by Nora Roberts
He smiled when he saw the knowledge seep into her eyes, and with it disgust. “So, the light dawns.”
“You work for him. Matthew trusted you. We all trusted you.”
“I would hardly have earned my keep if you hadn’t.”
She wiped the weak tears from her cheek. “For money? You’ve betrayed Matthew for money?”
“I have a great fondness for money.” Dismissing her, he turned back, popped an olive into his mouth. “And speaking of my great fondness, I will require another bonus.”
“LaRue, I’m growing tired of your added demands.” VanDyke held up a finger. In answer, the steward stepped forward, flipped open his sharply creased white jacket and took out a highly polished .32. “I might redeem myself in Tate’s eyes by having you shot in several painful places and thrown overboard. I believe you’d draw sharks nicely.”
Lips pursed, LaRue contemplated his choice of peppers. “If you kill me, your hopes for Angelique’s Curse die with me.”
VanDyke clenched his fist until he calmed again. Another quick signal had the .32 disappearing under the tailored coat. “I also grow tired of you dangling the amulet.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand American dollars,” LaRue began, and shut his eyes briefly to savor the hot, sweet flavor of the pepper. “And the amulet is yours.”
“Bastard,” Tate whispered. “I hope he does kill you.”
“Business is business,” LaRue said with a shrug. “I see that she has yet to tell you of our luck, mon ami. We have Angelique’s Curse. For a quarter of a million, I’ll see that it is safely in your hands by tomorrow, nightfall.”
CHAPTER 26
A NGELIQUE’S C URSE GLITTERED in Matthew’s hands. He stood on the bridge of the Mermaid, his fingers wrapped tight around the chain. The hot white sun poured over the ruby, flashed the diamonds, sparkled the gold. Here was the treasure of a lifetime, fortune and fame in metal and stone.
Here was misery.
Everyone he’d loved had been hurt by it. Holding it, he could see the lifeless body of his father, crumpled on the deck of a boat. The face, so like his own, bleached white in death.
He could see Buck in the jaws of a shark, blood swirling in the water.
He could see Tate, tears in her eyes, offering him the amulet, offering him the choice of salvation or destruction.
But he couldn’t see her now. He couldn’t know where she’d been taken or what had been done to her. All he knew was that he would do anything, give anything to get her back.
The cursed necklace weighed like lead in his hands and mocked him with beauty.
Eyes blazing, he turned as Buck came onto the bridge.
“Still no sign of LaRue.” Spotting the amulet, Buck took a jerky step back.
Matthew swore and laid the necklace on the chart table. “Then we move without him. We can’t wait.”
“Move where? What the hell are we going to do? I’m with Ray and Marla on this, Matthew. We gotta call in the cops.”
“Did the cops do us any good last time?”
“This ain’t piracy, boy, it’s kidnapping.”
“It was murder once, too,” Matthew said coldly. “He got her, Buck.” He leaned against the chart table, warring against the old helplessness. “In front of dozens of people he walked right off with her.”
“He’d trade her for that.” Wetting his lips, Buck forced himself to look at the necklace. “Like a ransom.”
Hadn’t he been waiting, praying by the radio, for VanDyke to make contact? Matthew thought. “I can’t afford to count on that. Can’t afford to wait any longer.”
He grabbed binoculars, shoved them at Buck. “Due west.”
Stepping up, Buck lifted the binoculars, skimmed the sea. He focused in on the yacht, hardly more than a glimmer of sleek white. “A mile off,” he murmured. “Could be him.”
“It’s him.”
“He’d be waiting for you. Expecting you to come after her.”
“I wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would I?”
“He’ll kill you.” Resigned now, Buck set the glasses aside. “You could give him that fucking thing wrapped in a bow and he’d still kill you. Just like he did James.”
“I’m not giving it to him,” Matthew returned. “And he’s not killing anyone.” Impatient, he seized the binoculars, searched the sea for a sign of LaRue. Time was up.
“I need you, Buck.” He set the glasses down again. “I need you to dive.”
Terror and pain were no longer important. Tate watched LaRue eat heartily as he betrayed his partners. She no longer thought of escape as she lunged to her feet and flew at him.
The attack was so unexpected, her prey so complacent, that she was able to knock him out of his chair. Her nails scraped viciously down his cheek, drawing blood before he managed to flip and hold her down.
“You’re even worse than he is,” she spat out, wriggling like an eel under him. “He’s just crazy. You’re revolting. If VanDyke doesn’t kill you, Matthew will. I hope I get to watch.”
Amused, excited by the display, VanDyke sipped champagne. He let the wrestling match play on, enjoying LaRue’s grunts as he fought to restrain Tate. Then with a sigh, he signaled the steward. He couldn’t afford to have LaRue overly damaged. Quite yet.
“Show Ms. Beaumont her stateroom,” he ordered. “And see that she’s not disturbed.” He smiled as his man hauled Tate to her feet. She kicked, cursed and struggled, but she was outweighed by a hundred pounds of solid muscle. “I think you should have some rest, my dear, while LaRue and I complete our business. I’m sure you’ll find your accommodations more than suitable.”
“Burn in hell,” she shouted, choking on tears of frustration as she was carried off. “Both of you.”
VanDyke squirted a bit of lemon on his lobster. “An admirable woman all in all. Not easily cowed. A pity her loyalties are so misplaced. I could have done great things with her. For her, as well. Now she’s bait.” He nibbled delicately. “Nothing more.”
LaRue wiped at the blood on his cheek with the back of his hand. The furrows she’d dug burned like fire. Though VanDyke frowned in annoyance, he used the linen napkin to staunch it.
“Next to money, love is the most powerful motivator.” More shaken than he cared to admit, LaRue poured the flute full and drank it down.
“You were telling me about Angelique’s Curse before we were interrupted.”
“Yes.” Surreptitiously LaRue rubbed at his ribs where Tate’s elbow had jabbed. Damned if he wasn’t going to bruise. “And about two hundred and fify thousand dollars. American.”
The money was nothing. He’d spent a hundred times that in his search already. But it bubbled in his blood to pay it. “What proof is there that you have the amulet?”
Lips curled, LaRue lifted a hand to his shredded cheek. “Come now, mon ami. Tate found it herself only yesterday, and with love guiding her, handed it selflessly to Matthew.” To soothe his frayed nerves, LaRue began to roll a cigarette. “It is magnificent, more so than you had led me to believe. The center stone . . .” LaRue made a circle with his thumb and forefinger to indicate size. “Red as blood, the diamonds around it iced tears. The chain is heavy but delicately wrought, as is the sentiment etched around the jewel.”
He struck a match, cupping it against the light breeze, to light his cigarette. “You can feel the power humming in it. Against your fingers it seems to throb.”
VanDyke’s eyes glazed, his mouth went slack. “You touched it?”
“Bien sûr. I am trusted, eh?” He blew out a lazy stream of smoke. “Matthew guards it close, you see, but he doesn’t guard against me. We are shipmates, partners, friends. I can get it for you, once I am assured the money is in place.”
“You’ll have your money.” Need had VanDyke’s hands trembling. His face was white and still as he leaned forward. “And this promise, LaRue. If you cross me, if you try to bleed more money from me or if you fail, there is no place you can hide that I won’t fi
nd you. When I do, you’ll pray for death.”
LaRue dragged in more smoke and smiled. “It’s difficult to frighten a rich man. And rich is what I’ll be. You’ll have your curse, mon ami, and I my money.” Before he could rise, VanDyke held up a hand.
“We aren’t finished. A quarter of a million is a great deal.”
“A fraction of the worth,” LaRue pointed out. “Would you try to negotiate now when it is all but in your hands?”
“I’ll double it.” Pleased to see LaRue’s eyes widen, VanDyke leaned back. “For the amulet, and for Matthew Lassiter.”
“You want me to bring him to you?” With a laugh, LaRue shook his head. “Not even your precious amulet could protect you from him. He means to kill you.” He gestured in the direction where Tate had been taken. “And you have the tool to bring him down already in your possession.”
“I don’t want you to bring him to me.” That was a pleasure he would have to deny himself, VanDyke realized. The fact that he could make such a practical choice over an emotional one proved he was still in control of his fate. Business, he thought, was business. “I want you to dispose of him. Tonight.”
“Murder,” LaRue mused. “This is interesting.”
“An accident at sea would be appropriate.”
“You think he dives when Tate is missing? You underestimate his feelings for her.”
“Not at all. But feelings make a man careless. It would be a pity if something happened to his boat, when he and his drunken uncle were aboard. A fire perhaps. An explosion—tragic and lethal. For an extra quarter million, I’m sure you can be inventive.”
“I am known for a certain quickness of mind. I want the first two hundred and fifty deposited this afternoon. I will not move further until I am assured of it.”
“Very well. When I see the Mermaid destroyed, I’ll make a second payment into your account. Make it tonight, LaRue, midnight. Then bring me the amulet.”
“Transfer the money.”
Hours passed. Tate resisted the fruitless urge to batter her fists on the door and shout for release. There was a beautiful wide window offering a spectacular view of the sea and sun sinking toward it. The chair she’d thrown had bounced off the glass without making a scratch.
She’d tugged and yanked until her already aching arms had wept with fatigue. But the window stayed firmly in place, and so did she.
She paced, she cursed, she planned revenge and she listened desperately to every creak and footfall.
But Matthew didn’t come.
Fairy-tale heroes rescued damsels in distress, she reminded herself. And damned if she wanted to be some whiny damsel. She’d get herself out, somehow.
She spent nearly an hour searching every inch of the cabin. It was large and lovely, decorated in cool pastels under a ceiling of pale-gold wood. Her feet sank into ivory carpet, her fingers skimmed over smoothly lacquered mauve walls, around trim painted sea-foam green.
In the closet she found a long silk robe in a brilliant pattern of cabbage roses, a matching nightdress. A linen jacket, a spangled wrap and a black evening coat had been provided for those cool night breezes. A simple black cocktail dress, an assortment of casual cruise wear completed the inventory.
Tate pushed clothes aside and examined every inch of the closet wall.
It was as solid as the rest of the cabin.
He hadn’t skimped on the amenities, she observed grimly. The bed was king-sized, plumped with satin pillows. Glossy magazines fanned on the glass-topped coffee table in the sitting area. In the entertainment center under the TV and VCR were an assortment of the latest available movies on video. A small refrigerator held soft drinks, splits of wine and champagne, fancy chocolate and snacks.
The bathroom boasted an oversized whirlpool tub in mauve, a sink shaped like a scallop, brass lights around a generous mirror. On the pale green counters were a variety of expensive creams, lotions, bath oils.
Her search for a jerry-built weapon turned up nothing but a leather travel kit with all the necessities.
There were bath sheets, loofahs, a hotel-style terry-cloth robe and dainty soaps shaped like starfish, conch shells and seahorses.
But the brass towel rack she envisioned wielding as a club was bolted firmly in place.
Desperate, she raced back into the main cabin. Her search through the elegant little writing desk unearthed thick creamy stationery, envelopes, even stamps. The perfect fucking host, she fumed, then closed her fingers over a slim gold pen.
How much damage, she wondered, could a designer ballpoint inflict? A good shot to the eye—the thought made her shudder, but she slipped the pen into the pocket of her slacks.
She slumped into a chair. The water was so close, so close, she wanted to weep.
And where was Matthew?
She had to find a way to warn him. LaRue, the bastard LaRue. Every precaution they’d taken over the last months had been for nothing. LaRue had passed every movement, every plan, every triumph, along to VanDyke.
He’d eaten with them, worked with them, laughed with them. He’d told stories of his days at sea with Matthew with the affection of a friend in his voice.
All the while he’d been a traitor.
Now he would steal the amulet. Matthew would be frantic, her parents wild with worry. He would pretend concern, even anger. He would be privy to their thoughts, their plans. Then he would take the amulet and bring it to VanDyke.
She wasn’t a fool. It had already fixed in her mind that once VanDyke had what he wanted, her usefulness was over. He would have no reason to keep her, and couldn’t afford to set her free.
He would certainly kill her.
Somewhere in the open sea, she imagined, coolly logical. A blow to the head most likely, then he would dump her, dead or unconscious, into the water. The fish would do the rest.
In all those miles, in all that space, no one would ever find a trace of her.
He assumed it would be simple, she thought, and closed her eyes. What could one unarmed woman do to defend herself? Well, he would be surprised what this woman could do. He might kill her, but it wouldn’t be simple.
Her head jerked up as the lock on her door clicked. The steward opened it, his shoulders filling the doorway.
“He wants you.”
It was the first time he’d spoken in her hearing. Tate detected the Slavic song in the brusque tone.
“Are you Russian?” she asked. She rose but didn’t come toward him.
“You will come now.”
“I worked with a biologist a few years ago. She was from Leningrad. Natalia Minonova. She always spoke fondly of Russia.”
Nothing flickered on his wide, stony face. “He wants you,” the steward repeated.
She shrugged, slipping her hand in her pocket, closing her fingers over the pen. “I’ve never understood people who take orders blindly. Not much of a self-starter, are you, Igor?”
Saying nothing, he crossed to her. When his beefy hand closed over her arm, she let herself go limp. “Doesn’t it matter to you that he’s going to kill me?” It was easy to put the fear back into her voice as he dragged her across the room. “Will you do it for him? Snap my neck or crush my skull? Please.” She stumbled, turned into him. “Please, help me.”
As he shifted his grip, she pulled the pen out of her pocket. It was a blur of movement, the slim gold dart plunging, his hand shooting up.
She felt the sickening give as her weapon sank into flesh, and the warm wetness on her hand before she was hurled against the wall.
Her stomach roiled as she watched him stoically yank the pen from his cheek. The puncture was small but deep, and blood ran. Her only regret was that she’d missed the eye.
Without a word he clamped her arm and dragged her out on deck.
VanDyke was waiting. It was brandy this time. Glass-shielded candles glowed prettily on a table beside a bowl of dewy fruit and a fluted plate offering delicate pastries.
He had changed into formal eveni
ng attire to suit the celebration he planned. Beethoven’s Pathétique flowed subtly from the outdoor speakers.
“I had hoped you might avail yourself of the wardrobe in your
