He touched the gold again, tracing the elaborate markings. “Without a doubt.” He would hide this one from Lizzie and give it to Judd Paxton, satisfying Lucy’s edict. And Lizzie could keep hers, and at least have half of what belonged in her family. He wouldn’t have to betray her.

“That would be a real coup,” Lucy said. “Exactly the kind of performance I want and expect from a Bullet Catcher.”

Well… not exactly.

“How are you going to do it?”

“Just consider it done, Lucy.”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, “Fine. And talk to Avery as soon as she gets in this morning. She’s unearthed quite a bit of information that you’ll want, which might even help with the Azorean investigation. Mostly about Solange Bettencourt, but also Dylan Houser, who was connected with Malcolm Dare’s death.”

“Good. If you talk to her first, can you have her check something else? The police took Solange’s cell phone, but before they did, I checked her call history. One number from the U.S. showed up quite a few times.” He pulled out the paper and read it to her. “I want to leave here as soon as they’ll let us, considering that we are witnesses in an open investigation.”

“I have contacts in the Lisbon police department,” Lucy said. “They are in charge of the Azorean police. I’ll make sure you are all able to leave.”

“Great. I’m going to check on Lizzie and her sister.”

“Lizzie sounds like she’s quite a fearless woman.”

“Add it to a long list of attributes.”

“And it sounds like you’ve grown fond of her.”

Slightly. “Yep.”

“So how is it going to be received when you take something she wants, and give it to a man she considers a mortal enemy?”

“I’ll smooth things out with her,” he said, rewrapping the velvet around the scepter. “I’ve figured out a way to keep her happy.”

“Be careful about getting involved with a principal, Con. I don’t like it.”

“She’s not a principal, Lucy. She’s a target. And if I don’t get involved with her, how else can I smooth things over?”

“She’s going to hand over those scepters just for the joy of sleeping with you?” She laughed softly. “You do belong in this organization.”

He smiled. “I knew you’d figure that out sooner or later.”

Signing off, his smile was still in place. If everything worked according to plan, he’d get what he wanted, Lizzie would get what she wanted, and even Judd Paxton would be happy.

The truth would come out eventually, but by then he’d have given Lizzie all this paperwork, and she’d have what she needed to make a compelling argument that the other scepter belonged to her. She could take it public; the media would eat that up. She’d win by virtue of her name and her nature, and Paxton would be shamed into giving the other scepter to the museums where she wanted to exhibit them. Aramis Dare’s name would be cleared, and Con would be a full-fledged Bullet Catcher.

And if she could see his potential now… she could actually love him then.

He hid the scepter in the step again, making sure the stone was secure. The papers in the metal box were coming with him.

Lizzie would go absolutely crazy with happiness. But first, he was going to make her absolutely crazy in a totally different way.

Lizzie curled up under the cloud of duvet, her hair wet from a shower, her body screaming for rest. She’d wanted to stay at the clinic longer, but there wasn’t anything she could do for Brianna except let her sleep, and the two nurses were quite capable of watching over her.

Remarkably, Bree was in stable condition, drifting in and out of sleep, but not in any danger. The doctor in Corvo had been competent and spoke English, but Con promised to get her to a specialist in Lisbon as soon as possible and then back to the States. She’d have a scar just in front of her armpit, but with plastic surgery and physical therapy, she’d be fine.

An inch or two lower… or a few minutes longer in that mechanism… and Bree would have been dead. Lizzie shivered and tucked deeper into the mountain of down, just as the door opened.

She peeked out from the comforter to see Con filling up the doorway, a dark expression on his face, dried blood over his eyebrow from a cut he’d sustained in the windmill.

“Con.” She barely breathed the word.

He just looked at her, his eyes narrowed, his chest rising and falling. No smile. No greeting. Nothing but waves of intensity rolling off him and threatening to flatten her.

He kicked the door closed behind him and dropped a box of some sort on the floor with a clunk. All she could do was stare at him, gripping the duvet in her fists as her heart rate climbed with each second.

He ripped off his T-shirt and threw it on the floor.

Her stomach took a roller-coaster dip.

He unsnapped his pants, kicked off his shoes, and pushed his jeans down, naked and fully erect underneath.

She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out.

He stepped out of the pants and closed the space between them, the only change in his expression a tightening of his jaw, dark with whiskers and smudged from the battle with the windmill.

“Whatever you have on under there,” he said gruffly, “it’s coming off.”

She dropped the duvet cover, letting it fall to her waist.

His gaze burned her bare breasts and he took a slow, deep breath. “That’s a good start.”

She removed the cover deliberately, exposing more and more of her bare skin.

A whisper of a smile curved his lips. “That’s even better.”

“Con… what… why…”

“Lizzie, what is obvious, why should be obvious, and anything else, you can ask later.” He set something on the nightstand that she hadn’t even realized he held. A condom.

He put a knee on the bed and then straddled her, his hard-on pulsing over her stomach, his chest looming like a rock wall. He cupped her cheeks as he lowered his whole body onto hers, holding her gaze.

“This,” he said as he closed in for a kiss, “is the last gentle thing I’m going to do until after you scream.”

He kissed her mouth with… love. That was the only way she could describe the tenderness, the sweetness of the kiss. His eyes stayed open, locked onto hers, both of them lost and completely connected.

Her heart hammered, and so did his. Their tongues touched in a caress, a delicious silent overture that made her body warm and achy. She closed her arms around his shoulders, pulling him against her, opening her legs to get every inch of him against every inch of her.

He finally lifted his head, lasering her with his intention as he took her arms from around him and pinned them with one hand over her head.

His smile was dangerous as he licked his lips, tasting her kiss, then coming down for another-much hotter, much more demanding. If the first one was love, then this kiss was pure sex, burning, wet, slanted, deep, mouth-to-mouth fever.

And he didn’t stop there. Still holding her wrists in his hands, he trailed fiery kisses down to her chest, making her gasp and moan as he licked one nipple to a peak, then the other. She pushed against his hand, dying to have hers free so she could guide his head, dig her fingers into his hair, somehow have some control, but it was impossible.

He suckled and kissed her breasts and flesh, his left hand sliding down her waist and over her hip.

He cupped her buttocks and moaned as he kneaded the flesh, and she bowed her back in helpless response, his hot hands making her rock with need for more. He finally slid his fingers between her legs, letting out another groan of pleasure when he touched her wet, swollen center.

He murmured her name, circling his finger over her clitoris, then rolling it gently, kissing her just to make her completely insane. He slid his tongue between her lips the very second he slipped his finger into her, in and out in precisely the same rhythm but in opposite strokes. Tongue in, finger out. Tongue in…