Immortal Billionaire, page 21
When he stood at the edge of the opening, the magnitude of the task facing him became clear. Going down toward the sea wasn’t an option. The height wasn’t a problem, nor was the sheer drop. Both were less dangerous and taxing than other climbs Sylvester had tackled before. But this rock face was slippery with bird guano and, closer to the water itself, seaweed. It made for a lethal combination. Even if he did succeed in climbing down and reaching water, he wouldn’t be any better off. He would still have to find a way to get back onto the island and back to Connie.
Why the hell didn’t I warn her about Matt while I had the chance? The simple answer was that he just hadn’t been sure enough. But there was more to it than that. Sylvester remembered Matt Reynolds as a fresh-faced kid just out of college, starting out in his father’s firm. Matt had been a conscientious, likable young man with a wicked sense of humor. He had been in awe of Arthur’s most famous client, but that hadn’t stopped them becoming friends. Sylvester liked Matt, had counted him among the very limited number of people he trusted. How could he reconcile what he knew of him with what was going on here? And how could he—even with everything he knew of reincarnation and the way the past could affect the present—possibly believe that Matt’s body harbored the soul of King Yargua?
Yet Sylvester’s suspicions had been aroused as soon as he’d seen Matt’s injuries after he was supposedly attacked. Had he been mistrustful of him even before then? He wasn’t sure. He had been so wrapped up in what was happening between him and Connie, he had barely spared a thought for anyone else. Looking back, he thought perhaps there had been some changes to Matt’s behavior. He had seemed uncharacteristically quiet and introspective. But hindsight was a gift and Sylvester wasn’t sure he had really noticed those signs at the time.
When Matt was attacked, the worst of his injuries had been on his left side and, while it was entirely plausible that his attacker might have come at him from that side, it had crossed Sylvester’s mind that it was also possible the wounds had been self-inflicted.
At first he had gone with his theory that Matt was trying to arouse Connie’s sympathy. It had seemed out of character, but men in love didn’t always act rationally. Sylvester should know. There was another puzzling matter. Even if he was in shock, could Matt really claim not to know who had attacked him in broad daylight? Sylvester had begun to watch his friend more closely after that, and had started noticing odd behaviors. That bizarre dash onto the balcony in Jonathan’s room, occasional looks and comments that seemed unusual.
Last night, as he had grappled with the stalker in the darkness, Sylvester had become convinced he was right. The height and build of the man he was fighting could only have fitted one man on the island. He was sure it was Matt. That was why, in spite of everything else, his first thought had been to get Connie to remove the attacker’s mask. Her understandable reluctance had been a missed opportunity.
Now Sylvester blamed himself for the chain of events that had brought him to this cliff edge. If he had spoken out sooner, could he have prevented Vega’s death? Stopped Matt from bringing them to this point? He had hesitated for another reason, one he hated to admit, even to himself. I wondered if my feelings toward Matt were changed by jealousy.
When he had realized that Matt was in love with Connie, it had been like someone twisting a knife deep into his heart. For the first time he had faced the prospect that she might find someone else in the future. Even though he was going back in time to share his life with her as Cariña, he couldn’t bear the idea of Connie—my Connie—with someone else in this life.
And in the middle of this whole mixed-up, unnatural, supernatural mess, what does that say about me?
It was time to stop prevaricating and start climbing. Introspection was a time-wasting indulgence he couldn’t afford. Although the upward climb was shorter, it was no less challenging. He might have accomplished plenty of climbs without ropes or safety equipment, but he had always had the benefit of the best shoes and someone had gone ahead of him to clean the rock face of loose stones and other debris. Climbing in his sneakers would be dangerous, so he would have to go barefoot. And he was definitely on his own this time. Shrugging out of his T-shirt and kicking off his footwear, he took a few minutes to scan the rock, trying to plan a route in advance, before swinging out from the edge.
Climbing was as much a puzzle as a feat of strength and endurance. As he moved, he had to look ahead and decide where next to place his hands and feet. At each stage, he faced a series of minute cracks and holds, varying in size, shape and distance from each other. He urged himself on with a single thought. Connie’s life depended on his ability to move quickly.
Sylvester contorted his body, twisting, stretching, lunging, swinging, dangling, pushing himself onward and upward inch by inch toward the top of the cliff. In a series of curiously balletic movements, ignoring the screaming of his muscles and the burning of his scraped-raw fingers and toes, he drove himself with equal measures of physical force and mental determination.
He had told Connie he had no idea where his immortality came from. It was true but, over the years, he had developed something that looked like a theory. It was linked to the Calusa legends surrounding the Corona de Perlas islands and their ancient spirits.
Sylvester had seen for himself the power that Corazón could exert. He didn’t believe Sinapa’s curse would have carried the same weight if it had been delivered anywhere else. He might have instigated the current house party, but he didn’t believe the make-up of the group was a coincidence. Matt had been able to get away with his evil, daring schemes for a reason. That was what this island could do. And Sylvester believed that, five hundred years ago, Corazón had also conjured up its own hero.
When Corazón’s lifestyle, including the worship of the ancient spirits, was threatened by the conquistadors, a unique event had occurred. Its own hero had arrived. He not only became sympathetic to the Calusa way of life through his relationship with Cariña, but also remained to defend the island’s interests throughout the ensuing centuries. Sylvester was flesh and blood, but the ancient spirits of this island had made sure his was a body that never died. A brave, heroic body that served them well. They continued to rule Corazón. His job was to protect it.
If that was true, and Sylvester believed it was, then he was Corazón’s creation. Or puppet. Which of those he believed depended on Corazón’s mood and Sylvester’s point of view.
Right now, Sylvester’s point of view was perilous. His left hand was less than a foot from the top of the cliff, but his body was stretched to the limit and he couldn’t find anywhere to place his left foot. His injured arm was aching and his muscles were crying out in protest after the fall into the dungeon. He had probably been in a similar position a dozen times before, but the life of the woman he loved had never depended on his next move. Resting his cheek against the rock, he took a moment to think, to feel the island’s pulse. It all came down to what Corazón wanted.
Risking a glance up by leaning away from the edge, he could see his next handhold. If he swung out now, he could reach it with his right hand, but it would mean hanging on by only his weakened left arm. If the muscles weren’t strong enough, he would plunge onto the rocks below. I won’t die, but Connie sure as hell will...if she’s not dead already.
Mustering every bit of strength he had, Sylvester lunged for the handhold. The outcome hung in the balance. The muscles in his left arm screamed in agony and his bruised and bloodied fingers burned as they gripped the tiniest of ledges. His right hand clawed wildly above his head for the next hold, scrabbling to find it. Catching and missing it. Fuck. He wanted to scream the word aloud, but he couldn’t spare the energy.
Sweat was pouring from him, greasing his whole body, coating his face, stinging his eyes and blinding him. He took a breath. One more try. That’s all I have in me.
There was more desperation than finesse in his second attempt. He hurled himself out from the cliff face, swinging perilously as he went for the hold again. And missed again. A sound somewhere between a sob and a scream escaped his lips and was flung far above him, swept away on the slight sea breeze. I’m so sorry, Connie...
Even as the words formed in his mind, a hand gripped his left wrist. The person holding him wasn’t strong, but it was enough. Enough for Sylvester to get his right hand onto that tiny ledge, to find his next foothold. Whoever his mystery rescuer was, he or she remained silent as Sylvester accomplished the rest of the climb. There was no cheering, no shouts of encouragement, no urging him on. Just that steady grip on his wrist. By the time Sylvester hauled himself over the top of the cliff and lay on his back, panting and looking up at the sky, his rescuer had disappeared.
Chapter 17
“If I’m the one who has to pay, why did you have to hurt so many other people on this island, Matt? They didn’t do anything to you. Why not just come after me?” Again, the knife twitched nervously in his hand and Connie’s heart leaped in time with it.
The question had an adverse effect on him. Connie knew she’d touched a nerve, almost as if he could justify his pursuit of her to himself, but the reminder of the others he’d killed and injured tugged at his inner self in a way he didn’t like. Without warning, Matt’s light-colored sneaker lashed out, connecting hard with Guthrie’s ribs. Guthrie’s body convulsed as he cried out in pain.
“That was the plan. I was coming after you. It was his fault. Guthrie stopped me. Stupid bastard. What made him come into the house right at that minute? You seem to have a guardian angel watching over you here on Corazón, Connie.” Matt’s eyes were wild as he looked at Connie. “He was focused on getting to the bar for a drink, but I couldn’t risk him looking up and seeing me halfway up the stairs with the poker in my hand. So I hit him over the head instead, cleaned up the poker and put it back in its place, went out the doors from the den to the beach and pretended I hadn’t come back to the house until much later.”
Connie’s hand stole to her throat and she swallowed hard to combat the nauseous feeling that rose in her throat. “You were on your way to my room that day...with the poker?”
She hadn’t seen Vega’s body, but horrible images had insisted on forcing themselves into her imagination. That was what he planned to do to me. Only minutes after taking a walk together, after I was worried he might be falling for me, he was planning to bash my brains out with a poker. Hysterical laughter started to bubble up inside her and it took every ounce of her self-control to contain it.
“Yes.” He seemed pleased she understood. “If Guthrie hadn’t interfered, it would have all been over then and no one else needed to get hurt.” Matt turned his head as though sensing an invisible presence. “But then it was as though the island took over, the memories started to come back. Killing you wasn’t going to be enough. You had to suffer more than that.”
“So you decided to imprison us all on Corazón?”
He sighed. “That took some planning, I can tell you. You were the one who gave me the idea when you said you couldn’t stay marooned here forever just because you didn’t like boats. Once or twice I almost gave up and just decided to finish you off instead. Seeing you with Sylvester, that was what kept me going. It was like the two of you were laughing at me all over again. It gave me the incentive I needed to see it through.”
“We never laughed at you, Matt. Not then. Not now.”
For a moment she thought her words had penetrated his mania. She saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but then the shutters came down again and he gave a hollow laugh. “Killing Ellie first was a stroke of genius, don’t you think? You were absolutely right about her. She kept boasting about how far she could swim and, while I’m not sure she actually could have made it to one of the other islands, I wasn’t prepared to take any chances. And she was starting to annoy me.”
Connie’s blood chilled even further. Was she really trying to reason with a man who could kill someone because they annoyed him? “But then you were attacked.”
He grinned. “That was damn difficult. Smashing a rock into my own face hard enough to cause bruises, then hitting myself with one of those palm branches? I wasn’t sure I could do it, but I wanted to be sure no one would suspect me.” There was a genuine note of pride in his voice. “I’m pleased with the way it went, although—” the grin vanished “—I’m not sure Sylvester bought my story.”
Connie remembered Sylvester’s question on the night of the storm. Does anything about the attack on Matt strike you as strange, Connie? She wondered why he hadn’t shared his doubts about Matt then. “And Jonathan? Why was he next?”
“He was another suspicious bastard. And he was supposed to die.” His lips thinned into a hard line. “I hit him hard, and enough times, with a large, wooden statue that was in my room. He must have a skull made of iron.”
Connie thought back to the morning Jonathan had been found lying on his bedroom floor, still in his clothes from the night before, his bed not slept in. “You attacked him the night before and pretended to find him the next morning. If he was meant to die, why didn’t you make sure he was dead before you came to find Sylvester?”
“I panicked. Nobody’s perfect, okay?” Matt shrugged impatiently. “I thought I had killed him. Then, the next morning, I really did hear a thud. I wasn’t sure if it came from Jonathan’s room or not, but I wasn’t taking any chances. After I checked on him and found him still alive, I went back to get the statue, but Vega was around. I could hear her singing and realized she was going in and out of the linen cupboard on that corridor. She could have caused the thud I heard. By then, I couldn’t see any way I could get from my room to Jonathan’s with the statue, kill him and get back again in bloodstained clothes if Vega was around. But I also wasn’t sure if she’d already seen me going into his room. I decided the only thing to do was to be the person who discovered him.” He seemed to feel he should be congratulated for his quick thinking. “But then I had the whole nightmare of wondering whether he would come around and, if he did, how much he would remember.”
Connie struggled to keep back the response that wanted to burst from her lips. You had a nightmare? What about Jonathan? What about all of us? We didn’t know who was next, what evil little plan you had in store for us.
“So when he started to speak, you pretended to see someone on the balcony.” Connie had sensed the presence of her stalker at that moment, stronger than ever. It was all so clear now. He had been there. Of course he had. Her instincts were right. Except he’d been there in the room with them, not on the balcony. To think I was worried the stalker might be listening to our conversation, might know what we were thinking. And all the time, he was standing right next to me.
“It bought me a little time, gave me a chance to listen in to what he was telling you. I could judge how good or bad his memory was and know how to act. When I heard him tell you he couldn’t remember anything about what happened, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief.”
“What made you think Jonathan was suspicious of you?” Connie asked. As far as she was aware, Jonathan had never given any indication he distrusted Matt.
“Just something he said. You seem very interested in Jonathan. Lining up your next lover now Sylvester is gone?” He gave her a nasty smile. “Of course, Sylvester would have been dead last night if Roberto hadn’t got in the way.”
Connie felt a flash of anger at the thought of Roberto’s body. “He was trying to help. You didn’t give him a chance.”
“He should have kept his nose out.”
“Like Vega?” She didn’t care anymore that the knife was jittering wildly in his hand. He needed to hear the truth about what she thought of him. She wanted him to see the disgust in her eyes. “Did she deserve to die because she walked in on you at the wrong moment?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.” He seemed to shrivel before her eyes.
“I’ll just bet you don’t want to talk about how you beat a defenseless woman to death with a poker. Just like you stabbed my mother so you could hurt me. You say it’s the spirit of the Calusa king that makes you do these things, but Yargua was a brave man, Matt. Killing Ellie, Roberto and Vega weren’t acts of bravery.”
He made a sound like a stifled sob. “I know what you’re trying to do. Stop it.”
Connie looked down at the two pitiful, bound figures at their feet. “None of this has anything to do with Lucinda and Guthrie. Can you show mercy, as the Calusa king would have done, and let them go?”
Matt followed her gaze with an absentminded frown, as though he had forgotten about his captives. “Why? So they can bring Sylvester to your rescue?”
Her heart gave a joyful bound at the words. He seemed to have forgotten he’d told her Sylvester had gone into the Salto de Fe. Was it her imagination or, with perfect timing, did she hear the faint creak of the spiral staircase? Was her overwrought mind making connections that weren’t there? Was she longing for Sylvester so much she was imagining him coming to save her?
She took a chance and sneaked another quick look down at Guthrie and saw his eyes widen in a signal. He had heard it, too. She raised her voice, hoping to send a warning to the person on the stairs. “Let them go, Matt.”
Guthrie started kicking his bound feet against the metal frame encasing the light. The noise echoed loudly around the small space. “She’s right, you bastard. We’re no use to you. Let us go!” He shouted the words at the top of his voice.
Connie felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward him. Guthrie was risking his own safety to give the person on the stairs a chance to get to the top without Matt hearing them.
With a furious exclamation, Matt leaned down and grabbed Guthrie by the hair, smashing his face into the metal casing.
