The Reef (31 page)

“To . . .destiny, perhaps?”

She'd have preferred to dash the contents of the glass into his face. Whatever small satisfaction that might bring her, she realized, would cost dearly. “Destiny?” It bolstered her to find her voice could be calm and even. “Yes, I could drink to that.”

Relaxed, he sat back, holding the stem of the flute between his fingers. “It's so charming to visit with you again. You know, Tate, you made quite a favorable impression on me during our last encounter. I've enjoyed watching your professional progress over the years.”

“If I had known you were associated with the
Nomad
's
last expedition in any way, I would never have been a part of it.”

“So foolish.” He crossed his ankles to better enjoy the wine and the company. “Surely you know that I've financed a number of scientists, labs, expeditions. Without my backing, numerous projects would never have reached fruition. And the charities I support, worthwhile causes.” He paused to sip again. “Would you deny those causes, Tate, charitable and scientific, because you disapprove of the source?”

She tipped her glass and sipped as delicately as he. “When the source is a murderer, a thief, a man without conscience or morals, yes.”

“Fortunately few share your opinion of me, or your rather naive ethics. You disappointed me,” he said in a tone that had her pulse going thick. “You betrayed me. And you've cost me.” Absently, he glanced up as a steward appeared. “Lunch is served,” VanDyke told her, smoothly genial again. “I thought you'd enjoy dining al fresco.”

He rose, offering a hand, which she ignored. “Don't try my patience, Tate. Small rebellions only irritate me.” He demonstrated by clamping his hand over her wrist. “You've already disappointed me deeply,” he continued as she struggled against his hold. “But I'm hoping you'll take this last chance I'm giving you to redeem yourself.”

“Take your hands off me.” Temper spiked, propelling her around. Her fist was poised, ready to strike when he grabbed her braid and yanked sharply enough to have stars exploding in front of her eyes. When her body was dragged against him, she discovered the elegant clothes masked a tough, hard body.

“If you think I have any qualms about striking a woman, think again.” His eyes glittered as he shoved her roughly into a chair. He leaned over her, his breath hitching, his eyes blind. “If I wasn't a reasonable, civilized man, if I let myself forget that, I'd break you, a bone at a time.”

Like a light switched, his eyes changed. The vicious temper turned into a smile that was edgy and thin. “There
are those who believe that corporal punishment is unwise, even uncivilized.” Daintily he fussed with his lapels, then sat. Brushing a hand back, he signaled for the stone-faced steward to retrieve the wine and glasses. “However, I disagree. I'm a firm believer that pain and punishment are very effective for instilling a sense of discipline. And certainly respect. I demand respect. I've earned it. Do try one of these olives, dear.” The avuncular host once more, he offered her a crystal dish. “They're from one of my groves in Greece.”

Because her hands were shaking badly she kept them locked under the table. What kind of man threatened to inflict pain one moment, and offered exotic tidbits the next? A mad one.

“What do you want?”

“First, to share a congenial meal in a lovely spot with an attractive woman.” His brow lifted when her cheeks went white. “Don't fret, dear Tate. My feelings for you are much too paternal for me to entertain any sexual notions. Your honor, as you might think of it, is more than safe.”

“I'm supposed to be relieved that rape isn't on your itinerary?”

“Another ugly word.” Mildly annoyed with her choice of it, he helped himself to the dish of olives and the antipasto. “A man who stoops to forcing himself on a woman sexually isn't a man at all in my opinion. One of my executives in New York browbeat and intimidated his assistant into having sex with him. She had to be hospitalized when he'd finished.”

VanDyke sliced through a piece of prosciutto. “I arranged to have him fired—after I'd had him castrated.” He dabbed at his mouth with a pale blue linen napkin. “I like to think she would have thanked me. Please, try the lobster. I guarantee it's superb.”

“I don't seem to have much of an appetite.” Tate shoved her plate aside in a gesture she knew was foolishly defiant. “You got me here, VanDyke, and obviously you can keep me here. At least until Matthew and my family
start looking for me.” Lifting her chin, she stared directly into his eyes. “Why don't you tell me what you want?”

“We will have to discuss Matthew,” he mused, “but that can wait. I want what I've always wanted. I want what belongs to me. Angelique's Curse.”

 

Worry gnawed at her stomach as Marla paced the hotel lobby. No matter how many times she told herself that Tate couldn't have simply disappeared, she was terrified. She watched people come and go, staff bustling along to perform duties, guests strolling from pool to lounge to garden.

She heard laughter, the splash of children swimming, the whirl of the blender that mixed frosty island drinks for those waiting at the bar.

She and Matthew had separated—she, to ask at the front desk, to question the doormen, the cabdrivers, anyone who might have seen Tate leave the resort, he to check the beach and the dock.

When she spotted Matthew coming toward her, Marla's heart leapt. Only when she saw that he was alone, when she saw the grim look in his eyes, did it sink again.

“Tate.”

“Several people saw her. She met someone, left with him by tender.”

“Left? Who did she meet? Are you sure it was her?”

“It was her.” The panic that raced through him could be controlled. But not so easy was it to control the need to kill. “The description I got fits VanDyke.”

“No.” Weak with fear, she reached out to take his arm. “She wouldn't have gone with him.”

“She wouldn't unless he hadn't given her a choice.”

“The police,” she said faintly. “We'll call the police.”

“And tell them that she left the island, without putting up any struggle, with the man who endowed her last project?” Eyes hard and hot, he shook his head. “We don't know how many cops he owns either. We do this my way.”

“Matthew, if he hurts her . . .”

“He won't.” But they both knew he said it only to
soothe. “He has no reason to. Let's get back. My guess is that he won't be far from where we're moored.”

 

He doesn't know. Tate's mind whirled with possibilities. He'd known where to find them. Had somehow known what they were doing. But he didn't know what they'd found. Stalling, she reached for her glass again.

“Do you think, if I had it, I'd give it to you?”

“Oh, I think when you have it you'll give it to me to save Matthew and the others. It's time we worked together, Tate, as I've planned for some time.”

“You've planned?”

“Yes. Though not in quite the way I had hoped.” He brooded over that for a moment, then brushed it aside. “I'm willing to overlook your mistakes, I'm even willing to let you and your team reap the rewards of the
Isabella.
All I want is the amulet.”

“You'd take it and walk away? What assurance do I have of that?”

“My word, of course.”

“Your word means less than nothing to me.” She gasped involuntarily when he crushed her fingers in his hand.

“I don't tolerate insults.” When he released her, her hand throbbed like a bad tooth. “A man's word is sacred, Tate,” he said with eerie calm. “My proposition stands. The amulet is all I want from you. In exchange for it, you'll have the fame and the fortune that goes with the
Isabella.
Your name will be made. I'm even willing to assist on that point wherever I have influence.”

“I don't want your influence.”

“You benefited from it many times in the past eight years. But I did that for my own pleasure. Still it wounds to have generosity met with ingratitude.” His face darkened. “Lassiter's doing. I understand that. You realize that by aligning yourself with him you're lowering your expectations, your standards, your social and professional opportunities. A man like him will never be an asset to you on any level.”

“A man like Matthew Lassiter makes you look like a
child. A spoiled, evil child.” Her head snapped back and her eyes watered when the back of his hand slashed across her cheek.

“I warned you.” Furious, he shoved his plate aside. The force of it sent it bulleting off the table to smash on the deck. “I won't tolerate disrespect. I've made allowances as I admire your courage and intelligence, but you will mind your tongue.”

“I despise you.” She braced for another blow. “If I found the amulet, I'd destroy it before turning it over to you.”

She watched him snap. The way his hands trembled as he surged to his feet. There was murder in his eyes. More than that, she understood. There was a kind of terrible delight. He would hurt her, she knew, and he would enjoy it.

The survival instinct kicked in over the numb fear. She sprang to her feet, leaping back when he grabbed for her. Without pausing, she sprinted for the rail. Water was safety. The sea would save her. But even as she poised to dive, she was dragged back.

She kicked, screamed, fought to find flesh that her teeth could sink into. The steward simply pinned her arms, yanking them viciously up behind her back until her vision grayed.

“Leave her to me.”

Dimly, she heard VanDyke's voice as she fell bonelessly to the deck.

“You're not as sensible as I'd hoped.” With the rage still in him, VanDyke snagged her abused arm and yanked her to her feet. Fresh agony had a sob catching in her throat. “Your loyalty is displaced, Tate. I'll have to teach you—”

He broke off as the sound of a motor caught his attention. Hearing it, Tate swayed, turned her face toward the noise.

Matthew.

Terror and pain stripped aside all pride. She wept weakly when VanDyke let her drop to the deck a second time.

He'd come. She curled into a ball, nursing bruises. He'd take her away, and it wouldn't hurt anymore. She wouldn't be afraid anymore.

“Again,” VanDyke said, “you're late.”

“It wasn't a simple matter to leave.” LaRue landed lightly on deck. He glanced briefly at Tate before reaching for his tobacco. “You have a passenger, I see.”

“Fortune smiled on me.” Nearly steady again, VanDyke sat back down. He picked up a napkin to dab at his sweaty face. “I was handling a few details on the island when who should cross my path but the delightful Ms. Beaumont.”

LaRue clucked his tongue and helped himself to Tate's champagne. “There's a mark on her face. I disapprove of the rough treatment of women.”

VanDyke's teeth bared. “I don't pay you for your approval.”

“Perhaps not.” LaRue decided to postpone his cigarette and enjoy the antipasto. “When Matthew discovers you have her, he'll come looking.”

“Of course.” That would make up for everything. Nearly everything. “Have you come only to tell me what I already know?”

“LaRue.” Trembling, Tate struggled to her knees. “Matthew, where's Matthew?”

“I would guess he is speeding back from Nevis to search for you.”

“But—” She shook her head to clear it. “What are you doing here?” Slowly it began to register that he was alone, that he was sitting comfortably at the table, nibbling.

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.”

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 find 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.