“I do.”

Lizzie closed the door and turned to face Con. “First of all, why in God’s name are you armed? And second, do you think your amazing contacts can help me find my sister?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FOR ALL THE money this guy must have to be able to buy the medallion, Gerard Dix’s winter home in St. Richard’s Island wasn’t that nice. The McMansion couldn’t go for more than two or three mil, and the furnishings were right out of the pages of Southern Living. Nothing like what Flynn would have if he could shell out six figures for a necklace. But ever since his mother had married Judd Paxton and Flynn had been exposed to true wealth, he’d noticed that some of the richest people didn’t reveal it to the world. But Dix was happy to part with his money, clearly enamored with the medallion. After he examined it, he disappeared from the spacious pool deck, leaving Flynn alone with a watery iced tea, then he bounded back, beaming, with cash.

“Well done, Flynn. I had a good look inside. It certainly needs a little more treatment and cleaning, but I have no doubt that this is genuine and valuable.” He pulled out a seat across from Flynn at the glass-topped poolside table. “You’ve clearly inherited the salvaging gene.”

Flynn’s lip practically curled. “Judd’s married to my mother, Gerry. No blood or genes shared between us.”

“Oh, excuse me. Since you have the same name, I assumed you’re his son.”

Fucking liar. Everyone in this world knew Flynn was the stepson riding on the coattails of Judd’s success. “You do remember our agreement?” Flynn crossed his arms and rested them on the table. “Keep Judd out of this.”

“No worries, son. I’m no friend of the man’s. He’s never wanted to play by our rules.”

Those would be the rules of commercial underground. “So true,” Flynn agreed. “Judd likes to keep his name front and center, and we… don’t.”

Gerry chuckled. “Isn’t that the truth? I hate to say it, but he’s a bit of an egotist.”

“Ya think?” Flynn rolled his eyes. “He loves nothing more than seeing his name in print, on walls, in books. His motto? ‘Underwater treasure diving should be synonymous with the name Paxton.’ ”

“He’s achieved that,” Gerry said with a note of admiration. “I admit, now that I know he’s not your real father, you seem like less of a…”

“What? A traitor? A thief? A person willing to backstab the man who married his mother?”

“No, no, it’s just that-”

“That what?” His voice got edgy, as it always did when his stepfather’s name was mentioned. “That Judd Paxton’s blood son wouldn’t screw him in the back?”

Gerry inched back, assessing Flynn. “Frankly, yes. That’s what I was thinking. You are cheating your father out of money.”

Fuck you, Gerry. It was your money. Flynn managed a tight smile. This was, after all, a good customer. “He’s not in this business for money.”

“Coulda fooled me. Judd Paxton is a very wealthy man.”

“He’s in it for the glory. Notice his name on the museum doors? The grants to universities? The mile-high mountain of press coverage? That’s what gets my old man off.”

“Your old stepman.”

Flynn’s blood bubbled to a low simmer, but he covered the anger by crossing his legs and leaning back. “But he won’t have his name on that piece.” He slanted his head toward the house where Gerry had taken his treasure. “And I have a feeling there could be more on this dive. A lot more.”

“I’m always interested,” Gerry said, standing up. “Just give me a call.”

Flynn maintained his calm demeanor as they walked to the front of the house, kept his temper in check while they shook hands and said good-bye, then climbed into his SUV, driving slowly around the circle even though he wanted to smash his foot on the pedal. He pulled onto A1A with a remarkable amount of composure, considering that his heart rate soared higher with every moment.

Then he smashed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel so hard it sent pain up his arm. Stealing from his stepfather wasn’t enough. His full-scale piracy only created pity and support for the great and powerful Judd Paxton. And frankly, being an irritant to the man just didn’t give Flynn the satisfaction he needed anymore.

Judd Paxton had to suffer for being an egotistical prick. For fucking Flynn’s mother, and never truly acknowledging Flynn as his son. Judd Paxton needed to get it where it hurt him the most: his reputation.

Flynn drove back to the marina like a maniac, formulating a plan. If the authorities found out about the unregistered dive, Judd would merely get his knuckles rapped and he’d buy his way back into the Florida state reps’ good graces. He’d done that often enough.

No, it had to be something bigger. Something more shocking. Something that would expose the dive and leave a permanent stain on the name Paxton.

Judd wanted headlines? That’s what he’d get.

An ankle holster? Lizzie watched dumbfounded as Con stashed the gun into a leather contraption around his ankle. “You want to explain that to me?”

“I’m armed because it’s stupid not to be when carrying around an artifact that I have no doubt people would kill for,” he said, straightening his jeans. “And to answer your other question, yes, I can get confirmation whether or not your sister was on a plane to Lisbon. If she’s registered in a hotel there, I can probably get a phone number for you, too.”

She wanted to jump all over the first explanation, but the urge to throw her arms around him for the rest of it was stronger. She quelled both reactions, watching him warily as she deposited Brianna’s mail on the dining-room table. “How? How can you do that?”

“I told you, I have-”

“Connections. Yes, I know, but…” She shook her head, the very first question she ever had about him snaking back into her mind. A question she’d conveniently tamped down as she grew more attracted to him, and more dependent on him. It was time to ask. “Who are you?”

He gave her a slight smile. “That’s not what you want to know, Lizzie.”

“It’s exactly what I want to know.”

“No.” He pulled out one of the dining-room chairs and offered it to her. “What you want to know is what I’m doing on this dive, and why I’m helping you.”

She stayed standing, until he put a strong hand on her shoulder and guided her into the chair, as if whatever he was going to tell her would make her lose her balance. Her heart did just that, so she took the seat, while he pulled out the other and sat knee-to-knee.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He finally said, “There is a reason that I carry a gun and a satellite phone, why I’m willing to help you take and hide treasures from the boat, and why, with a single phone call, I can find out the names of a resident in a development or a list of passengers on a plane.”

He waited a beat, while her brain whirred over possibilities.

“It’s the same reason,” he continued, “that I came after you in the lab when I thought you were stealing, and was able to have a motorcycle waiting when we arrived, and can pick up my phone and find out who lives in the house where Flynn Paxton was visiting.”

“Oh my God.” She put her hand to her mouth as realization and understanding dawned. “You’re an undercover agent for the government.”

He said nothing, just looked her right in the eyes and didn’t react. Of course he wouldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to confirm or deny.

That’s why he was armed and… dangerous.

He worked for the government, probably investigating Paxton’s whole operation to stop the siphoning of treasure that was supposed to generate millions in taxes and co-profits for the state.

A thrill exploded in her heart.

“FBI?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“State government? Art crimes? Tax evasion? Police? What is it?”