Not that she cared about that nearly as much as this girl did. She was too, too close. Still, nothing she could find or produce would be as powerful as the fact that the scepter was on Bettencourt property today—and the other would be here soon.
All the wheels had been set into motion to retrieve the mate, and the discovery would make Jaeger sick with remorse. Then he’d bring her home.
After the library, Solange brought the girl to the kitchen, suggesting she do a little cooking since Gabby was gone for a few days, then left her there to get the scheduled call.
The satellite phone rang right on time, but Solange hesitated when the ID wasn’t a number she recognized. She answered tentatively, and the familiar voice’s first words shook her.
“The dive is over.”
“What do you mean, it’s over?” she asked in a hushed whisper as she closed the door to her upstairs room. “How can it be over?”
“One of the divers was killed in an accident. The Coast Guard brought the FBI in, and Judd’s filed an official claim, so the site can’t be salvaged until next season. We’re done for now, Solange.”
Fury slammed her. “You didn’t find it!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“That’s what I’ve paid you to do!”
“We still have next summer. Of course, it’ll be harder when the dive’s not secret.”
And Judd Paxton would be even more motivated by her husband’s desire to own both of those scepters.
“Brianna Dare is sitting in my kitchen right this minute,” she said, measuring every word for the most impact. “She and her sister have done a tremendous amount of research. It’s only a matter of time until they know all that Malcolm Dare knew.”
“We can handle that.”
Did she really want this many deaths on her conscience? Was vengeance worth that price?
“I can’t…” Afford another accidental death on my farm. But she didn’t want him to know about Ana. “ …do anything, except slow this girl down. What are you going to do about that one?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Well, you better do something, and fast.”
“No one knows Brianna Dare is there,” he said, his voice rich with implication.
“She flew to Corvo, and to Terceira from Lisbon. The authorities could track her.”
“Does anyone know she’s at your house?”
She knew exactly where he was going with this. “Just a housekeeper.”
“And would she question it if you told her your houseguest left?”
“Probably not.”
“Then you need to stop her, Solange.”
Her stomach rolled at the thought. Getting rid of Ana had been a momentary act of madness and fear. What he was suggesting was premeditated.
“I don’t know … how.”
“Figure it out,” he ordered.
“Excuse me?” she shot back. “The last time I checked, you worked for me.”
“I’m offering you counsel,” he said, softening his tone. “No one knows she’s there at your farm, but that could change any minute. You have to get rid of her— and Solange, you have to hide the body. Destroy it and any evidence.”
Her throat tightened at the thought. “They’ll track her here eventually.”
“And you’ll say she came and went, without any explanation of why she wanted to leave. It makes sense that her father’s research would lead her to you ultimately, but by the time the next diving season starts, this will be ancient history. And I promise you, you will end up with the matching pair of the Bombay Blues, the owner of one of the greatest artifacts in the world.”
Jaeger would explode with envy. He’d realize how resourceful she was, how talented. And how he should never have let her leave. He’d love her again.
“Do you really think I have to …” Kill again.
“Yes, you do. And you must be very thorough and neat.”
It didn’t sound very neat to her. It sounded… sickening.
“I really have no idea how to kill a person and destroy the evidence.”
“Use your imagination.”
Her gaze flicked to the windmill that blocked her view. “I will.”
She finished the call, sipped some sustenance, and headed back to the kitchen to convince Brianna Dare to tour the windmill.
“Everything of real interest in this place is in the windmill,” Solange said as they walked toward the structure, the soft whoosh of the sweeps getting louder as they got closer. “This windmill was around when your Aramis and my Carlos were alive. Think about that, Brianna.”
“Amazing,” the girl replied, clearly not that interested. If she knew what was hidden there, she’d be much more enthusiastic.
The secret made Solange smile. “I considered taking it down because it blocks the view.” Solange opened the door to the first level, where the sound changed to a constant groaning, creaking, moaning noise caused by the massive wooden mechanism that took up most of the wide, round structure. “But then I had a change of heart.”
“Why?”
“Apparently there are only a few windmills of this type left on Corvo, with those three sweeps and that big center wheel that can make them turn in either direction. These are found nowhere else in the whole world.”
“Fascinating.”
“Oh, but it is,” Solange said. “This is the main floor—the meal floor, they called it.” She waved a hand across the dimly lit area, pointing to the huge wheel that lay on its side, turning noisily around a fat wooden tube where grain once poured down, ground by the maceration of the wheels and cogs and gears on the level above them.
“It was used to make flour,” she continued, chattering faster as her nerves tightened at what she was about to do. “I suppose I could convert it to a power-producing windmill, but I just like the old-fashioned kind of electricity. The kind you get from the wall.”
“Oh, I see.” Poor Brianna could hardly hide her disinterest.
“The stairs are the best part,” she said, nudging Brianna toward the opening to the long set of circular stairs that curved around and up to the top floor.
“They feel kind of medieval,” Brianna commented, starting the climb.
“Don’t they, though?” Solange agreed. After the fourth step, the wall blocked their view into the gears. “All the way up, you can peek through those slats to the mechanism in the middle. See?” After a moment, they reached the first opening and Brianna peered out.
“Whoa. That’s kind of … intense.”
What was intense was right under her feet. She was inches from the treasures she sought and had no idea. What else could be hidden under the stairs?
A body, perhaps.
A shiver ran down Solange’s spine. Could she actually do this?
She had to. “Look at that, Brianna,” Solange said, pausing at an opening. “That is the great spur wheel.”
This wheel stood on its side, unlike the one at the bottom. Its massive, sinister-looking wooden teeth meshed with three other cogs, all sharp enough to macerate stone into sand.
Brianna stopped and stared, the groan of the wheel almost deafening at this point.
“If you don’t use it for power or milling, why is it running?”
“Oh, it never stops,” Solange said. “The wind in the Azores never, ever stops.”
“You mean you can’t stop the mill at all, ever?”
“There’s a brake somewhere, I believe.” Solange put her foot on the very stone where she’d hidden the scepter. “Come on—the top is the best part.”
The stairs ended at a small door, not five feet high.
“You’ll need to crouch a little to get in,” Solange warned. “But go ahead. It’s worth it.”
Brianna entered and let out a gasp of surprise. “Wow, this could be dangerous.”
Yes, it could. A two-foot-deep ledge circled the inside of the windmill, open all along one side to where someone could easily tumble right into the grindi
ng mechanism.
Solange looked at it, and imagined that happening.
Brianna put her hand on the wall, bracing herself and peering over to look at the wheel. “That’s not for the faint of heart,” she said, but didn’t appear worried. “Why don’t you put a railing up or something? If someone falls in there, you’d have a helluva lawsuit on your hands.”
“No one ever comes up here,” she said.
“Well, apparently your nurse came up here recently.”
Solange gave her a hard look. “She wasn’t my nurse. She was my housekeeper. And a very disturbed and sad young lady, I might add.”
“Really?” The note of accusation in her voice was unmistakable.
“Really.” Where had she heard anything about it? Gabby? She knew bringing that woman up here had been a mistake. If they’d talked about Ana …
“So is this door where the windmill blades are?” Brianna reached for the door to the balcony and sweeps, but Solange stopped her.
“That’s really not for the faint of heart,” she said.
“Don’t worry, I’m not.” She twisted the knob and opened the door, almost stumbling backward at the unexpected gust of air. “Whoa.”
If she stepped out there, it would be so much easier. But inexplicable. Another fall from the windmill down the cliffs? Besides, she couldn’t risk a body as evidence.
The windmill sweeps roared outside, the steady, thumping rhythm filling the structure.
Brianna used her right hand to brace herself, her face away from Solange as she fought not to look down. “This is such a cool view. But, wow, I can’t even imagine what drove that girl to throw herself off of here.” Again, the note of … doubt.
She was about to find out exactly what drove her.
Solange slipped her hand into the pocket of her pleated skirt, her fingers closing over the revolver. With her thumb, she pulled back the hammer.
At the distinct sound, Brianna whipped around just as Solange pulled out the gun. She gasped in shock. “What the hell?”
“You’re going to do exactly as I say.”
The blood drained from Brianna’s face, no words coming out of her open mouth.
Solange’s mind whirred. If she fired, the recoil could knock her over, or at least off balance enough to give this wily and strong young woman the upper hand. The wind was still blowing in from the slightly open door.
She took a careful step back, trying to figure out the best way to choreograph this.
“What is your problem, lady?” Brianna’s voice was shaky, but anger was already taking over fear. Solange had little time.
“You are my problem, I’m afraid.”
“What?” She scowled, but then her face softened. “Look, Mrs. Bettencourt, you’re not well. You need to put that gun down and let us both get out of this place.”
“Actually, I’m fine.” She aimed at Brianna’s heart, bracing herself against the wall for more balance.
“Please.” Brianna tried to swallow, her gaze moving from Solange’s face to the gun and back, her lip beginning to quiver. “I can help you. Put the gun down and we’ll talk. You need help.”
Solange scowled. “I don’t need anything.” Except the nerve to murder in cold blood. Again. She tightened her finger on the trigger and Brianna’s eyes widened.
“What do you want?” Brianna asked. “I haven’t done anything! Why could you possibly want to kill me?”
“I don’t.” Once the words were out, Solange regretted them. She’d just given away some power, and that was never a good thing.
Instantly, Brianna’s face changed. She started to back up toward the door, nudging it.
“Don’t,” Solange said sharply. She couldn’t risk someone else going over the edge. “Don’t go out there unless you want to fall.”
“Like Ana did?” she shot back. “You killed her, didn’t you? You freaking psychopath—you killed her!”
“Stop it!” She waved the gun. “Shut up.”
But Brianna kicked the door open enough for a powerful gust to blow in, stepping toward the balcony. Outside, a motor scooter climbing up the hill caught Solange’s eye.
Oh, Lord, this was not good. Tourists always stopped and took pictures of the windmill. If they saw a body fall, she’d be forced to explain another death over the cliff.
Brianna turned to follow her gaze and Solange grabbed her arm, yanking her back into the windmill with so much force they damn near both went over the ledge.
“Hey!” Brianna lunged at Solange to knock the gun away.
She squeezed the trigger and the shot exploded through the stone mill.
Instantly Brianna froze, her eyes wide in stunned disbelief, her hands clamping to her shoulder as her legs gave way. She buckled to her knees, a gasp catching in her throat as she hit the stone, blood seeping through her fingers.
In the distance, Solange heard the soft whine of the motor scooter, closer now. She didn’t dare fire another shot.
Brianna moaned in misery, folded in half now, her face to the ground, her body perilously close to the ledge where the gears turned. In there, the giant cogs would crush her, breaking every bone in her body. She couldn’t possibly be strong enough to hold them in place, especially wounded.
But if she bled on the gears then Solange would have to clean them off, and she didn’t want to even think about that. The motor scooter grew louder, nearing the house. Damn it!
Just as she lifted the gun to take the chance and finish the girl off, Brianna slumped completely, inches from the edge.
Voices rose from below as the engine quieted. Solange bent over, trying to see if Brianna was still breathing, but couldn’t tell.
She had to take the chance and leave her here long enough to get rid of the bothersome tourists. Then, she’d come back and finish the job of killing Brianna Dare and hiding her body.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
CON GAVE LIZZIE a hand off the bike, looking around at the picturesque farmland rolling toward a stone windmill perched on a cliff above the sea.
“Pretty,” Lizzie said, turning to follow his gaze. In the distance, a few boats dotted the water between Corvo and the slightly larger Flores, but then it was clear for the thousands of miles straight out to North America.
“Pretty deserted,” he replied.
“I know,” she agreed, turning to the stucco farmhouse. “I was kind of hoping Bree would come running out to hug me.”
The whole place was silent but for the steady thump of the windmill sweeps and the distant pounding of the surf. Other than that, Con heard no signs of life at all.
Lizzie bounded toward the door, and he caught up with her in one stride.
“Easy, there.” He moved her a little behind him. “Let me go first. We have no idea what we’re going to find.”
“My sister, I hope.”
“You never know.”
She gave him a tentative glance, then let him stand in front as he knocked on the door.
“Can I help you?” The voice came across the open field, sharp and strident. Exiting the windmill, a woman strode toward them like she was modeling on a runway, shoulders square, head held high, with an air of authority and haughtiness that was laughably out of place on a farm in the Azores.
This was no country woman.
“I hope you can,” Con replied, walking toward her and automatically blocking Lizzie. “We’re looking for a houseguest of yours. Brianna Dare.”
She slowed her step, an imperceptible change in her body taking her from in control to on guard.
“Are you Mrs. Bettencourt?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
As she got closer, he took in the cheekbones, square jaw, and pricey clothes, a jarring contradiction to the rugged stone windmill behind her. Blond hair with darker roots was pulled back in a hasty ponytail.
“Yes, I am,” she finally said. She stood with her hands in the side pockets of a full skirt that covered her knees, tense enough that he suspected her
fists were balled in those pleats.
“My name’s Con Xenakis. This is Elizabeth Dare. We’re looking for her sister, who we understand is staying with you.”
She kept her gaze on Con, slowly shaking her head and looking confused. Then her eyes widened and the closest thing to a smile he’d seen yet pulled at her hollow cheeks.
“Brianna! The girl from America who was here yesterday?”
“Was?” Lizzie stepped forward. “She’s gone?”
“Oh, I’m afraid so. Early this morning on the first ferry to Flores.” She looked at her watch and then glanced toward the water, where a boat chugged toward the other island. “And it looks like you’ve missed the afternoon ferry. I wish I could help you.”
“Maybe you can,” Con said. “We’re looking for the same genealogical information. Could you tell us what you told her?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t tell her anything. I’m only a Bettencourt by marriage. I live here alone and have no access to any of the family information. Maybe the church in the village? That’s what I told her. Sorry.”
She stepped forward, nodding like a queen dismissing the messenger.
Con stepped sideways and blocked her. “She flew into Corvo, Mrs. Bettencourt. It makes no sense that she’d take the ferry to leave.”
Through narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw, she made her distaste clear. “It makes perfect sense. She is on a lineage search, as are many Americans who come to the Azores. Bettencourt is as common a name on these islands as Smith is in the United States. Perhaps she went sightseeing to the other island. There’s absolutely no reason to accuse me of anything.”
He notched a brow. “I didn’t accuse you. I questioned your logic.”
“Well, I don’t like your tone.” She finally glanced at Lizzie. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
It sounded oddly like a condolence. Solange walked around Con, marching to the front porch without a glance back. As much as he wanted to grab her arm and demand entry, he knew he couldn’t. He had no right or reason.
MAKE HER PAY Page 20
