But she had a mission, and she was focused on that.
At the entrance to a large park, she saw the café across the street. Solar do Vinho. Exactly as Maria’s directions said. She waited for a brightly painted trolley to rumble by, then dashed across the street and into the wine bar.
It was almost five, so she was a few minutes early, and the tiny café was nearly deserted. Except for a woman who sat in the far corner, a bright orange scarf around her head, just as she’d promised.
“Hello, Maria.” Brianna plopped down across from her, letting her bag fall to the floor. “I’m Bree Dare.”
Dark, sad eyes crinkled with a smile. She was younger than Brianna had imagined and really pretty. She held out a cool hand and clasped Brianna’s, not in a classic handshake but more of a knuckle squeeze.
“You have made it.” Her English was flawless and musical.
“I didn’t even see my room,” Bree admitted with a laugh. “I just left my bags with the concierge and came right here. Do you have it?”
Maria crossed her arms. “I do. It took quite a bit of research, but I have finally located the property for you.” She drew a cylindrical roll from her bag and spread the paper out.
A map. An island. “Where is this?”
“This, my friend, is Corvo. The farthermost island in the Azores, with a population of less than four hundred, if you include the horses and cows, and one very, very tiny town. Many windmills that are not like any you’ll find in the world. Stone windmills with remarkable machinery that never stops, no matter which way the wind blows. Corvo is famous for them.”
Windmills? Whatever. “This is where the family I wrote to you about, the Bettencourts, live?”
“One of them. Bettencourt is a common name in the Azores, but I believe this is where the branch of the family you are looking for once lived.”
“Are you sure?” Brianna frowned at the map. “It’s really … out there.”
“You are looking for Carlos Bettencourt, and this is the land that was in his family name. I’ve run genealogy on many of the lines of this family for other clients. This particular branch goes back to Corvo, although that tree is so large that even a seasoned genealogist like me has trouble keeping them straight. Most of the family lived on Terceira, one of the other islands in the Azores, and there is even a palace there named for them.”
Brianna nodded, dividing her attention between the map and the woman. It was like a little rock a thousand miles away.
Lizzie would really kill her if she went there. But after what she found in Dad’s office … how could she not?
“Did you find anything out about this Carlos guy?”
“A small amount. Evidently, he broke away from the family and was exiled to this home.” Maria tapped the map. “I had a long conversation with a historian at the University of Lisbon, who said that Carlos Bettencourt was willing to do just about anything to get back in the good graces of his wealthy, renowned family. One of the things he did was commission a gift for the king and his bride to commemorate their wedding in 1862.”
Brianna tingled all over. This was the right Carlos Bettencourt. They’d found CB! Maybe. “Do you know what he gave them as a gift?”
“Nothing. Apparently he registered to give them scepters and promised they would include two of the most beautiful, rare, matching blue diamonds from India. But no such gift was ever received.”
Somehow, Brianna managed not to react. This woman was simply a paid consultant; she didn’t need to know the emotional value of her information. She might charge even more then, and Brianna was already paying a small fortune for this whole trip.
If Carlos Bettencourt paid for the scepters and Aramis Dare ran off with them, then history’s recounting that he was a blackhearted thief was correct. But if Carlos had refused to pay Aramis, as one letter Dad had uncovered said, then the scepters, when found, belonged to the Dare family.
Her heart hammered with hope. “So what happened to the scepters? Are you certain they were never given to the king and queen?”
“There is a list of wedding gifts in the archives of the Palace of Queluz, one of Portuguese royalty’s main residences. They are mentioned as promised by Carlos Bettencourt, but never delivered.”
“Did the historian you talked to know what happened to Carlos?”
“According to the family records, he traveled by ship to the Americas and never returned. His property on Corvo, however, has stayed in Bettencourt hands for over a hundred years, which isn’t unusual in the Azores. One family can stay in a house for many generations.”
Bingo. And would that family have any records she could study?
She had to find out. “Thank you, Maria. This, on top of the information you provided about my own ancestors, is so valuable.”
“Valuable indeed.” The other woman raised her eyebrows and waited.
“Oh, of course.” Bree reached into her bag and handed Maria the envelope, swallowing guilt. Lizzie would have paid that much, too. And Dad would have paid ten times the amount for the identity of the mysterious BC.
Brianna stood, taking the map. “This property, you said it’s a farm?”
“Probably. There’s a main house and a windmill. Habitable, but very rural.”
“How do you get there?”
“A flight from Lisbon to Terceira, then I’m afraid just a very small plane can land on Corvo, which has a treacherous little airport.” She smiled. “It’s very windy on the archipelago of the Azores. Not for a faint flyer.”
“Good thing I’m not.” Brianna grinned back, loving the possibility of the adventure. “And you’re sure that Bettencourts live there now?”
Maria tucked her envelope in her bag and stood. “The deed is in the name of an American named Jaeger Bettencourt, so it is hard to say who might actually be living there. It wouldn’t be unusual for a local family to rent it and run the farm for an American, or an Azorean family could live there. It could be abandoned, for all I know.”
With luck, there would be someone there. Maybe even a Bettencourt. And hopefully, they didn’t care about some ancient folklore and lost artifacts.
Brianna was about to find out.
A few minutes before dawn, Lizzie slipped out of her bunk and tiptoed up to the main deck to coil up the air hose and hide the evidence of what they’d done. But someone had already put the deck back together.
Had Con done this? After they’d spent about an hour with Charlotte and Sam, certain his pains were heart-burn brought on by his weakness for Brady’s hot salsa, and not a heart attack, Lizzie had gone to bed. But not to sleep. And not with Con, which was a shame.
She walked over to the air compressor, which had been replaced in its normal position. Bending over, she put her finger on the valve to check—
“They’re back on.”
She spun around to see Con at the top of the stairs, a black T-shirt making him look even bigger and badder. “Did you do this?”
He shook his head. “I came up here about five minutes ago, and the place was neat as a pin. I was just checking the lab, which is still locked. The engineer and his assistant are awake, and Brady and Flo are cooking. The rest of the crew is still down.”
“Flo might have cleaned this up, although that—” she indicated the neatly coiled air hose—“has Divemaster Dave’s signature all over it.”
“Would the cook’s wife have noticed the air intakes were out and replaced them?” His look was as skeptical as his tone.
“Well, she’s responsible for housekeeping, but that doesn’t usually include the deck.” She blew out a troubled breath. “I need coffee, stat.”
In the main salon, Lizzie mentally flipped through every person on the boat who could have come up here and covered their tracks. The same way she’d flipped through everyone who might have tried to kill one of them last night.
And why?
Could someone know she had the diamond? The need to get it off the boat burned hotter than ever.
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“I still think Dave came up here earlier and cleaned up,” she said softly to Con as they walked toward the galley buffet table. “He’s a hound about recoiling the air hoses.”
“And checking the air intake?”
“Of course. That’s his job. Maybe—”
She stopped as Brady came around the buffet with a steaming pot of coffee.
“Mornin’, Lizzie. Con.”
“Hi, Brady,” she said. “Are we your first customers this morning?” Maybe the cook could give them some insight.
“So far.” He set the pot on the warming pad and flipped two mugs down from the shelf for them. “You’re not diving this morning, Lizzie, so how ’bout I make you some Sunday morning pancakes?”
“You’re too good to me, Brady.”
“I’ll take some, too.” Flynn ambled in. “Fast. I’m going to get that medallion into the Paxton lab, now that it mysteriously showed back up in our lab.” He flicked his gaze at Con, but Lizzie stepped forward to seize the opportunity.
“I’ll go with you to the mainland, Flynn.” He scowled, and she continued, “I really need to get down to see my sister.”
“To see your sister?” Flynn half-laughed. “In the middle of a dive? I don’t think so, Lizzie. You’re not paid for vacation days.”
“Flynn, please, she’s… she’s had a hard time recently and I just want to pop in and see her for a few minutes.”
It wasn’t ideal; she’d planned to figure out a way to get there during the week when the bank was open and she could get the scepter in the family safe-deposit box. But this opportunity might not arise again soon, and she had to get that thing off the boat. Her sister could be responsible for it overnight, and secure it in the box tomorrow morning.
“You’re going through the Sebastian Inlet, right?”
He nodded. “There’s no time to get up to the port and back.”
“Vero’s just twenty minutes away from the inlet. I’ll be back at the boat before you’re back from the lab. I promise.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Lizzie. That’s a rough ride through the inlet—even I wouldn’t attempt it after sundown. If you get stuck in Vero, I can’t wait for you, and God knows how long it could be till you get back to this boat. I don’t think so.”
She hated having to beg this son of a bitch for anything. “Flynn, really, she lives so close—”
“I’ll go with you,” Con said.
Flynn looked up from his coffee, surprised. “That won’t assure she’ll be any faster.”
“I’ll keep her on schedule, but more important, I can help you navigate the inlet. I know it well, even in the dark. You should have a second pair of hands on board going through that place, anyway.”
Lizzie swallowed her arguments. What was she, no hands? She didn’t really want him to come, but if it got Flynn to agree to take her, then she’d accept it.
Flynn eyed them both, obviously enjoying the little power trip of granting permission to his minions. “You better have a way to get to Vero Beach, Lizzie, because I’m not driving you down there. I have things to do.”
“I’ve got that covered,” Con said.
“Great,” she replied. Maybe. She got what she wanted, but would Con call every shot? “Then I’ll get my stuff together and pass on breakfast, Brady. I’ll meet you up here in twenty minutes or so.”
Con would bring the diamond, so she had to get the scepter wrapped and hidden in a bag. In her room, she dragged her canvas zippered tote, then pulled out the mattress from the bunk where she’d hidden the scepter.
And stared at the empty spot, her heart lodging in her throat. “Oh my God.”
Con. It had to have been Con. Right? If not …
She didn’t even want to think about it. Grabbing a handbag, she marched back up to the salon where Flynn and Con were talking and eating.
“Change your mind on the pancakes?” Con asked, moving over to make room for her.
She noticed his khaki-colored, beat-up backpack on the floor … big enough to carry what she knew in her gut he had.
She gave him a look as she slid into the booth next to him, but he just replied with a surreptitious squeeze of her leg.
Lizzie was still unhappy about the turn of events when the three of them climbed aboard Flynn’s boat. She’d wanted to undertake this job on her own, without any prying eyes and opinions on how it should be done. And, damn it, he was swinging that bag like it contained his dirty underwear, not a priceless artifact.
But they never had a moment alone, so she never got a chance to ask him how he’d gotten into her room to take the scepter, or why.
Con stayed up on the bridge with Flynn until they reached the tricky waters of the Sebastian Inlet, a zigzaggy, white-water, man-made cut in the coastline meant for smaller boats that wanted to get into the wide, calm waters of the Indian River.
This shortcut was convenient, but required some skill to navigate the rocks. Con had plenty of that, standing on the bow of the boat, calling up to the bridge where Flynn was at the helm. Con’s instructions and guidance helped them round rocks and whitecaps, a monster hole of a sandbar drop-off that could flip a boat with one bad move, then through the shallows into the river that separated the barrier islands from the mainland.
The whole time, Lizzie watched him, drinking in his attitude, his confidence, his power.
Maybe it was in her blood to be attracted to dark, broody men straddling a bowsprit like a pirate, or maybe it was just that this man was a stunning figure of command. A strapping, strong leader who had already demonstrated he’d be as good in bed as he was at the bow.
Her lower half curled with arousal at the thought, the memory of his tongue sliding up her thigh, his warm breath on her skin still fresh enough to be recalled with far too much clarity.
The man obviously got whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. And he seemed to want her.
She’d never had a fling with a fellow diver, mostly because her father was on board nearly every boat she’d ever been on. Shipboard romances were as common as finding pieces of eight. They didn’t have to mean anything; they didn’t have to last. They could just be fun.
He turned his gaze toward her, her whole body responding to the way the wind pressed the T-shirt to his shoulders and how his jeans fit like a dream.
Did he know what she was thinking?
He lifted his sunglasses and revealed the direction of his gaze—locked on the bag next to her.
So he was thinking about the treasure, and she was thinking about … him.
She shifted her own attention to the water, determined to keep it there until they’d docked at the Sebastian Marina.
A half hour later, they climbed onto the wooden planks after tying up. Flynn was holding his bag with the medallion with a lot greater care than was Con, who flipped the backpack casually over his shoulder.
“What time do we need to be back here, Flynn?” she asked.
“Four o’clock, drop-dead latest,” he replied.
“We’ll see you back here long before four,” Con assured him. “You’ve got my cell if you need us.”
Lizzie let out a soft breath. “How come you get to have a cell phone out in the open and nobody else does?”
“It’s in my contract.”
“You have a contract?”
He just smiled and draped his arm over her shoulders, steering her toward the bait shop. At the door, he put a hand on her arm.
“Wait here, and watch where Flynn goes.”
Before she could question or argue, he disappeared inside, and in less than two minutes returned holding keys.
“Has he left the lot yet?”
“No, he’s over there, getting into an SUV. Why did you take that scepter from my room?”
“It wasn’t safe for you to have it. Let’s go.” He nudged her to a separate section of the huge lot. “Our ride’s over there.”
He steered her to a menacing black motorcycle tucked between two
trucks, two black helmets clipped to the seat.
“Before we can go to your sister’s house,” he said as he unlatched the smaller of the helmets, “we’ve gotta follow Flynn.”
Her annoyance, already peaking, ratcheted up about ten degrees. “We are not.”
“Yes, we are.”
“On this thing?”
He shoved the helmet into her hands. “He won’t be looking for it, and we’ll have much better maneuverability for following. You need help with that? Hurry up, he’s about to pull out. Don’t worry, it’s a great little bike.”
“You are not going joyriding with the freaking scepter of the king of Portugal and one of the most valuable diamonds in the world on your back!”
“We’re not joyriding, Lizzie.” He took the helmet out of her hands and eased it over her head. “I want to know where he’s taking that medallion, and so do you.” He tucked some strands of her hair under the helmet and snapped the chin strap.
“Why do you care?”
“Because you do.” He threw a leg over the bike and started it up with a rumble. “You coming?”
She reached for the backpack straps, tugging hard enough to pull him back an inch. “Damn you, Con! You are not hijacking my plans again. I didn’t invite you on this trip. Give me this bag. Go follow him to the processing lab if you want, but I’ll go call my sister and she’ll pick me up, exactly as I’d planned.”
“This bag is coming with me, and so are you.” He revved the engine and patted the seat behind him. “Climb up, hang on, and I promise we’ll get to your sister with time to spare. We have to know what he’s up to.”
At the sound of squealing tires, she looked up to the street and saw the silver SUV peel out, headed south.
The opposite direction of the Paxton Treasures processing lab.
She slid her leg over the leather and scooted into him, pressing her chest against a priceless treasure and her legs against his rock-hard thighs. “Fine. Go.”
“Good girl.”
He took off and she held on, and suddenly didn’t feel like a very good girl at all.
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