The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  “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 evening 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 stateroom. My last guest left rather hurriedly this morning and neglected to pack all of her belongings.” His brow lifted when he saw his steward’s bloody cheek.

  “Go to the infirmary and have that dealt with,” he said impatiently. “Then come back. You never cease to surprise me, Tate. What did you use?”

  “A Mont Blanc. I wish it had been you.”

  He chuckled. “Let me give you a logical choice, my dear. You can be restrained or drugged, both of which are distasteful. Or you can cooperate.” He saw her glance involuntarily toward the rail and shook his head. “Jumping overboard would hardly be productive. You have no gear. One of my men would be in the water in moments to bring you back.
You wouldn’t make it fifty yards. Why don’t you sit?”

  Until she could formulate a better plan, she saw no point in defying him. If he drugged her, she’d be lost.

  “Where did you find LaRue?”

  “Oh, it’s amazingly easy to find tools when you can pay for them.” He paused a moment to choose the perfect glossy grape.

  “A study of Matthew’s shipmates showed LaRue to be a likely candidate. He’s a man who enjoys money and the transient pleasures it buys. To date, he’s been a good if occasionally expensive investment.”

  He paused, eyes half closed in pleasant relaxation, and swirled his brandy.

  “He kept close tabs on Matthew aboard ship, was able to develop a friendship with him. Through LaRue’s reports I was able to determine that Matthew continued to keep contact with your parents, and that he never quite gave up the idea of finding Angelique’s Curse. He knew where it was, of course, always, but he’d never tell LaRue where. Even friendship has its limits. He’d boast of it, but never drop his guard enough to tell the tale.”

  VanDyke chose a second dark purple grape from the bowl. “I do admire that. His tenacity and his caution. I wouldn’t have thought it of him, holding onto the secret all these years, working like a dog when he could have lived like a prince. Still, he slipped when he resumed his partnership with your parents, and you. Women often cause a man to make foolish mistakes.”

  “Firsthand experience, VanDyke?”

  “Not at all. I adore women, much in the same way I adore a good wine or a well-played symphony. When the bottle is done, or the music over, one can always arrange for another.” He smiled as Tate tensed. The boat had begun to move.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Not far. A few degrees east. I’m expecting a show, and I want a closer seat, so to speak. Have a snifter of brandy, Tate. You may feel the need for it.”

  “I don’t need brandy.”

  “Well, it’s here if you change your mind.” He rose and crossed to a bench. “I have an extra pair of binoculars. Perhaps you’d like them.”

  She snatched them, rushed to the rail to scan east. Her heart leapt when she found the dim outline of the boats. There were lights glowing on the New Adventure, another holding steady on the bridge of the Mermaid.

  “You must realize if we can see them, they’ll be able to see us.”

  “If they know where to look.” VanDyke stepped beside her. “I imagine they’ll scan this way eventually. But they’re going to be very busy shortly.”

  “You think you’re clever.” Despite her best efforts, her voice broke. “Using me to lure them here.”

  “Yes. It was a stroke of luck well used. But now plans have changed.”

  “Changed?” She couldn’t stop staring at the lights. She thought she saw movement. A tender? she wondered. Cutting away toward shore. LaRue, she thought with a sinking heart, taking the amulet to some hiding place.

  “Yes, and I believe the change is imminent.”

  The excitement in his voice shivered over her skin. “What are you—”

  Even at nearly a mile’s distance, she heard the blast. The lenses of the binoculars exploded with light, dazzling her shocked eyes. But she didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away.

  The Mermaid was engulfed in flames.

  “No. No, God. Matthew.” She’d nearly leapt over the rail before VanDyke yanked her back.

  “LaRue is efficient as well as greedy.” VanDyke wrapped a wiry arm around her throat until her frantic struggles drained into wild weeping. “The authorities will do their best to piece it together, what there is left to piece. Any evidence they find will indicate that Buck Lassiter, in a drunken haze, slopped gas too near the engine, then carelessly lit a match. As there’s nothing left of him, or his nephew, there will be no one to dispute it.”

  “You were going to get the amulet.” She stared at the fire licking at the dark sea. “You were going to get it. Why did you have to kill him?”

  “He would never have stopped,” VanDyke said simply. The flames dancing toward the sky mesmerized him. “He stared at me over his father’s body, with knowledge and hate in his eyes. I knew then that one day this would come.”

  The pleasure of it shivered through him like wine, iced and delicious. Oh, he hoped there had been pain and understanding, even only an instant of it. How he wished he could be sure.

  Tate sank to her knees when he released her. “My parents.”

  “Oh, safe enough, I imagine. Unless they were onboard. I have no reason at all to wish them ill. You’re terribly pale, Tate. Let me get you that brandy.”

  She braced a hand on the rail, leveled herself up on her trembling legs. “Angelique cursed her jailers,” she managed. “She cursed those who had stolen from her, who persecuted her and cut off the life of her unborn child.”

  Fighting to speak over her shuddering breaths, she watched his eyes in the glow of candlelight. “She’d have cursed you, VanDyke. If there’s any justice for her, and power left, the amulet will destroy you.”

  There was a chill around his heart that was fear and deadly fascination. With the flickers of the distant fire behind her, grief and pain dark in her eyes, she looked powerful and potent.

  Angelique would have looked so, he thought, and lifted the brandy to his suddenly icy lips. His eyes were almost dreamy on Tate’s. “I could kill you now.”

  Tate gave a sobbing laugh. “Do you think it matters to me now? You’ve killed the man I love, destroyed the life we would have had together, the children we would have made. There’s nothing else you can do to me that matters.”

  With the grief trapped inside her, Tate stepped forward. “You see, I know how she felt now, sitting in that cell waiting for morning, waiting to die. It was anticlimactic really, because her life had ended with Etienne’s. I don’t care if you kill me. I’ll die cursing you.”

  “It’s time you went back to your cabin.” VanDyke lifted tensed fingers. The steward, his cheek neatly bandaged, stepped out of the shadows. “Take her back. Lock her in.”

  “You’ll die slowly,” Tate called as she was led away. “Slowly enough to understand hell.”

  She stumbled into her cabin and collapsed weeping onto the bed. When the tears were dry and her heart empty of them, she moved to a chair to watch the sea and waited to die.

  CHAPTER 27

  S HE SLEPT FITFULLY and dreamed.

  The cell stank of sickness and fear. Dawn sneaked stealthily through the barred window, signaling death. The amulet was cold under her stiff fingers.

  When they came for her, she rose regally. She would not disgrace her husband’s memory with cowardly tears and pleas for mercy that would never be granted.

  He was there, of course. The count, the man who had condemned her for loving his own son. Hot greed, lust, an appetite for death gleamed in his eyes. He reached out, dragged the amulet over her head, slipped it over his own.

  And she smiled, knowing she had killed him.

  They bound her to the stake. Below, the crowds gathered to watch the witch burn. Eager eyes, vicious voices. Children were held up to afford them a better view of the event.

  She was offered a chance to renounce, to pray for God’s mercy. But she remained silent. Even as the flames crackled beneath, bringing heat and dazing smoke, she spoke no word. And thought only one.

  Etienne.

  From fire to water, so cool and blue and soothing. She was free again, swimming deep with golden fish. There was such joy her eyes teared in sleep and she had drops slipping down her cheeks. Safe and free, with her lover waiting.

  She watched him swim effortlessly through the water toward her, and her heart almost burst with happiness. She laughed, reached out for him, but couldn’t close the distance.

  They broke the surface, feet apart, into air perfume sweet. The moon wheeled overhead, silver as an ingot. Stars were sparkling jewels displayed on velvet.

  He climbed up the ladder of the Mermaid, turned and held out a h
and for her.

  The amulet was a spot of dark blood on his chest, as a wound drained from the heart.

  Her fingers reached for his an instant before the world exploded.

  Fire and water, blood and tears. Flames rained out of the sky and plunged into the sea until it boiled with heat.

  Matthew.

  His name circled her mind as she stirred in sleep. Lost in dreams and grief, she didn’t see the figure creeping silently toward her, or the glint of the knife in his hand as the moonlight struck the blade. She didn’t hear the whisper of his breath as he came close, leaning over the chair where she slept.

  The hand clamped over her mouth shocked her awake. Tate struggled instinctively, her eyes going wide as she saw the silver gleam of the knife.

  Even knowing it was futile, she fought, vising her fingers over the wrist before the blade could slash down.

  “Be quiet.” The harsh whisper hissed next to her ear. “Goddamn it, Red, can’t you even let me rescue you without an argument?”

  Her body jerked and froze. Matthew. It was a hope too painful to contemplate. But she could just make out the silhouette, smell the sea that clung to the wet suit and dripped from the dark hair.

  “Quiet,” he repeated when her breath sobbed against his muffling palm. “No questions, no talking. Trust me.”

  She had no words. If this were another dream, she would live in it. She clung to him as he led her out of the cabin, up the companionway. Shudders racked her like earth tremors, but when he signaled her to climb over the side, she did without question.

  Clinging to the base of the ladder was Buck. Under that ingot moon, his face was white as bone. In silence, he hitched tanks over her shoulders. His hands trembled as hers did as he helped her with her mask. Beside them Matthew hooked on his own gear.

  And they dived.

  They stayed close to the surface to use the moonlight as a guide. A flashlight would mark a trail Matthew knew they couldn’t risk. He’d been afraid she’d be too frightened to handle the dive and the demanding swim, but she matched the pace he set stroke for stroke.