by Nora Roberts
His fingers closed so quickly, so painfully over her arm, she was too surprised to shout. “Be careful. I don’t care for poor manners.” His face smoothed out again with a smile. “We’ll try again, shall we? I’d like you to accompany me for a short, friendly visit. If you refuse, or if you insist on making a scene here in, as you say, a public place, your fiancé will pay the price.”
“My fiancé will scrape your face over the pavement, VanDyke, unless I do it first.”
“What a pity that your mother’s gentle breeding seems to have skipped a generation.” He sighed, leaned closer, keeping his teeth clenched to control his voice. “I have two men watching your Matthew as we speak. They’ll do nothing unless you force me to signal them otherwise. They’re quite skilled and quite discreet.”
The blood drained from her face, leaving it cold and stiff. “You can hardly have him killed in the lobby of the resort.” But he’d planted the seed of terror, and it was blossoming.
“You can always take that chance. Oh, and wasn’t that your mother up in the boutique? She’s chosen several lovely things for you.”
Numb with fear, Tate glanced up. She could see the glass doors and windows of the shop tossing back sun. And the man, broad shouldered, neatly dressed, loitering outside. He inclined his head slowly.
“Don’t hurt her. You have no reason to hurt her.”
“If you do what I tell you, I’ll have no reason to hurt anyone. Shall we go? I’ve instructed my chef to prepare a very special lunch, and now I have someone to share it with.” With a horrible gallantry, he tucked a hand under her elbow and led her toward the pier. “The trip will only take a short time,” he assured her. “I’m moored just west of you.”
“How did you know?”
“Oh, my dear.” Jaunty in his white suit and panama, pleased with his victory, he clucked her under the chin. “How naive of you to think I wouldn’t.”
Tate jerked her arm from his grip, gave one last look back at the resort before stepping down into the waiting tender. “If you hurt them, if you so much as touch either of them, I’ll kill you myself.”
She planned the ways she would do it as the tender cut through the water.
In the boutique, Marla sighed. After instructing the clerk to set aside her selections, she set out to track down her daughter. She searched the restaurants and lounges, scanned the beach and the pool. Mildly irked, she went through the gift shop, then back to the boutique.
When there was no sign of Tate, she marched back to the lobby intending to have the concierge do a page.
She spotted Matthew jumping out of a cab.
“Matthew, for goodness sake, where have you been?”
“Something I had to take care of.” He patted his pocket where the contract he’d just signed was neatly folded. “Hey, I’m only a little late.”
“Late for what?”
“We said an hour.” Unconcerned, he glanced at his watch. “It’s just over that. So, did you talk her into a dress or is she still fighting it?”
“I haven’t seen her,” Marla said grumpily. She was hot, frustrated. “I thought she was with you.”
“No, we separated. She was going to meet you.” He shrugged. “We were talking about different kinds of weddings, flowers and stuff. She probably got involved in something.”
“I don’t—the beauty salon,” Marla said, inspired. “She probably wanted to check about getting her hair and nails done, getting a facial.”
“Tate?”
“It’s her wedding.” Baffled by the casualness of youth, she shook her head. “Every woman wants to look her best as a bride. She’s down there right now going through pictures of hairstyles.”
“If you say so.” The idea of Tate getting herself polished and painted for him had him grinning. This he had to see. “Let’s go smoke her out.”
“I’m going to give her a piece of my mind, too,” Marla muttered. “I was starting to worry.”
“Champagne?” VanDyke lifted a flute from the tray his steward had set beside a pair of peacock blue lounge chairs.
“No.”
“I think you’ll agree that it sets the palate for the lobster dish we’re having for lunch.”
“I’m not interested in champagne or lobster or your transparent politeness.”
Ignoring the little tremors of fear, Tate kept her shoulders braced. If she’d gauged it correctly they were about a mile west of the Mermaid. She could swim it if necessary.
“What I am interested in is why you kidnapped me.”
“Such a hard word.” VanDyke sampled the champagne, found it perfectly chilled. “Please sit.” His eyes frosted when she stayed braced against the rail. “Sit, now,” he repeated. “We have business to discuss.”
Bravery was one thing. But when his eyes looked as flat and mindless as a shark’s, she thought it wise to obey. She sat stiffly and forced herself to accept the second flute he held out.
She’d been wrong, she realized. He had changed. The man she had faced eight years ago had seemed sane. This one . . .
“To . . .destiny, perhaps?”
She’d have preferred to dash the contents of the glass into his face. Whatever small satisfaction that might bring her, she realized, would cost dearly. “Destiny?” It bolstered her to find her voice could be calm and even. “Yes, I could drink to that.”
Relaxed, he sat back, holding the stem of the flute between his fingers. “It’s so charming to visit with you again. You know, Tate, you made quite a favorable impression on me during our last encounter. I’ve enjoyed watching your professional progress over the years.”
“If I had known you were associated with the Nomad’s last expedition in any way, I would never have been a part of it.”
“So foolish.” He crossed his ankles to better enjoy the wine and the company. “Surely you know that I’ve financed a number of scientists, labs, expeditions. Without my backing, numerous projects would never have reached fruition. And the charities I support, worthwhile causes.” He paused to sip again. “Would you deny those causes, Tate, charitable and scientific, because you disapprove of the source?”
She tipped her glass and sipped as delicately as he. “When the source is a murderer, a thief, a man without conscience or morals, yes.”
“Fortunately few share your opinion of me, or your rather naive ethics. You disappointed me,” he said in a tone that had her pulse going thick. “You betrayed me. And you’ve cost me.” Absently, he glanced up as a steward appeared. “Lunch is served,” VanDyke told her, smoothly genial again. “I thought you’d enjoy dining al fresco.”
He rose, offering a hand, which she ignored. “Don’t try my patience, Tate. Small rebellions only irritate me.” He demonstrated by clamping his hand over her wrist. “You’ve already disappointed me deeply,” he continued as she struggled against his hold. “But I’m hoping you’ll take this last chance I’m giving you to redeem yourself.”
“Take your hands off me.” Temper spiked, propelling her around. Her fist was poised, ready to strike when he grabbed her braid and yanked sharply enough to have stars exploding in front of her eyes. When her body was dragged against him, she discovered the elegant clothes masked a tough, hard body.
“If you think I have any qualms about striking a woman, think again.” His eyes glittered as he shoved her roughly into a chair. He leaned over her, his breath hitching, his eyes blind. “If I wasn’t a reasonable, civilized man, if I let myself forget that, I’d break you, a bone at a time.”
Like a light switched, his eyes changed. The vicious temper turned into a smile that was edgy and thin. “There are those who believe that corporal punishment is unwise, even uncivilized.” Daintily he fussed with his lapels, then sat. Brushing a hand back, he signaled for the stone-faced steward to retrieve the wine and glasses. “However, I disagree. I’m a firm believer that pain and punishment are very effective for instilling a sense of discipline. And certainly respect. I demand respect. I’ve earned it. Do try one
of these olives, dear.” The avuncular host once more, he offered her a crystal dish. “They’re from one of my groves in Greece.”
Because her hands were shaking badly she kept them locked under the table. What kind of man threatened to inflict pain one moment, and offered exotic tidbits the next? A mad one.
“What do you want?”
“First, to share a congenial meal in a lovely spot with an attractive woman.” His brow lifted when her cheeks went white. “Don’t fret, dear Tate. My feelings for you are much too paternal for me to entertain any sexual notions. Your honor, as you might think of it, is more than safe.”
“I’m supposed to be relieved that rape isn’t on your itinerary?”
“Another ugly word.” Mildly annoyed with her choice of it, he helped himself to the dish of olives and the antipasto. “A man who stoops to forcing himself on a woman sexually isn’t a man at all in my opinion. One of my executives in New York browbeat and intimidated his assistant into having sex with him. She had to be hospitalized when he’d finished.”
VanDyke sliced through a piece of prosciutto. “I arranged to have him fired—after I’d had him castrated.” He dabbed at his mouth with a pale blue linen napkin. “I like to think she would have thanked me. Please, try the lobster. I guarantee it’s superb.”
“I don’t seem to have much of an appetite.” Tate shoved her plate aside in a gesture she knew was foolishly defiant. “You got me here, VanDyke, and obviously you can keep me here. At least until Matthew and my family start looking for me.” Lifting her chin, she stared directly into his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”
“We will have to discuss Matthew,” he mused, “but that can wait. I want what I’ve always wanted. I want what belongs to me. Angelique’s Curse.”
Worry gnawed at her stomach as Marla paced the hotel lobby. No matter how many times she told herself that Tate couldn’t have simply disappeared, she was terrified. She watched people come and go, staff bustling along to perform duties, guests strolling from pool to lounge to garden.
She heard laughter, the splash of children swimming, the whirl of the blender that mixed frosty island drinks for those waiting at the bar.
She and Matthew had separated—she, to ask at the front desk, to question the doormen, the cabdrivers, anyone who might have seen Tate leave the resort, he to check the beach and the dock.
When she spotted Matthew coming toward her, Marla’s heart leapt. Only when she saw that he was alone, when she saw the grim look in his eyes, did it sink again.
“Tate.”
“Several people saw her. She met someone, left with him by tender.”
“Left? Who did she meet? Are you sure it was her?”
“It was her.” The panic that raced through him could be controlled. But not so easy was it to control the need to kill. “The description I got fits VanDyke.”
“No.” Weak with fear, she reached out to take his arm. “She wouldn’t have gone with him.”
“She wouldn’t unless he hadn’t given her a choice.”
“The police,” she said faintly. “We’ll call the police.”
“And tell them that she left the island, without putting up any struggle, with the man who endowed her last project?” Eyes hard and hot, he shook his head. “We don’t know how many cops he owns either. We do this my way.”
“Matthew, if he hurts her . . .”
“He won’t.” But they both knew he said it only to soothe. “He has no reason to. Let’s get back. My guess is that he won’t be far from where we’re moored.”
He doesn’t know. Tate’s mind whirled with possibilities. He’d known where to find them. Had somehow known what they were doing. But he didn’t know what they’d found. Stalling, she reached for her glass again.
“Do you think, if I had it, I’d give it to you?”
“Oh, I think when you have it you’ll give it to me to save Matthew and the others. It’s time we worked together, Tate, as I’ve planned for some time.”
“You’ve planned?”
“Yes. Though not in quite the way I had hoped.” He brooded over that for a moment, then brushed it aside. “I’m willing to overlook your mistakes, I’m even willing to let you and your team reap the rewards of the Isabella. All I want is the amulet.”
“You’d take it and walk away? What assurance do I have of that?”
“My word, of course.”
“Your word means less than nothing to me.” She gasped involuntarily when he crushed her fingers in his hand.
“I don’t tolerate insults.” When he released her, her hand throbbed like a bad tooth. “A man’s word is sacred, Tate,” he said with eerie calm. “My proposition stands. The amulet is all I want from you. In exchange for it, you’ll have the fame and the fortune that goes with the Isabella. Your name will be made. I’m even willing to assist on that point wherever I have influence.”
“I don’t want your influence.”
“You benefited from it many times in the past eight years. But I did that for my own pleasure. Still it wounds to have generosity met with ingratitude.” His face darkened. “Lassiter’s doing. I understand that. You realize that by aligning yourself with him you’re lowering your expectations, your standards, your social and professional opportunities. A man like him will never be an asset to you on any level.”
“A man like Matthew Lassiter makes you look like a child. A spoiled, evil child.” Her head snapped back and her eyes watered when the back of his hand slashed across her cheek.
“I warned you.” Furious, he shoved his plate aside. The force of it sent it bulleting off the table to smash on the deck. “I won’t tolerate disrespect. I’ve made allowances as I admire your courage and intelligence, but you will mind your tongue.”
“I despise you.” She braced for another blow. “If I found the amulet, I’d destroy it before turning it over to you.”
She watched him snap. The way his hands trembled as he surged to his feet. There was murder in his eyes. More than that, she understood. There was a kind of terrible delight. He would hurt her, she knew, and he would enjoy it.
The survival instinct kicked in over the numb fear. She sprang to her feet, leaping back when he grabbed for her. Without pausing, she sprinted for the rail. Water was safety. The sea would save her. But even as she poised to dive, she was dragged back.
She kicked, screamed, fought to find flesh that her teeth could sink into. The steward simply pinned her arms, yanking them viciously up behind her back until her vision grayed.
“Leave her to me.”
Dimly, she heard VanDyke’s voice as she fell bonelessly to the deck.
“You’re not as sensible as I’d hoped.” With the rage still in him, VanDyke snagged her abused arm and yanked her to her feet. Fresh agony had a sob catching in her throat. “Your loyalty is displaced, Tate. I’ll have to teach you—”
He broke off as the sound of a motor caught his attention. Hearing it, Tate swayed, turned her face toward the noise.
Matthew.
Terror and pain stripped aside all pride. She wept weakly when VanDyke let her drop to the deck a second time.
He’d come. She curled into a ball, nursing bruises. He’d take her away, and it wouldn’t hurt anymore. She wouldn’t be afraid anymore.
“Again,” VanDyke said, “you’re late.”
“It wasn’t a simple matter to leave.” LaRue landed lightly on deck. He glanced briefly at Tate before reaching for his tobacco. “You have a passenger, I see.”
“Fortune smiled on me.” Nearly steady again, VanDyke sat back down. He picked up a napkin to dab at his sweaty face. “I was handling a few details on the island when who should cross my path but the delightful Ms. Beaumont.”
LaRue clucked his tongue and helped himself to Tate’s champagne. “There’s a mark on her face. I disapprove of the rough treatment of women.”
VanDyke’s teeth bared. “I don’t pay you for your approval.”
“Pe
rhaps not.” LaRue decided to postpone his cigarette and enjoy the antipasto. “When Matthew discovers you have her, he’ll come looking.”
“Of course.” That would make up for everything. Nearly everything. “Have you come only to tell me what I already know?”
“LaRue.” Trembling, Tate struggled to her knees. “Matthew, where’s Matthew?”
“I would guess he is speeding back from Nevis to search for you.”
“But—” She shook her head to clear it. “What are you doing here?” Slowly it began to register that he was alone, that he was sitting comfortably at the table, nibbling.