The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  “I can do better.” She leaned back, her eyes on his, and slowly unbelted the robe. “Just watch me.”

  She was his oldest and most vivid fantasy, rising over him, slim and agile. Flame-colored hair, milky skin, eyes that echoed the sea. She was his to touch wherever he desired. His to hold when his heart thundered. His to watch as passion shimmered over her.

  It was so quiet, so peaceful, so easy to join body and heart with hers. They might have been in that long-ago underwater dream, weightless, anchored only to each other. Every sense, every cell, every thought was tied to her, and only her.

  He belonged, finally and completely.

  CHAPTER 28

  T ATE ROSE EARLY, and leaving Matthew sleeping, slipped from the cabin. She needed to think. The idea of a solitary cup of coffee in the galley seemed the best way to start.

  Trusting Matthew was one thing, but letting him handle VanDyke on his own was another.

  When she walked into the galley she found her mother already at the stove with the radio playing Bob Marley at low volume.

  “I didn’t think anyone was up.” Following the scent, Tate walked to the coffeepot and poured.

  “I had an urge to bake bread. Kneading helps me think.” Marla vigorously massaged the dough on her floured board. “And I thought I’d cook everyone a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits. Cholesterol be damned.”

  “You cook like that during emotional upheavals.” Concerned, Tate studied her mother over the rim of her mug. However carefully Marla had made up her face, Tate spotted the signs of a disturbed night. “I’m okay, Mom.”

  “I know.” Marla bit her lip, surprised tears were threatening again. Like most mothers facing a crisis, she hadn’t broken down until Tate had been safe. Then she’d crumbled. “I know everything’s all right. But when I think of those hours that vile, unprincipled—” Rather than give in to tears, she punctuated each word with a sharp punch to the dough. “Evil, conniving, murdering jackal had you I want to peel his skin away from his bones with a paring knife.”

  “Whoa.” Impressed, Tate rubbed her mother’s shoulder. “Great image. You’re a scary woman, Marla Beaumont. That’s why I love you.”

  “Nobody messes with my baby.” She let out a long breath, grateful there was no betraying hitch in it. The kneading and the venting had worked wonders. “Your father talked about drawing and quartering and keelhauling.”

  “Dad?” Tate set her mug down and chuckled. “Good old mild-mannered Ray?”

  “I wasn’t sure Matthew was going to be able to convince him to stay aboard when they went after you. They fought about it.”

  That brought her up short. “Fought? Dad and Matthew?” Tate decided she needed more coffee after all.

  “Well, they didn’t come to blows, though it was close there for a minute or two.”

  It took a conscious effort to close her mouth at the image of her father and her lover squaring off on the foredeck. “You’re joking.”

  “Buck got between them until they’d both cooled off,” Marla remembered. “I was afraid Ray would pop him instead.”

  “Come on, Dad’s never hit anyone in his life.” She lowered her mug again. “Has he?”

  “Not in the last few decades. Tempers were a bit heightened.” Marla’s eyes softened as she brushed at her daughter’s tumbled hair. “You’ve got two men who love you sick with worry. And Matthew busy blaming himself.”

  “He always does that,” Tate muttered.

  “It’s his nature to believe he has to protect his woman. Don’t knock it,” Marla added with a chuckle at Tate’s derisive snort. “No matter how strong and self-reliant, a woman who has a man who loves her enough that he would literally give his life for hers is very lucky.”

  “Yes.” Equality and common sense aside, she couldn’t help but smile over it. Damned if she didn’t have a white knight after all.

  “If I could choose someone for you to spend your life with, it would be Matthew. Even eight years ago when you were both so young, too young, I knew you’d be safe with him.”

  Intrigued now, Tate leaned a hip on the counter. “I’d have thought the reckless, go-to-hell, adventurous type would have been every mother’s nightmare.”

  “Not when there’s solid ground beneath.” Marla put the dough in a bowl to rise, covered it with a cloth. Finding her hands empty again, she looked around the already spotless galley. “I guess I’ll start breakfast.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.” Tate pulled a pack of sausage from the fridge. “That way the guys’ll have to clean up.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have time anyway. After we eat, I’ve got a lot of calls to make. The university, the Cousteau Society, National Geographic—maybe a dozen others.” Glad for the busywork, Tate chose a skillet. “Matthew told you of his plan to make the discovery public before he confronts VanDyke?”

  “Yes, we talked about it after you’d fallen asleep last night.”

  “I wish I thought it was enough,” Tate murmured. “I wish I thought it would ensure that VanDyke would just go away and stay away.”

  “The man should be in prison.”

  “I agree, completely. But knowing the things he’s done and proving them are different matters.” As dissatisfied as her mother, Tate set the skillet on a burner to heat. “We have to accept that and move on. He’ll never pay for what he did to Matthew, to all of us. But we’ll have the pleasure of seeing to it that he’ll never have the necklace either.”

  “Still, what might he do to pay you back for that?”

  Tate lifted a shoulder as she set sausage to grilling. “The necklace will be out of his reach, and I’ll have to make sure I am, too. Along with my white knight.”

  Absently, Marla reached into a bin and selected potatoes for home fries. “Tate, I’ve been thinking. I had an idea—I know it’s probably full of flaws, but . . .”

  “An idea about what?”

  “About VanDyke,” Marla said, gritting her teeth over the name as she scrubbed potatoes.

  “Does it involve a paring knife?”

  “No.” There was a giggle at that, followed by a self-deprecating shrug. “Oh, it’s probably stupid.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it?” Tate flipped the browning meat with a spatula. “You never know.”

  “Well, I was just thinking . . .”

  Ten minutes later, with sausage sizzling in the pan, Tate shook her head.

  “It’s so simple.”

  Marla sighed and poked at her frying potatoes. “It’s a silly idea. I don’t know what made me think of it, or that it could work.”

  “Mom.” Tate took her mother’s shoulders, turned her around. “It’s brilliant.”

  Taken off guard, Marla blinked. “It is?”

  “Absolutely. Simple and brilliant. Keep cooking,” she said, adding a cheerful kiss. “I’m going to wake everybody up so they can see I come by my genius naturally.”

  With a sound of pleased surprise, Marla went back to her home fries. “Brilliant,” she said to herself and gave her back a congratulatory pat.

  “This may work.” LaRue took another scan of the spacious hotel lobby. “But you’re sure, Matthew, you wouldn’t like to go back to your early idea of cutting VanDyke into small pieces and feeding him to the fish?”

  “It’s not about what I’d like.” Matthew stood out of view in the cozy library off the main lobby. “Besides, it’d probably kill the fish.”

  “True.” LaRue sighed deeply. “It is the first sacrifice of the married man, mon jeune ami. The giving up of what he likes. A variety of women, the occasional drunken brawl, eating at the sink in underwear. Those days are over for you, young Matthew.”

  “I’ll live with it.”

  Gingerly, LaRue touched his wounded cheek, and was able to smile. “She is, I believe, worth even such wrenching sacrifices.”

  “Maybe not eating in my underwear, but we’ll work out a compromise. Everything se
t from your viewpoint?”

  “All’s well.” LaRue scanned the capacious lobby with its generous sitting areas, lush foliage and wide windows. “The weather is so fine there is little traffic inside. And the timing, of course,” he added. “We’re late for lunch, early for the cocktail hour. Our man is prompt as a rule. He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  “Sit down and order a drink. We don’t want him choosing the table.”

  LaRue straightened his shoulders, brushed at his hair. “How do I look, eh?”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Bien sûr.” Satisfied, LaRue moved off. He took a table by the patio window, across from a deeply cushioned sofa. He glanced toward a breakfront that held a variety of board games to amuse guests on rainy days, then took out his tobacco pouch.

  He was enjoying the last of his cigarette with a frothy mai tai and a chapter of Hemingway when VanDyke walked in, tailed by his stoic steward.

  “Ah, prompt, as expected.” He toasted VanDyke, sneered at the steward. “I see you feel the need for protection, even from a loyal associate.”

  “For precaution.” With a wave of the hand, VanDyke gestured his man toward the sofa. “You feel the need for the protection of a public place for our business meeting?”

  “For precaution,” LaRue countered, meticulously marking his page in his book before setting it aside. “How fares your guest?” he asked casually. “Her parents are terrified for her safety.”

  VanDyke folded his hands, felt them relax. He had been fighting off a rage all morning after Tate’s disappearance had been discovered. Obviously, he thought, she never made it back to the bosom of her family. Drowned, he supposed and glanced up at the waitress. A pity.

  “A champagne cocktail. My guest is no concern of yours,” he added to LaRue. “I’d prefer to get straight to our business.”

  “I’m in no hurry.” Demonstrating, LaRue tilted back in his chair. “Were you able to see the fireworks I displayed for you last night?”

  “Yes.” Fussily, VanDyke flicked a speck of lint from his starched cuffs. “I assume there were no survivors.”

  LaRue’s smile was thin and cool. “You didn’t pay me for survivors, eh?”

  “No.” VanDyke let out a long, almost reverent breath. “Matthew Lassiter is dead. You’ve earned your money, LaRue.” He broke off and gifted the waitress with his most charming smile as she served his drink.

  “Your orders were to destroy his boat, along with him and his uncle, and your price, I believe, was two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “A bargain, to be sure,” LaRue murmured.

  “Your payment will be transferred to your account before the close of the business day. Do you think he died instantly?” VanDyke said dreamily, “or do you think he felt the blast?”

  LaRue contemplated his drink. “If you had wanted him to suffer, you should have made it clear in the contract. For a slightly larger fee, it could have been arranged.”

  “It hardly matters. I can assume he suffered. And the Beaumonts?”

  “Eaten with grief, of course. Matthew was like a son to them, and Buck a dear friend. Ils sont désolé. For myself I pretend guilt and misery. If I had not chosen to take the launch to Saint Kitts for a bit of nightlife . . .” He touched his heart, shook his head. “They reassure me, tell me there was nothing I could have done.”

  “Such generous spirits.” VanDyke pitied them for their open hearts. “An attractive couple,” he mused. “The woman in particular is quite lovely.”

  “Ah.” LaRue kissed his fingers. “A true blossom of the south.”

  “Still . . .” Contemplating, VanDyke sipped his drink. “I wonder if an accident on their voyage home might not be best.”

  Surprised, LaRue sloshed his mai tai. “You want the Beaumonts eliminated?”

  “Clean slate,” VanDyke murmured. They had touched the necklace, he thought. His necklace. It was reason enough for them to die. “Smaller prey, however. I’ll pay you fifty thousand apiece to take care of them.”

  “A hundred thousand for a double murder. Oh, mon ami, you are stingy.”

  “I can handle it myself for nothing,” VanDyke pointed out. “A hundred thousand to spare me the trouble of making other arrangements. I’d prefer that you wait a week, perhaps two.” To give me time, he mused, to plan your disposal as well. “Now, with that settled, where is the amulet?”

  “Oh, it’s safe.”

  The easy smile faded, hardened to stone. “You were to bring it.”

  “Mais non, money first.”

  “I’ve transferred your asking price for the amulet, as agreed.”

  “All of the money.”

  VanDyke bit back on fury. It was the last time, he promised himself, that the little Canadian bastard would bleed him. In his mind murder flashed, the kind of murder that wasn’t neat, wasn’t practical. And wasn’t handled by someone else.

  “I told you you’d have the money by the end of the business day.”

  “Then you’ll have your treasure when the payment clears.”

  “Damn you, LaRue.” With temper flushed on his cheeks, he pushed back from the table, nearly sent his chair toppling before he caught himself. Business, he repeated in his head like a chant. It’s only business. “I’ll arrange it immediately.”

  LaRue took the unexpected bonus philosophically. “As you wish. Through that alcove you will find a phone.” Chuckling to himself, he watched VanDyke stride off. “Another quarter million,” he murmured into his drink, while his gaze roamed idly around the lobby, paused very briefly on the opening to the library. “That’s very sweet.”

  Feeling generous, he decided to up Matthew’s share to fifty percent, as a wedding present. It seemed, after all, only just.

  “It’s done,” VanDyke snapped when he returned a few minutes later. “The money is being transferred immediately.”

  “As always, it’s a pleasure to do business with you. When I’ve finished my drink, I’ll make my own call, see that the transfer is complete.”

  VanDyke’s knuckles were white against the table. “I want the amulet. I want my property.”

  “Only a few minutes longer,” LaRue assured him. “I have something to amuse you until then.” From the pocket of his shirt, LaRue took a sheet of drawing paper. He unfolded it and laid it on the table.

  The sketch was meticulously detailed, each link of the chain, each stone, even the tiny letters of the engraving.

  The flush died from VanDyke’s face until it was as white as his knuckles. “It’s magnificent.”

  “Tate is quite skilled. She captured the elegance of it, eh?”

  “The power,” VanDyke whispered as he skimmed his fingers over the sketch. He could all but feel the texture of the stones. “Even in a drawing you can see it. Feel it. For almost twenty years I’ve searched for this.”

  “And killed for it.”

  “Lives are nothing compared to this.” Saliva pooled in his mouth and the champagne was forgotten. “No one who’s coveted it understood what it means. What it can do. It took me years to realize it myself.”

  LaRue’s eyes glinted at the opening. “Not even James Lassiter knew?”

  “He was a fool. He thought only of its monetary value, and of the glory he would reap if he could find it. He thought he could outwit me.”

  “Instead, you killed him.”

  “It was so simple. He trusted his son to check the gear. Oh, and the boy was careful, efficient, even suspicious of me. But just a boy for all that. It was ridiculously easy to sabotage the tanks, a matter of negating a contract.”

  Resisting the urge to glance toward the library, LaRue kept his eyes on VanDyke’s face. “He must have known. Lassiter was an experienced diver, eh? When he began to feel the effects of the excess nitrogen, he would have surfaced.”

  “I had only to restrain him for a short time. There was no violence in it, none at all. I’m not a violent man. He was confused, even happy. Once the raptures had over-taken him, it was onl
y a matter of enjoyment. He smiled when I took the mouthpiece away. He drowned in ecstasy—my gift to him.”

  VanDyke’s breath quickened as he stared at the sketch of the necklace, as he steeped himself in it. “But I didn’t know then, couldn’t be sure then, he died with knowledge.”

  As he came out of his own spell, VanDyke reached for his drink. The memory had tripped his heartbeat pleasantly. And the realization that what he had done all those years before hadn’t been a mistake after all. Only one of many steps to this point.

  “All these years the Lassiters have kept what is mine from me. Now all of them are dead, and the amulet will come home to me.”

  “I think you’re mistaken,” LaRue murmured. “Matthew, will you join us for a drink?”

  As VanDyke gaped in shock, Matthew dropped into a chair. “I could use a beer. Hell of a piece, isn’t it?” he commented and lifted the sketch just as VanDyke lurched to his feet.

  “I saw your boat go up in flames.”

  “Planted the charge myself.” He glanced toward the steward, who had lunged to attention. “You might want to call off your dog, VanDyke. A classy place like this frowns on brawls.”

  “I’ll kill you myself for this.” To keep from scrambling across the table, VanDyke gripped it until the bones in his fingers ached. “You’re a dead man, LaRue.”

  “No, I’m a rich man, thanks to you. Mademoiselle.” LaRue smiled at the waitress, who’d hurried up and stared with anxious eyes. “My companion is a bit overwrought. If you would be so kind as to bring us another round, and a Corona, with lime, for my friend.”

  “Do you think you can walk away from this?” Shaking with fury, VanDyke snarled at his bodyguard until the man sat silently on the sofa again. “Do you think you can cheat me, amuse yourselves at my expense, take what belongs to me by blood right? I can crush you.”

  He couldn’t quite get his breath, could see nothing but Matthew’s cold and calm eyes. James Lassiter’s eyes.

  The dead came back.

  “Everything you have can be mine within a week. I’ve only to whisper the right words in the right ears. And after I have, after you’ve lost everything you own, I’ll have you hunted down, slaughtered like animals.”