She didn’t move, still in shock. Dave had monitored the dive schedules and had access to the air compressor; he could remove an air intake valve and kill a diver.

All that time, all those inside diving jokes, all those days and nights and cakes and first hands celebrations… all that time, the divemaster had been her father’s killer.

“Were you with him when he died?”

“It wasn’t nice, Lizzie. I liked him.”

She choked. “Well, I loved him, you son of a bitch.”

“Hey, I was just following my benefactor’s orders. But now that I’ve gotten rid of her, and you, I’ll hide this.” He took four more steps. “Now move it. I need you to carry the tank.”

Dave Hawn. Dylan Houser. “How many identities do you have?”

“A few. Depends on the job, the treasure, the dive. Real name’s Doug Haberstroh. That’s what I’ll use when I have both scepters.”

“Are you kidding me?” She was horrified. “You killed a man for what? Fame? The recovered treasure? What?”

His expression changed. “Shut up, Lizzie. Talk time’s over. Let’s dive.”

She shook her head again, backing up, sneaking a peek to see her options. Slim to none.

All she could do was take off to either side, get back down to the road she’d driven up on, and buy time. And dodge bullets.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said sternly.

There had to be another way. Another approach. Something he’d believe, something he’d fall for. A way to get him closer, away from the water, and… over that edge. She didn’t dare look behind her to the cliffs.

But how?

Her gaze shifted to the scepter. She wet her lips, lifted a brow. “Can I touch it?”

“Very funny.” Still, he glanced at the scepter for a second. “But I understand the appeal. It is amazing.”

“Just…” She reached out her hand. “Once. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He was a ruthless killer but he was also a treasure hunter, and he understood the appeal of gold and gems. He raised the golden rod, the diamond capturing the pale blue of the cloudless sky.

“And worth gazillions.” He looked at the diamond, grinning. “Can you imagine two of them?” He stepped closer and held it up, taunting her as he had with many treasures that other divers brought out of the sea. “Two of them will set me up for life.”

But… Sam had the other one. “How do you plan to get two?”

“I’ll be the divemaster when Paxton officially salvages El Falcone next season, and I’ll get my hands on scepter number two then. Charlotte and I have it figured out.”

So he didn’t know she’d recovered the other one. Sam hadn’t told Charlotte. Sam wasn’t in on this. She sent up a silent thanks, because being betrayed by Sam would just be too much.

And Sam knew where she’d gone. Would he tell Charlotte? Oh, God, would he tell Con? She clung to the hope, but it could be hours before Con found her. She could be buried in a cave under water by then.

“Come on, Dave. Let me see it,” she begged.

He tipped it back. “Come and get it, Lizzie.”

She took a half step closer, not wanting to get too far from the cliff, her only weapon of defense at the moment. “How did you know the scepter was on Corvo?”

“I hooked up with that whackjob Solange ages ago in New York, and she put me in touch with Charlotte, who’s so determined to get these things, she married Sam for the access. It’s a small diving and treasure world, Lizzie, as you know.” He indicated the lakes at the bottom of the crater. “You’ll be missed, like your dad is.”

White-hot anger spiked through her and she lunged for the scepter, yanking it from his left hand. He waved the gun, not able to hold onto the scepter and get his finger on the trigger, just enough of a hesitation that she grabbed the scepter with both hands, wrenching it from him. She instantly rammed it onto the gun, knocking it five feet away.

“Bitch!” He leaped toward her and she dove to the side, then whipped the scepter at his back with all her strength, knocking him forward to the very edge of the cliff.

His hand clamped on her shoulder and he pulled her with him, but she instinctively collapsed her knees, taking away his support so that he fell and slid over the edge. As he did, he managed to snag the hem of her jeans, yanking her toward him.

She kicked wildly, her shoe in his face, trying to lose him and push him over the edge, but he held tight, swearing and clawing his way back up and pulling her down at the same time.

She kicked again, then pounded the scepter on his fingers, cracking his bones and drawing a loud shriek of pain. Fury, hate, and the need to make him pay for her father’s death exploded in her as she slammed at his hands over and over again, until he lost his grip on her. On the last whack, he managed to grab the scepter, using it to pull her down with him.

She cried out as she slid, grabbing the first jutting rock to hold her. He still held the bottom of the scepter, her hands clamped over the end with the diamond. She shook it hard, trying to make him let go, her other hand clinging to the rock that stuck out from the cliff.

He had nothing to hold on to but the smooth scepter.

One more violent shake, and suddenly all the weight was gone. She looked down to see his horrified face as he fell straight down onto the rocks far below, the ocean instantly closing over him.

She opened her mouth and screamed with every bit of power she had.

The waves crashed below her, and the endless, relentless wind of the Azores blew. She had rapidly draining strength left in one hand, and a priceless treasure in the other. Which hand would let go first?

Con shut off the Ducati’s engine when he saw the Gurgel, determined to use his most powerful tool: his ears.

He heard waves against rocks. A horse neighing in the distance. The burp of a frog, the squawk of an exotic bird.

And a low, desperate plea for help.

Throwing the bike down, he ran up the path toward the top of the crater. Where was she? “Lizzie!”

A soft whimper was the only response, coming from… below? He dove toward the edge of the cliff, looking down a menacing drop. She clung to a jutting stone with one hand, six or seven feet below him, her body pressed against the almost vertical cliffside.

“I’m coming,” he said, already rolling into position to climb down.

“Con.” She could barely speak, tilting her head up to him, her face filthy with sweat and blood. “Dave killed my dad. And I killed him.”

“Don’t let go, Lizzie. Hold on.” He couldn’t find a foothold, and slid the toe of one shoe into a crack. There was no way to get closer than two feet, maybe eighteen inches, and still hold on to the rocks that formed the edge of the cliff. “Can you reach me with your other hand without falling?”

“I don’t… know…” She twisted a little, and then he saw the scepter. He could reach that!

“Hold that up, Lizzie. Can you hang on to it and let me pull you up?”

She answered with a fraction of a nod and lifted her hand toward him, her grip tenuous around the diamond as she pointed the other end at him.

He closed his fist around it. “Hang on, honey. I hope to hell that diamond holds.”

He used all his strength to haul up the scepter, his wet palms slipping against the hot gold. She rose a little, dangling for a second before her feet and legs hit the cliffside.

“Try again,” she said. This time, she used the strength in her left hand to help, and he almost had her.

“Can you just get high enough to put a foot on that rock where your hand is?” he asked.

She nodded again, her face contorted as she worked with him, trying to get higher while he gave the scepter one more powerful pull. His hand slid and he squeezed, every muscle in his body taut with the effort.

“Your foot,” he urged her. “Get it up there.”

“I’m… trying…” “You’ve got to let go of the rock, Lizzie,” he said, seeing that she didn’t want to trust the diamond. “You need to hold this thing with both hands to be able to get your foot up.”