He held her back with one hand, pointing to the scepter on the bed, the silent message clear. Don’t let her in.

“Let me just talk to her,” she whispered, nodding to assure him she wouldn’t let her in.

“She was breaking in.”

“She has a key.” She stepped to the opening, keeping it cracked just enough to peek out. “I’m, uh, kind of busy, Char. What’s the matter?”

Con stood right behind Lizzie, glaring at Charlotte, who ignored him. “It’s Sam. He’s really sick.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. He’s been moaning. He has chest pains.” The older woman’s eyes looked pained, with deep circles and a feathering of lines all around. “Can you come and see him, Lizzie?”

Lizzie glanced over her shoulder at Con. “Would you know the signs of a heart attack?”

He nodded.

“Then…” She faltered. “Could you check on him?”

“Lizzie.” Charlotte reached to take the woman’s hand. “I need you there. Please. I’m scared.”

Con pulled Lizzie deeper into the cabin, against his chest. “Give us a minute, Mrs. Gorman. One of us will be over in a minute.”

She finally looked at him, her expression a mix of pain and relief and a little distrust. “Sorry to interrupt. But I’m scared.”

“We’ll be right there,” Lizzie assured her. “You go stay with Sam. If we need to get him to the mainland to a doctor, we will. We’ll do whatever we have to, I promise.”

When she left, Lizzie turned, but Con didn’t move.

“We have to help her,” she said.

“She was breaking in.”

“Con, she has a key to my cabin. She’s my friend. And her husband’s sick.” She pushed by him and started lifting up random clothes looking for something to wear.

“Why didn’t she knock?”

“Maybe she heard the shower or didn’t want to wake the rest of the crew. Maybe we didn’t hear her. The shower was on, and we were… breathing heavy.” Stepping out of his grasp, she gave him a little nudge. “Please get dressed and we’ll hide that and go see him. The man could be dying.”

She hadn’t knocked. Con knew that for a fact. He watched the towel fall, leaving Lizzie naked, damp, pink. “You warm enough now?” he asked.

She nodded and glanced over at him as she pulled her panties on. “You still disoriented?”

He smiled. “I was just getting there when the 911 call came.”

“Timing is everything,” she said with a shrug.

“Yeah. And hers was impeccable.”

BRIANNA DARE SHOULDERED her travel bag and powered through the streets of Lisbon. Lizzie was going to kill her, but then she’d throw her arms around her and get all emotional about how she had to watch out for Brianna because they didn’t have a mother. And now they didn’t have a father, Lizzie was worse than ever.

At the base of the funicular that would take her up a steep hill to another noisy, crazy, insanely gorgeous part of the city, Brianna climbed on board. A man muttered something to her in Portuguese and checked her out. A woman elbowed past her to get onto the Santa Justa elevator to Upper City. Smells and colors and sounds swirled around her, and Brianna couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. Freedom felt so freaking good.

She was out of Vero Beach. Out of that stifling, suffocating house with nothing to do but organize Dad’s pile of chaos and look for paper clues, while Lizzie had all the fun on a dive.

She’d left her cell phone at home-it wouldn’t work over here anyway-and hadn’t told Lizzie what she had decided to do. Her sister would be furious, but if she was successful on this trip, Lizzie would forgive her in a heartbeat.

From his notes, it was clear Dad had wondered about the identity of “BC” and how he or she fit into the legend of El Falcone. Brianna was about to find out, and it was something Lizzie wanted to know almost as much as she wanted the treasure itself. Without that piece of the puzzle, it would be hard to prove their ancestor was anything but a slimy pirate.

As the car started to ride up the rails, Brianna reached into her bag to double-check the address and directions. Maria Rossos Della Buonofuentes spoke enough English that they could communicate over the Internet, and according to her directions, Brianna was one stop and a quick walk from her destination.

Off the funicular, she headed up another hill, so steep that the cobbled streets were like steps. Everywhere, her senses were assaulted with foreign beauty and sounds and smells. Creamy stone church spires curled into a blue sky right next to candy-colored storefronts, their balconies festooned with laundry. Vendors and fishmongers cried out as she passed, tempting her to stop and taste and experience it all.

But she had a mission, and she was focused on that.

At the entrance to a large park, she saw the café across the street. Solar do Vinho. Exactly as Maria’s directions said. She waited for a brightly painted trolley to rumble by, then dashed across the street and into the wine bar.

It was almost five, so she was a few minutes early, and the tiny café was nearly deserted. Except for a woman who sat in the far corner, a bright orange scarf around her head, just as she’d promised.

“Hello, Maria.” Brianna plopped down across from her, letting her bag fall to the floor. “I’m Bree Dare.”

Dark, sad eyes crinkled with a smile. She was younger than Brianna had imagined and really pretty. She held out a cool hand and clasped Brianna’s, not in a classic handshake but more of a knuckle squeeze.

“You have made it.” Her English was flawless and musical.

“I didn’t even see my room,” Bree admitted with a laugh. “I just left my bags with the concierge and came right here. Do you have it?”

Maria crossed her arms. “I do. It took quite a bit of research, but I have finally located the property for you.” She drew a cylindrical roll from her bag and spread the paper out.

A map. An island. “Where is this?”

“This, my friend, is Corvo. The farthermost island in the Azores, with a population of less than four hundred, if you include the horses and cows, and one very, very tiny town. Many windmills that are not like any you’ll find in the world. Stone windmills with remarkable machinery that never stops, no matter which way the wind blows. Corvo is famous for them.”

Windmills? Whatever. “This is where the family I wrote to you about, the Bettencourts, live?”

“One of them. Bettencourt is a common name in the Azores, but I believe this is where the branch of the family you are looking for once lived.”

“Are you sure?” Brianna frowned at the map. “It’s really… out there.”

“You are looking for Carlos Bettencourt, and this is the land that was in his family name. I’ve run genealogy on many of the lines of this family for other clients. This particular branch goes back to Corvo, although that tree is so large that even a seasoned genealogist like me has trouble keeping them straight. Most of the family lived on Terceira, one of the other islands in the Azores, and there is even a palace there named for them.”

Brianna nodded, dividing her attention between the map and the woman. It was like a little rock a thousand miles away.

Lizzie would really kill her if she went there. But after what she found in Dad’s office… how could she not?

“Did you find anything out about this Carlos guy?”

“A small amount. Evidently, he broke away from the family and was exiled to this home.” Maria tapped the map. “I had a long conversation with a historian at the University of Lisbon, who said that Carlos Bettencourt was willing to do just about anything to get back in the good graces of his wealthy, renowned family. One of the things he did was commission a gift for the king and his bride to commemorate their wedding in 1862.”

Brianna tingled all over. This was the right Carlos Bettencourt. They’d found CB! Maybe. “Do you know what he gave them as a gift?”