Roxanne St. Claire - Make Her Pay

“Alone?” he pressed. “Others? A man and woman? Homem and…” He couldn’t think of the word for woman.

She nodded again, getting it anyway.

She held up two fingers. “Homem e mulher.”

Man and woman. A fist slammed his chest. She was with them.

There was only one place they could have gone. He thanked her and looked at Brianna. She wasn’t safe here. He pulled out his satellite phone and called the pilot waiting at the airport, instructing him to come guard Brianna until he returned. Then he waited until the pilot arrived, an eternity that was probably less than fifteen minutes.

Outside, he scanned the streets. A cab was unheard of, and unacceptably slow. There was no time to get the scooter, and even if he did, it wasn’t fast enough, either. He needed-

A Ducati.

The speedy little sports bike was parked directly across the street, the key in the ignition. Of course. There was no crime in Corvo.

Well, there was some now.

He looked left and right again, the only people in sight an older woman walking toward the church with a white-haired priest.

He jogged across the street, threw a leg over the seat, and closed his fingers around the keys. The engine turned over with the distinctly mellow growl of an Italian bike and Con took off, knowing exactly where he had to go.

As he passed the priest, he silently asked the old man to pray he wasn’t too late.

“He’s a thief, Lizzie, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you are.” Charlotte looked up from Solange’s open desk drawer, where she’d been rummaging since they’d arrived at the farmhouse, her normally calm demeanor agitated as she searched for something she claimed could really “help them understand the documentation” that Con had unearthed.

But every time Lizzie or Sam tried to press her on exactly what it was, her answers were vague and she changed the subject to harp on Con.

The facts she’d somehow managed to get on Lizzie’s lover were irrefutable. Any claims that he was not a former thief would sound as hollow to them as they did in Lizzie’s head.

Especially once she’d convinced them to stop by Sousa’s to tell Con where they were going, and he was gone. No note, no explanation. Just gone.

Where would he go without stopping by the clinic to tell her? It was possible she’d missed him between the restaurant and the clinic; there were plenty of winding back alleys throughout the town. Still, worry and uncertainty pushed at her heart. And the accusations didn’t help.

Charlotte slammed a drawer shut and stood, shaking her head. “Let me check the bedroom.”

Lizzie dropped onto a window seat that looked out over the property, stretching all the way to the windmill and the sea beyond. At a distance of what was probably the length of two football fields, the windmill looked small and sweetly picturesque. But it wasn’t so small when she was scaling the side to get to the brake. And it sure as hell wasn’t sweet when those gears nearly crushed her sister.

And Con had risked his life to save Brianna. He’d been a thief at one time, but he was a hero to her. She blew out a breath.

“If it’s any consolation, Lizzie Lou, I like him.” Sam had come up from behind, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I know Charlotte has all these connections in the world of art and collectors, so this dirt on Xenakis undoubtedly has some merit, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you, honey. A man who feels that protective about a woman can’t be all bad.”

She smiled wanly up at him. “If he’s so protective, why did he disappear?”

“He couldn’t have gone far on this island. Give him time.”

She nodded, looking out again. “This is when I miss my dad the most, you know. He was a great judge of character.”

“I don’t know about that.” Sam chuckled. “He liked me.”

“He did like you, a lot.” Never liked your new wife, though. But there was no reason to hurt Sam.

“That thief’s probably already been here.” Charlotte’s voice floated in from the bedroom down the hall.

“What is she looking for?” Lizzie whispered to Sam.

He lifted a shoulder. “She says she’ll know it when she sees it. You know how she is with treasure and art. Has a nose for it.”

“Did you tell her about the scepter?” she asked softly.

His expression grew pained. “Actually, no. I should have, but…”

“You were smart not to,” Lizzie assured him. “For her own protection.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound so convincing, but before she could pursue it, Charlotte made a disdainful tsk from the bedroom.

“He was probably here cleaning this place out while we were in the hospital with your poor sister,” she said loudly.

“My sister whose life he saved,” Lizzie said under her breath.

Sam put a hand on her arm. “If you like this man, or even if you love him, go with your gut, honey. Be honest with him. Give him a chance to explain who he is and why.”

“I did.”

“And did you like what he had to say?”

“Most of it.”

“Well, there you…” Sam’s voice faded as his attention shifted outside.

A figure moved in the far distance of the road. Lizzie sat up taller, squinting to see more clearly. She was able to make out the shape of a man in dark clothing with dark hair or a hat, dropping a motorbike to the ground and then bending over, running as though he were trying to maintain cover, as he headed toward the gravel drive that led to the property.

Was that Con? It was too far to make out any detail, but it sure looked like he wore a dark baseball cap- exactly like the one she’d playfully put on his head when she left to see her sister.

But why was he trying to hide?

“That your boyfriend?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on the way he moved, the shape of his body. “From this far away, I think so.”

Relief rolled over her. He’d come to find her.

“What’s he doing?” Sam asked.

“I wish I knew.”

He reached the gravelly perimeter surrounding the windmill, and hesitated. Was he looking up here? She couldn’t tell. If he was looking for signs of life, he wouldn’t see it, as Charlotte had insisted on parking their borrowed four-wheel drive in the back. Con had no way of knowing she was there.

She started to reach for the window, to open it and call to him, but something in the way he moved-or didn’t-stopped her. Then he disappeared into the windmill.

“Maybe he thinks I’m in there.”

“I’m going up to check the attic,” Charlotte called as she passed, pausing at the doorway. “You ought to listen to me, Lizzie. The man is a known thief, and nothing is ever going to change that. Be glad you found out before he could rob you blind and break your heart. Can you imagine how badly he’d like to get his hands on those scepters and diamonds? It’s no wonder he glommed onto you-”

“Char,” Sam said softly. “Stop.”

She just headed down the hall, her footsteps heavy on the wooden stairs at the end.

“I trust Con,” Lizzie said emphatically, as though saying it out loud made it even truer.

Then he stepped out of the windmill, a swath of something white in his arms. Lizzie stared, leaning as close to the glass as she could to make out the man and what he carried. As he turned, a gust of wind fluttered the fabric, and the sunlight glinted a flash of golden light, a prism of blue. Brilliant, even from this far away.

“Oh my God,” she said.

“Well, look at that.” Sam’s voice was stunned, and sad. “Oh, honey, maybe Charlotte was right about him.”

“No.” She refused to believe that.