MAKE HER PAY

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Well done, Flynn. I had a good look inside. It certainly needs a little more treatment and cleaning, but I have no doubt that this is genuine and valuable.” He pulled out a seat across from Flynn at the glass-topped poolside table. “You’ve clearly inherited the salvaging gene.”

  Flynn’s lip practically curled. “Judd’s married to my mother, Gerry. No blood or genes shared between us.”

  “Oh, excuse me. Since you have the same name, I assumed you’re his son.”

  Fucking liar. Everyone in this world knew Flynn was the stepson riding on the coattails of Judd’s success. “You do remember our agreement?” Flynn crossed his arms and rested them on the table. “Keep Judd out of this.”

  “No worries, son. I’m no friend of the man’s. He’s never wanted to play by our rules.”

  Those would be the rules of commercial underground. “So true,” Flynn agreed. “Judd likes to keep his name front and center, and we … don’t.”

  Gerry chuckled. “Isn’t that the truth? I hate to say it, but he’s a bit of an egotist.”

  “Ya think?” Flynn rolled his eyes. “He loves nothing more than seeing his name in print, on walls, in books. His motto? ‘Underwater treasure diving should be synonymous with the name Paxton.’ ”

  “He’s achieved that,” Gerry said with a note of admiration. “I admit, now that I know he’s not your real father, you seem like less of a …”

  “What? A traitor? A thief? A person willing to backstab the man who married his mother?”

  “No, no, it’s just that—”

  “That what?” His voice got edgy, as it always did when his stepfather’s name was mentioned. “That Judd Paxton’s blood son wouldn’t screw him in the back?”

  Gerry inched back, assessing Flynn. “Frankly, yes. That’s what I was thinking. You are cheating your father out of money.”

  Fuck you, Gerry. It was your money. Flynn managed a tight smile. This was, after all, a good customer. “He’s not in this business for money.”

  “Coulda fooled me. Judd Paxton is a very wealthy man.”

  “He’s in it for the glory. Notice his name on the museum doors? The grants to universities? The mile-high mountain of press coverage? That’s what gets my old man off.”

  “Your old stepman.”

  Flynn’s blood bubbled to a low simmer, but he covered the anger by crossing his legs and leaning back. “But he won’t have his name on that piece.” He slanted his head toward the house where Gerry had taken his treasure. “And I have a feeling there could be more on this dive. A lot more.”

  “I’m always interested,” Gerry said, standing up. “Just give me a call.”

  Flynn maintained his calm demeanor as they walked to the front of the house, kept his temper in check while they shook hands and said good-bye, then climbed into his SUV, driving slowly around the circle even though he wanted to smash his foot on the pedal. He pulled onto A1A with a remarkable amount of composure, considering that his heart rate soared higher with every moment.

  Then he smashed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel so hard it sent pain up his arm. Stealing from his stepfather wasn’t enough. His full-scale piracy only created pity and support for the great and powerful Judd Paxton. And frankly, being an irritant to the man just didn’t give Flynn the satisfaction he needed anymore.

  Judd Paxton had to suffer for being an egotistical prick. For fucking Flynn’s mother, and never truly acknowledging Flynn as his son. Judd Paxton needed to get it where it hurt him the most: his reputation.

  Flynn drove back to the marina like a maniac, formulating a plan. If the authorities found out about the unregistered dive, Judd would merely get his knuckles rapped and he’d buy his way back into the Florida state reps’ good graces. He’d done that often enough.

  No, it had to be something bigger. Something more shocking. Something that would expose the dive and leave a permanent stain on the name Paxton.

  Judd wanted headlines? That’s what he’d get.

  An ankle holster? Lizzie watched dumbfounded as Con stashed the gun into a leather contraption around his ankle. “You want to explain that to me?”

  “I’m armed because it’s stupid not to be when carrying around an artifact that I have no doubt people would kill for,” he said, straightening his jeans. “And to answer your other question, yes, I can get confirmation whether or not your sister was on a plane to Lisbon. If she’s registered in a hotel there, I can probably get a phone number for you, too.”

  She wanted to jump all over the first explanation, but the urge to throw her arms around him for the rest of it was stronger. She quelled both reactions, watching him warily as she deposited Brianna’s mail on the dining-room table. “How? How can you do that?”

  “I told you, I have—”

  “Connections. Yes, I know, but …” She shook her head, the very first question she ever had about him snaking back into her mind. A question she’d conveniently tamped down as she grew more attracted to him, and more dependent on him. It was time to ask. “Who are you?”

  He gave her a slight smile. “That’s not what you want to know, Lizzie.”

  “It’s exactly what I want to know.”

  “No.” He pulled out one of the dining-room chairs and offered it to her. “What you want to know is what I’m doing on this dive, and why I’m helping you.”

  She stayed standing, until he put a strong hand on her shoulder and guided her into the chair, as if whatever he was going to tell her would make her lose her balance. Her heart did just that, so she took the seat, while he pulled out the other and sat knee-to-knee.

  For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He finally said, “There is a reason that I carry a gun and a satellite phone, why I’m willing to help you take and hide treasures from the boat, and why, with a single phone call, I can find out the names of a resident in a development or a list of passengers on a plane.”

  He waited a beat, while her brain whirred over possibilities.

  “It’s the same reason,” he continued, “that I came after you in the lab when I thought you were stealing, and was able to have a motorcycle waiting when we arrived, and can pick up my phone and find out who lives in the house where Flynn Paxton was visiting.”

  “Oh my God.” She put her hand to her mouth as realization and understanding dawned. “You’re an undercover agent for the government.”

  He said nothing, just looked her right in the eyes and didn’t react. Of course he wouldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to confirm or deny.

  That’s why he was armed and … dangerous.

  He worked for the government, probably investigating Paxton’s whole operation to stop the siphoning of treasure that was supposed to generate millions in taxes and co-profits for the state.

  A thrill exploded in her heart.

  “FBI?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “State government? Art crimes? Tax evasion? Police? What is it?”

  He just kept his mouth closed and let out a soft breath, obviously pained by the conversation.

  “You’re not allowed to tell me, are you?”

  “Lizzie, I want to.” He put his hand on her leg and leaned closer. “I really want to.”

  “But then …” A smile pulled at her mouth. “You’d have to kill me.”

  “You just need to trust me,” he said, not smiling back.

  “I do,” she said with conviction. It all made so much sense now. Of course he wanted to take over everything and do it his way. Of course he wanted to know where she put the scepter and diamond, and go out of his way to follow Flynn with a priceless medallion.

  If he was with the government, he was on her side.

  “You know I don’t want to profit from this dive, don’t you?” she said quickly. He had to understand her real objectives, especially now. “You know that my goal is to share everything we find in an exhibit that millions of people can enjoy.”

  “And clear your ancestor’s name,” he added.r />
  “And the government would want that, too, right?”

  He didn’t answer, his gaze cutting her.

  “You can’t say anything, can you?”

  “I can say this: We both want the same thing, we just want it for different reasons.”

  She leaned back, a tsunami of emotions washing over her. Admiration. Relief. Joy, even. And something else. Something like a big, bad, nasty crush.

  “You’re really one of the good guys,” she said softly.

  “Not entirely.”

  She smiled. “Funny time for you to suddenly get humble.”

  “I don’t want you to …” He trailed off, at a rare loss for words.

  “Tell anyone?” she offered. “I swear I won’t.”

  “Good,” he said. “But I also don’t want you to think you know everything.”

  “I’m sure I don’t.” But she knew enough.

  He stood, reaching for her hand. “We need to get back to the marina, as soon as I make a call and get that information you want.”

  “About my sister?” Gratitude pulled and settled like a lump in her throat. “Thank you, Con.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” he said. “Because you’re really helping me, too.”

  He made a call, walking away and speaking softly, reading information from the boarding pass printout. She managed not to follow him or stare like a lovesick puppy, but the sensation that rocked her body wasn’t too far from that.

  He’d trusted her. He hadn’t actually broken his … code, or whatever they called it. But he never denied her assumption, and that very thing confirmed it.

  He’d moved into the office, and she headed back there, taking Brianna’s mail with her.

  “It’s Houser,” he said, the name stopping Lizzie cold. “Dylan Houser. Cave diver from California. Just let me know what you can get on the investigation into that drowning last August.”

  Dad’s drowning? She felt the blood drain from her head.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said when he turned to her, reading her reaction. “I thought I might be able to get some information on your father’s accident.”

  She tried to swallow but couldn’t. “Why?”

  “Because it strikes me as odd that a diver as experienced as he was would cave-dive alone.”

  “You don’t think … it was …” She almost couldn’t say the words. “An accident?”

  “It’s my nature to be suspicious, Lizzie.”

  And his job. “There’s an investigator’s report on record—”

  “We’re going to get it.”

  Of course “they” were.

  He reached a hand to her. “I just want to help you, Lizzie, because you’ve done a lot to help me.”

  All the way up A1A to the marina, Lizzie wrapped her arms around Con’s powerful body, all her different feelings fusing until she felt like she might combust.

  The revelation about Con. The disappearance of Brianna. The resurrection of her father’s drowning. The scepter, the dive, the truth … The man in her arms.

  She closed her eyes and rested her chin on his shoulder, none of it making sense, yet suddenly all of it making sense.

  He rolled into the marina lot half an hour before their cutoff. As she got off the bike, Lizzie frowned, looking for Flynn’s cabin cruiser.

  “Didn’t we dock in that slip?” she asked, pointing and not seeing the tuna tower of his cabin cruiser.

  Con pulled off his helmet. “Did he move the boat?”

  They scanned the area, then walked to the dock that handled boats of that size. Nowhere.

  “Who ya lookin’ for?” The voice came from behind them, a young man. “That big Tiara?”

  “Do you work here?” Con asked.

  “Yeah, and I came on just when that guy took off in a big, fat hurry. The son of a bitch didn’t even pay his docking fee. Said he’d be back tomorrow. But if that prick stiffs us in a half-million-dollar boat, I’ll be pissed.”

  “Tomorrow?” Lizzie blew out the word, disgusted. “I can’t believe he did this.”

  “I can,” Con said quickly, walking her away. “He’s got to go do damage control immediately. Has to go back to the boat and claim the medallion was taken from him, and come up with a story to tell his stepfather.”

  “So you think he left us here on purpose, so we couldn’t contradict him or question him?”

  “More than that, he doesn’t want me anywhere near that boat, because he thinks Alita took the medallion and gave it to me. He can pay her off, but not me. The longer I’m away, the better chance he thinks he has of getting me fired.”

  “Can he?”

  “Actually, no.” A soft beep got his attention and he pulled out his phone, stepping away and speaking softly. When he returned, he look pleased.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said, forcing her voice to be light. “You got us a boat with one phone call.”

  He smiled. “No, I have another plan for us tonight.” The way he said it sent a slow burn through her.

  “And what would that be?”

  He put his arm around her, his mouth very close to her ear.

  “I’ve developed one other very specialized skill in my life.”

  She looked up, getting a little kick from the shared secret and a bigger one from the sheer proximity of his mouth to hers. “Which is?”

  “You could call it reclamation. The man who lives at 662 River Run is a known black-market art collector. I think I have to reclaim the medallion he illegally purchased today.”

  She melted right into him with a sigh. “You are something else, Con.”

  “Yeah.” His tone was wry. “I really am.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  BY NINE O’CLOCK it was dark, and Con parked the bike behind a row of oleander bushes across the street and a few hundred yards down from the entrance to St. Richard’s Island.

  Gerry Dix, that wily son of a bitch, was about to get a visit from an old acquaintance. Con had done some work for him years ago, when he’d taken a nineteenth-century chalice from the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia, and delivered it to Gerry’s home in the Hamptons.

  Con liked symmetry and balance; stealing from Gerry would bring their relationship as thief and buyer full circle.

  Lizzie’s assumption that he was a government agent answered most of her questions and created the necessary trust, so he had let it go. If and when she found out the truth, he’d be long gone on the next Bullet Catcher job. Because if he got the medallion back, that could seal the deal, accomplishing the whole mission to guard the treasures, find the thief, and target the traitor.

  Flynn Paxton was obviously their thief, and no doubt he was sharing plenty of information with this buyer and others. So when Con turned over the medallion and the diamond-topped scepter to the client, that should take some of the sting out of the fact that Paxton’s traitor was in his own family.

  If Gerry Dix was a creature of habit, getting the medallion would be relatively easy. If not, Con had faced bigger challenges to get even more impressive prizes.

  Before he did, he always considered one question.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked over his shoulder, curious what Lizzie’s response would be.

  “They won’t fall for my Oscar-worthy performance and we can’t get in,” she answered.

  “That’s not the worst. What’s the worst that could happen if we do get in?”

  “The medallion buyer is home and you can’t steal it back?”

  He shook his head. Even if Dix was home, Con could probably get it, unless the guy was asleep with the thing under his pillow. He’d taken many items from rooms where people slept, though.

  “You could get shot?” she suggested.

  “I can defend myself. I think the worst that could happen is that the medallion isn’t there, and this was a waste of time,” he said. “Making this a low risk endeavor.”

  “Very optimistic. I’m
still not sure we’re going to get past that guard,” Lizzie said.

  “We will. That’s the easiest barrier we’re going to face tonight.”

  “Can’t we just do the same thing we did earlier? They already think I’m Dave’s sister and let me in once.”

  “It’s an option, but not my favorite,” he said. “What if Dave or Sarah Rollins happened to leave, and the guard asked how the surprise went when his sister showed up this morning?”

  “I see your point. They could all be on alert for the scam.”

  He nodded, watching a beat-up Honda pull in and circle around the entrance, pulling into a small area where a golf cart and a roving security truck were parked.

  “But I think we have the changing of the guard now.” Yep, the new arrival had a uniform on. “Get ready to roll.”

  He turned to glance at Lizzie, smiling at how bad she looked with bloodshot eyes from drops of shampoo and her makeup smudged and smeared. “Thanks for taking one for the team.”

  “Vas your name again, shweetie?” She slurred the words in classic drunk-speak, giving him a loopy smile. “ ’Cause you’re kinna cute.” She winked a red eye at him.

  He turned on the engine and headed out onto the road, watching the new guard enter the small gatehouse. He continued to the next intersection, turned around, and drove south, just in time to see the first guard get in his car and drive off. After one more pass, Con pulled in as Lizzie slumped against his back, her face turned away from the guardhouse.

  The young man stepped out with his clipboard, and Con leaned forward.

  “All right, I think we can do this now— Oh, you’re a different guy.” Con feigned surprise. “The other guard let us in about fifteen minutes ago, but I had to take her out to the bushes to …” He opened his mouth and mimed throwing up, whispering the rest with a thumb pointed to his passenger. “She’s in really bad shape.”