risk a body as evidence.

The windmill sweeps roared outside, the steady, thumping rhythm filling the structure.

Brianna used her right hand to brace herself, her face away from Solange as she fought not to look down. “This is such a cool view. But, wow, I can’t even imagine what drove that girl to throw herself off of here.” Again, the note of… doubt.

She was about to find out exactly what drove her.

Solange slipped her hand into the pocket of her pleated skirt, her fingers closing over the revolver. With her thumb, she pulled back the hammer.

At the distinct sound, Brianna whipped around just as Solange pulled out the gun. She gasped in shock. “What the hell?”

“You’re going to do exactly as I say.”

The blood drained from Brianna’s face, no words coming out of her open mouth.

Solange’s mind whirred. If she fired, the recoil could knock her over, or at least off balance enough to give this wily and strong young woman the upper hand. The wind was still blowing in from the slightly open door.

She took a careful step back, trying to figure out the best way to choreograph this.

“What is your problem, lady?” Brianna’s voice was shaky, but anger was already taking over fear. Solange had little time.

“You are my problem, I’m afraid.”

“What?” She scowled, but then her face softened. “Look, Mrs. Bettencourt, you’re not well. You need to put that gun down and let us both get out of this place.”

“Actually, I’m fine.” She aimed at Brianna’s heart, bracing herself against the wall for more balance.

“Please.” Brianna tried to swallow, her gaze moving from Solange’s face to the gun and back, her lip beginning to quiver. “I can help you. Put the gun down and we’ll talk. You need help.”

Solange scowled. “I don’t need anything.” Except the nerve to murder in cold blood. Again. She tightened her finger on the trigger and Brianna’s eyes widened.

“What do you want?” Brianna asked. “I haven’t done anything! Why could you possibly want to kill me?”

“I don’t.” Once the words were out, Solange regretted them. She’d just given away some power, and that was never a good thing.

Instantly, Brianna’s face changed. She started to back up toward the door, nudging it.

“Don’t,” Solange said sharply. She couldn’t risk someone else going over the edge. “Don’t go out there unless you want to fall.”

“Like Ana did?” she shot back. “You killed her, didn’t you? You freaking psychopath-you killed her!”

“Stop it!” She waved the gun. “Shut up.”

But Brianna kicked the door open enough for a powerful gust to blow in, stepping toward the balcony. Outside, a motor scooter climbing up the hill caught Solange’s eye.

Oh, Lord, this was not good. Tourists always stopped and took pictures of the windmill. If they saw a body fall, she’d be forced to explain another death over the cliff.

Brianna turned to follow her gaze and Solange grabbed her arm, yanking her back into the windmill with so much force they damn near both went over the ledge.

“Hey!” Brianna lunged at Solange to knock the gun away.

She squeezed the trigger and the shot exploded through the stone mill.

Instantly Brianna froze, her eyes wide in stunned disbelief, her hands clamping to her shoulder as her legs gave way. She buckled to her knees, a gasp catching in her throat as she hit the stone, blood seeping through her fingers.

In the distance, Solange heard the soft whine of the motor scooter, closer now. She didn’t dare fire another shot.

Brianna moaned in misery, folded in half now, her face to the ground, her body perilously close to the ledge where the gears turned. In there, the giant cogs would crush her, breaking every bone in her body. She couldn’t possibly be strong enough to hold them in place, especially wounded.

But if she bled on the gears then Solange would have to clean them off, and she didn’t want to even think about that. The motor scooter grew louder, nearing the house. Damn it!

Just as she lifted the gun to take the chance and finish the girl off, Brianna slumped completely, inches from the edge.

Voices rose from below as the engine quieted. Solange bent over, trying to see if Brianna was still breathing, but couldn’t tell.

She had to take the chance and leave her here long enough to get rid of the bothersome tourists. Then, she’d come back and finish the job of killing Brianna Dare and hiding her body.

CON GAVE LIZZIE a hand off the bike, looking around at the picturesque farmland rolling toward a stone windmill perched on a cliff above the sea.

“Pretty,” Lizzie said, turning to follow his gaze. In the distance, a few boats dotted the water between Corvo and the slightly larger Flores, but then it was clear for the thousands of miles straight out to North America.

“Pretty deserted,” he replied.