Immortal Billionaire, page 18
“So we have.”
“Don’t you think that makes it more likely it is a stranger? Someone, as Roberto said, who is hiding on the island. Not one of us?”
Sylvester could tell how desperately she wanted it not to be someone she knew. He wished she was right. His own gut feeling was telling him she wasn’t. Since all he had right now was a hunch and a tingling down his spine, he remained silent.
“This will need stitches.” Connie studied his arm, her usually golden complexion appearing pale under the overhead lighting.
“It may not.” At her look of inquiry, he explained. “My healing powers really are remarkable.” When he pushed himself up from the commode, he was pleased to find his knees were steady. He glanced down at his blood-soaked boxer briefs. “Maybe I should change out of these and then we’ll disturb Jonathan so you can dress this injury.”
They made their way through to the bedroom, pausing beside Roberto’s body. Connie fetched a throw from the bed and covered Roberto with it.
“He only came to see if he could help.” Her lower lip trembled at the memory. “He didn’t stand a chance.”
Sylvester welcomed the rush of anger he felt, because in its wake it brought a return of his strength. Whoever had tortured Connie for the last four years clearly thought he could use the same cowardly tactics against them all. He thought of the proud Calusa king. Hiding behind a mask while terrorizing a lone woman? Holding a group of helpless people hostage to get his revenge? Was that really the style of a fearsome warrior? They might have crossed several centuries to get to this point, but he didn’t believe Yargua, the Calusa ruler he had encountered all those years ago, would stoop to this. If he could appeal to the Calusa behind the modern-day man, could he put an end to this insanity? He would relish the chance to try.
Connie helped him remove his bloodstained underwear and slip on a pair of sweatpants. Jonathan was sleeping soundly when they crept into his room, but he woke when Sylvester switched on the light. Although he was disoriented, Jonathan struggled into a sitting position and exclaimed in horror at Sylvester’s injury.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Jonathan’s face was swollen and bruised beyond recognition. “We’ve joked about detective stories and horror films, but what we are living through is scarier than any plot I’ve ever heard of.”
And the truth behind it all is stranger than any fiction. “It’s even worse,” Sylvester said. “Roberto is dead.”
“What?” Matt appeared in the doorway, his own face registering shock. “I heard voices and came to see if I could help. My God, Sylvester, what the hell has been going on here?”
“Before I explain anything, can you fetch Guthrie and Juan?” Despite the horrified expressions of those around him, Sylvester did his best to keep his voice steady. “They are the only able-bodied men here right now.”
Connie helped him into Jonathan’s bathroom. “You can’t seriously think Guthrie or Juan did this?”
“I don’t know what to think.” It was true. His suspicions couldn’t be true. “But I said he would have to go through me to get to you, and that’s exactly what he just tried to do. We need to put a guard around you, Connie.”
She looked slightly queasy, but didn’t answer him. Instead she found Roberto’s medical kit. “This is going to hurt,” she warned.
Sylvester gripped the sink hard as she poured antiseptic onto a washcloth and swabbed the wound. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow and he jerked violently at the stinging sensation.
Connie bit her lip, clearly distressed at having to cause him pain. The knife had penetrated deep, tearing through flesh and muscle as his assailant ripped into his arm with full force. It was a devastating injury. On any other man, it would need extensive medical care and might even lead to permanent damage to the nerves in that arm. For Sylvester, it would mean a few days of pain before he healed fully.
Having thoroughly cleaned the wound to prevent any infection, Connie put dressings in place, securing them with medical tape.
“You would make a very good nurse,” Sylvester told her, flexing his arm, when she had finished.
“Don’t make jokes. When I think about how close you came...” Her eyes filled with tears again.
He drew her into the crook of his good arm, holding her against the warmth of his body. They had both sustained a severe shock, but it was worse for Connie, because this was all about her. Even though she had lived with this nightmare for so long, the bottom line was that this madman wanted her. But he wanted to watch her suffer before he killed her. The stalker might tell himself this was about past life revenge, and maybe that was how it had started. Somewhere along the way, this twisted game had become something else. Something he was enjoying. Not anymore. Sylvester held Connie’s trembling body close to his side and inhaled the clean, fresh scent of her hair. This ends, he vowed. Before I leave here, this game will be over.
The fear that had pulsed in the air before the attack on Sylvester and Roberto had been cranked up to fever pitch. The stalker had led them to the abyss of his obsession and left them staring over the edge. Corazón, the paradise island, had become their prison. Everything about it was tainted. Even the early morning sunlight rising over the golden sands seemed sinister; the birds appeared to be singing a song of warning, and the scent of the flowers was sickly and poisonous.
They sat huddled together in Jonathan’s room listening as Sylvester and Connie told the story of what had happened during the night. The awful truth had to be faced. One by one, they were being hunted by a madman. At least they knew for certain now that it was a man. Sylvester was positive, from his height and strength, that his attacker was male.
Most of the group was inclined to agree with the theory Roberto had put forward the night before.
“There has to be someone else on the island.” Guthrie turned away from where he had been gazing out the window as he spoke. “We must have missed him last time we searched. Don’t you have any guns on the island, Sylvester?”
“They have never been needed. Until now.” Sylvester looked weary. Unsurprisingly, Connie decided, after what he had just been through.
“Then we’ll have to get together whatever weapons we can and search the island again.” Guthrie sounded strong, determined and ruthless. Completely unlike his usual self. As if he had shed his slightly comic persona and underneath there was a different person, one who was unrecognizable.
“No.” Despite his fatigue, Sylvester’s voice remained firm. “Jonathan, Matt and I are injured. Even you took a nasty blow to your head not so long ago, Guthrie. That only leaves Juan.” His eyes found Connie’s. “We believe the person behind this is the man who attacked Connie four years ago, and that he’s come for her again. The important thing is to make sure she is well guarded. No one is above suspicion. There must be two of us around at all times.”
“I’m not so badly hurt I can’t make myself useful,” Matt said. “I could search with Guthrie and Juan while you stay with Connie, Lucinda, Jonathan and Vega.”
“We all need to stay together from now on. I don’t mean we have to be in the same room at all times, but if we split up as you suggest, we make ourselves vulnerable.”
Watching Sylvester’s face, Connie was gripped by a sudden awareness. He wasn’t being stubborn or refusing to listen to other opinions for no reason. Sylvester knew something. Her stomach gave a sudden downward lurch. When she had suggested the person who attacked them must be a stranger, Sylvester hadn’t answered. Now, he was vetoing Guthrie’s suggestions with a hard look in his eyes. Guthrie? She turned to look at him, trying to see him with fresh eyes, attempting to see beyond the cheerful, slightly clownlike exterior. Could he be the stalker?
Guthrie was blustering now, attempting to prove he was right and Sylvester was wrong. Connie thought of the first night here at Corazón and how she had sat next to him at dinner. Guthrie’s stories had been entertaining, but all about his misfortunes. How everything that went wrong in his life was someone else’s fault, never Guthrie’s. Yes, that could be her stalker, she supposed. All those centuries ago King Yargua had blamed Cariña and Máximo for the way the island chiefs had begun to plot against him. Her hand stole to her throat as she thought about it. Could the answer have been so glaringly obvious all along? But if Sylvester suspected Guthrie, surely he would have warned Connie and put her on her guard?
This whole situation was making her crazy, making her look at everyone through suspiciously narrowed eyes. Next I’ll be wondering if Jonathan really is as badly injured as he looks! Or if the person in that room could have been a woman, after all...
Lucinda, a pale shadow of her former self, had sobbed quietly for some time before falling silent. Now she raised her head to show eyes that were red and swollen. “We must be able to do something. We can’t just wait in turn to be attacked or killed. What about the lighthouse?”
“It doesn’t work.” Sylvester’s voice was gentle, his former impatience toward her vanished now. “The light was decommissioned centuries ago.”
“But Lucinda has a point.” It was the first ray of hope Connie had found in anything that had been said over the last few days. She seized it desperately. “If we could find a way to get the light working—or get some sort of alternative in place—we might be able to attract attention. You said some of the other islanders use helicopters.”
“I’ll take a look at it. I’m not as mechanically minded as Roberto—” Juan paused as emotion threatened to overcome him “—but I might be able to fix something up.”
“I repeat what I said. No one goes anywhere alone.”
“What are you suggesting?” Guthrie’s voice was scathing. “We all go down to the lighthouse together, and stand around in a group while Juan tries to get an eighteenth-century gaslight working?”
Sylvester’s blue gaze could have cut diamonds. “If that’s what it takes.”
Guthrie’s jaw dropped comically. “You still think it’s one of us, don’t you?”
“I’m not prepared to take the chance it isn’t.”
As Sylvester let his words sink in, Connie watched their impact on the faces around the room. The prospect of getting the lighthouse to work had given them a tiny slither of rosy optimism. Like a child’s balloon it had swayed and bobbed before their eyes for a few tantalizing seconds. Then, with a few curt words, Sylvester had taken out a pin and popped it.
To Connie, it felt like the prison doors were clanging closed once more. She trusted Sylvester implicitly. If he thought it was someone in this room, then she couldn’t see how it could be otherwise. She scanned each face one final time, willing the stalker to slip up, to give her a clue.
Who are you?
* * *
He flexed his shoulders, feeling sharp pain flare right up the center of his back. That bastard Sylvester had hit him hard with the heavy brass lamp. He would have one hell of a bruise to show for it tomorrow. Not that he would be showing anyone, of course. He would keep covered up, act normal, hide any stiffness or pain. Play a part, fit in, pretend...all of those things he did so well. Ever since the day he’d seen Connie Lacey’s picture in that magazine, he had been living a double life.
To his friends and family, he was the same person he had always been. Nothing had changed. But inside him, everything was different. He hadn’t known why, back then. He just knew, as he stared at the perfect oval of her face, the flawless gold of her skin, the blue-black gloss of her hair and the honey-brown depths of those remarkable, almond-shaped eyes, that he had to hurt her. Killing her outright wouldn’t be enough. Connie Lacey was going to suffer for a very long time before she died. So far his tactics had proved successful. He knew he had made her life hell. She had been cowering in fear of him ever since the night he had attacked her and killed her mother.
It was her fault. All of it. It had all become clear when he came to Corazón. The memories had come back slowly. In a trickle rather than a flood. Now he knew exactly who she was and why she—and that arrogant Spanish bastard—must be made to pay for what they had done to him.
Why the hell did Roberto have to come in just at the point when he had Sylvester at his mercy? It was almost as if something on this island was working against him, preventing him from getting to Connie. Every time he did get close to her, someone, or something, conveniently got in his way, keeping her safe. It was like the curse of Corazón was working in reverse where she was concerned, as if fate was wrapping her in a protective blanket.
He allowed himself a smile. She couldn’t escape forever. She was going to pay. He would make sure of it. But for now, how about a little twist of the knife? Something to make those pretty eyes a little bit sadder? Something that would turn her gaze away from Sylvester for once? He paused for a moment, lost in thought, before nodding to himself in quiet satisfaction.
She liked the Calusa books in Sylvester’s precious collection, didn’t she? This would be easy. Everyone was getting ready for breakfast, licking their wounds, trying to work out what was going on. They’d never figure it out, of course. He was too smart for that.
Sneaking into the den, he found the books about the Calusa easily. They were where Connie had left them in a pile on a side table. There were logs and kindling in the fireplace and matches on the mantelpiece above. Kneeling, he struck a match and held it to the kindling. It caught immediately and he grinned delightedly.
Reaching for the first book on the pile, he started systematically ripping out the pages and feeding them into the blaze. There was something satisfying and mesmerizing about the action and he had to remind himself he didn’t have long to spend on this. Rising to his feet, he was just about to start on the next book when Vega, humming quietly under her breath, walked into the room.
He paused and she looked from the blaze in the grate to the book in his hand. Her dark eyes were grave as she raised them to his face.
“What are you doing?” She looked confused. “Those are the master’s treasured books.”
His mind froze. Why did it have to be Vega? His brain refused to allow any other thoughts to intrude. In that instant, he had a horrible premonition that everything—every detail—was reflected in his face, and this sweet, harmless woman would be able to read his guilt and see him for what he really was. Her eyes widened as she took in the change in his expression.
“Oh, no.” Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. “Not you. Tell me it’s not you.”
He had to act fast. Grabbing her, he hauled her into the room, kicking the door shut behind her. Cursing the misfortune that meant he didn’t have his knife with him, he kept a hand over her mouth as he dragged her closer to the fire. He already knew the poker was a useful weapon. He’d used it once before, quite successfully, on that idiot Guthrie.
The first blow was messy. Vega tried to run when he released her, so the poker came down on her shoulder, felling her but not knocking her out. She cried out, infuriating him. He brought the poker down wildly after that, finishing the job quickly, efficiently and brutally. When he was done, he was breathing hard and his clothes were a mess.
“What the hell were you thinking of?” He spoke to the body on the floor. “You and Roberto? You weren’t meant to be part of this. Why couldn’t you mind your own goddamn business?”
Regret, sharp and dangerous, flooded through him. It was always the same. Being two people was such a fucking nightmare. Fighting this battle with himself was too hard. His rational self stared at Vega’s body, at his bloodied hands, and recoiled in horror. The monster inside him, with its powerful instinct for self-preservation, drove him swiftly out through the glass doors, onto the patio and down the steps to the beach.
Fully clothed, he kept walking until he was up to his neck in the calm, blue waters. Striking out with a powerful stroke, he swam into the deeper waters until he was out of sight of the house and he could tread water while he stripped off his outer clothing.
Chapter 15
“Vega?” Connie had called the housekeeper’s name a few times and not gotten any reply. She decided the time for formality was long gone and was heading toward the kitchen to help with breakfast when a faint smell assailed her nostrils. Was it smoke? She turned her head, sniffing the air. It definitely was, but it wasn’t coming from the kitchen.
“You remind me of something.” Matt was coming down the stairs. “I know. It’s a sniffer dog.”
“Can’t you smell it? It’s smoke.” She moved toward the den. “It’s coming from in here.”
He was before her in one swift movement. “Let me go first.”
Matt opened the door just wide enough to see inside and paused on the doorstep. Unable to see what he was looking at, Connie could only judge the scene by Matt’s expression. She could tell it must be bad. Shock registered in the rigidity of his facial muscles and made his fine gray eyes widen. He remained immobile for a moment before he stepped back and closed the door.
“Fetch Sylvester.” His voice wasn’t quite steady.
Connie knew it was serious enough not to try to ask questions. Running swiftly up the stairs, she found Sylvester emerging from the shower. He had insisted he would be able to manage to wash on his own. His prediction about how well he’d heal seemed to be coming true. Although he wasn’t using his injured arm, his strength was returning. Now, with one towel wrapped around his waist and another slung around his shoulders, there was no sign, other than the waterproof dressing on his arm, that he had been attacked.
His smile of greeting quickly faded when he saw Connie’s face. “What is it?”
“I don’t know, but it’s bad.” Her mind had already made the worst possible connection. Her sixth sense was working overtime. Vega hadn’t answered when she’d called her name... Please don’t let whatever Matt saw in the den have anything to do with Vega.
