“I’ve handled that in the past.”

“Yes, you have. And what about Malcolm Dare’s daughter?”

“She’s right here, Mrs. Bettencourt. Ignorant and under constant watch.”

“She’d better be ignorant.” Of course, if Malcolm Dare had shared what he knew, his daughter would never have stayed quiet. Getting Lizzie on that boat was more proof of Solange’s power and luck.

“I’ll call you as soon as we make another recovery. In the meantime, this one will be hand delivered to safety and security on dry land.”

“See to it that it is.” She signed off and dropped the phone on the table, her gaze on the drawing of the pendant. A lovely piece. Very valuable. But not even close to what she wanted, and planned to have.

She lifted the scepter again. One without the other was like… well, a queen without her king. And Solange Bettencourt was willing to do just about anything to be queen again. And crush her king.

She gathered up the papers, heeding his warning to handle them with care, then put them in the metal box she kept them in. She took them first, glancing at the velvet-covered scepter. Should she try to carry both? No, it wasn’t safe. Ana was in the kitchen and wouldn’t renege on their agreement.

Ana gave her an hour alone each evening in the windmill, where Solange claimed to be “meditating” while Ana cleaned up after dinner, probably happy for the little reprieve from her charge.

Box in hand, Solange entered the darkened stairwell that encircled the inside of the windmill. Carefully, she climbed up, counting the stairs as they wended around the structure. The walls were rough, and the smell of the sea and old grain permeated everything.

When she reached the ninety-seventh step, the gears just a few feet away at the top were almost deafening. She bent over and lifted the stone on top.

Was it power or luck that made her trip over this stone the night she’d come up here to kill herself-her third failed attempt? How close she’d come to ending what was going to be a glorious existence.

She’d secretly stopped taking the meds, and of course the blackness in her heart had taken over her body like a cancer. It was going to be so easy… just throw herself from the windmill over a cliff hundreds of feet above the rocks of the Atlantic Ocean.

Proving every lie Jaeger had spread to be the truth.

Then she’d tripped. And there, like a miracle, lay the scepter. And then she’d checked every other step for secret hiding places and found the paperwork.

She gently laid the box in the hole.

“Senhora Bettencourt? Are you here, ma’am?”

Ana.

Her first thought was the scepter, out in the open on the small worktable. Oh, Lord, what if she found it?

Solange stayed very still, listening for movement. How could she explain it? A gift from her husband? Ana would know if something had been delivered. She remained still, flattened to the wall. Listening for the sound of Ana leaving.

But if she left and took the scepter! No, that just couldn’t happen.

“Senhora Bettencourt?” The voice was closer, the Portuguese-accented English echoing over the stone as the young woman rounded the stairwell. “Are you fine, ma’am?”

Solange scrambled up the rest of the steps, pushing open the planked door to the gear room. She hated this place. A narrow ledge, not two feet wide, circled the top of the round windmill. There was no railing, no protection. One misstep, and you could fall right into the massive, grinding teeth of the gear turned by the windmill blades.

An ugly thought coiled around her brain. If Ana had the scepter…

She had to hide. Wait it out. Ana would leave if she thought Solange wasn’t here. That main floor was dark. She might never see that scepter on the table.

But if she did… Solange needed a solution fast.

She followed the ledge to the door that led outside, the only way to get to the three giant sweeps that turned constantly in the wind. She could hide here, watch through the door, see if Ana had-

Whoosh! The giant blade spun right in front of her, the force almost knocking her over. She pressed herself against the rounded stone, the chill seeping through her, too terrified to look back to see if Ana followed her up there.

“Senhora Bettencourt!”

She had. Solange remained silent, willing the young nurse to just go away.

“Senhora Bettencourt!” The door opened slowly, and the first thing Solange saw was white velvet.

“Senhora! Do not do this!” Her brown eyes were full of sympathy, no doubt certain she’d found her boss about to commit suicide again. It wouldn’t have been the first time. She held up the scepter in the velvet. “Where did you get this? Do you know what value it is? There is a tale of this, a folklore!” She practically quivered with excitement.

“What are you talking about?”

“You found this? Here in the mill? It is…” She lifted it as though making an offering to the gods.

“Mine.” Solange took it from her.

“Oh, no, ma’am. This belongs to Portugal!” She let it go, but only because she needed to put a hand on Solange to coax her back inside. “There are stories, oh, madame, wait until I tell you what you’ve found. Here! On your farm! You will be famous!” She beamed in the moonlight. “You will be the most famous person in all of Portugal. This will go into museums. It will travel the world!”

But that wasn’t what Solange wanted.

“Come,” Ana said, affection and excitement making her eyes dance. “Come back down, Senhora. You have been doing so well for months. You don’t need to do this.”

As Ana turned, urging her inside, Solange gripped the wrapped scepter, nudging the huge diamond handle behind Ana. “No-I don’t.”

The push was hard, furious, and full of strength Solange didn’t know she had. Ana gasped, reached out for balance, and when she did, Solange slammed the giant diamond into the young woman’s back with enough force to topple her.

For a split second Ana seemed to hang in the air, just long enough to look right in Solange’s eyes and realize what was happening to her. Then she plunged forward and the giant windmill sweep whooshed by with enough force to blow her off the side, her blouse billowing as she fell into the air, her scream lost in the wind as she tumbled down, down, down to her death.

The sound was lost in the crashing waves and the constant, aching groan of the windmill gears.

Solange cradled the scepter. All that power.

THE TAP ON the lab door surprised Con, and so did the stab of disappointment that it wasn’t Lizzie. Was she still out with Paxton?

Alita lifted the corner of a napkin covering a plate, offering it to him along with a slow, sweet smile. “It would be a crime for you to miss Brady’s Bacardi Double Chocolate cake just because you’re babysitting the treasure.”

“That was thoughtful of you.” He took the plate and she raised a brow, obviously waiting for an invitation. He’d had long chats with Kenny and Walt Brubaker today but only a few minutes with Dave the divemaster in his effort to infiltrate the crew. Guess it was time for Diver Barbie. “Have you had any? I’ll share.”

Dimples deepened. “I hoped you’d ask, since I’m sacrificing the last piece for you. I thought Walt would stab me with his fork when I reached for it.”

Con stepped to the side to let her in, his gaze sliding over the skin-tight jeans and T-shirt. “I’m getting the impression Brady is the most beloved crewmember on the boat.”

“He is a masterful chef,” she said, breezing in and giving the lab a visual sweep. “And he only bakes dessert when we make a great recovery, as motivation.” She turned and trained deep blue eyes on him, the dimples still at work, a lock of dark hair sliding over her cheeks. “Where is it?”