Make Her Pay

The critics love Roxanne St. Claire and the Bullet Catchers

"Roxanne St. Claire leaves us wanting just one thing—

more Bullet Catchers."

—Romance Novel TV

Sexy, smart, and suspenseful.

—Mariah Stewart, New York Times bestselling author

"When it comes to dishing up great romantic suspense,

St. Claire is the author you want."

—Romantic Times

NOW YOU DIE

The incredibly talented Ms. St. Claire … keeps the audience on tenterhooks with her clever ruses, while the love scenes pulsate with sensuality and an exquisite tenderness that zeroes in on the heart.

—The Winter Haven News Chief (FL)

A nonstop thrill ride of mayhem that leaves you breathless.

—Simply Romance Reviews

THEN YOU HIDE

St. Claire aces another one!

—Romantic Times

Nothing short of spectacular, with the fast pace and the tension constantly mounting.

—Kwips and Kritiques

Knock-your-socks-off romantic suspense right from the get-go … simply stunning…. Roxanne St. Claire is a top-notch writer who has the sexiest heroes going!

—Reader to Reader Reviews

FIRST YOU RUN

Nonstop, fast-paced, action-filled romantic adventure that will keep you on the edge of your seat from beginning to end. Filled with heart-stopping suspense and sizzling-hot romance.

—Romance Novel TV

Deep-felt, exotically sensuous emotions. St. Claire continues to exceed all expectations. This one was ripped from her heart, don’t miss it.

—The Winter Haven Chief (FL)

An exciting, sexy-as-hell romantic suspense by first-rate author Roxanne St. Claire.

—Reader to Reader Reviews

If you love the Bullet Catchers and their cast of hunky investigators, full of action and drop-dead good looks, you will be fascinated with this action-packed start to an exciting trio of stories.

—Romance Reviews Today

TAKE ME TONIGHT

Fantastic characters … smart and sexy.

—All About Romance

"Roxanne St. Claire has outdone herself … you actually have to put Take Me Tonight down every once in a while just to catch your breath."

—Romance Reviews Today

THRILL ME TO DEATH

Sizzles like a hot Miami night.

—New York Times bestselling author Erica Spindler

Sultry romance with enticing suspense.

—Publishers Weekly

Fast-paced, sexy romantic suspense…. A book that will keep the reader engrossed in the story from cover to cover.

—Booklist

Roxanne St. Claire’s got the sexy bodyguard thing down to an art form….

—Michelle Buonfiglio, Lifetime TV.com

St. Claire doesn’t just push the envelope, she folds it into an intricate piece of origami for the reader’s pleasure!

—The Winter Haven News Chief (FL)

KILL ME TWICE

Sexy and scintillating … an exciting new series.

—Romantic Times

"Kill Me Twice literally vibrates off the pages with action, danger, and palpable sexual tension. St. Claire is exceptionally talented."

—The Winter Haven News Chief (FL)

Jam-packed with characters, situations, suspense, and danger. The reader will be dazzled….

—Rendezvous

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

I give this one to Mia

Your life is truly a gift from the gods, a miracle from

the angels, the star I wished upon a thousand

times before you were finally in my arms.

My tiny dancer, my precious dreamer,

my lifelong best friend, my perfect daughter …

the world would be colorless, quiet,

and lonely without you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THE RESEARCH FOR this book was great fun, and allowed me to meet and talk to some of the most outstanding individuals in the world of salvage diving and treasure hunting. I thank them all. If any errors are made regarding treasure hunting, diving, or life in the Azores, blame me, not any of these people.

In particular, I’d like to send a huge hug and kiss to Pete and Gloria Mann, treasure hunters, divers, and all around fantastic friends (and bowlers!) who acted as escorts, making sure I had access, information, and a wealth of resources to help make my story more realistic. Especially Pete, who never ignored my calls and patiently explained the secrets of the sea. You two are the real buried treasure in this book!

Also, huge props to the friendly folks at the McClarty Treasure Museum and the Mel Fisher Center in Sebastian, Florida, who opened their doors, answered my questions, and gave me a chance to touch the treasure. Anyone interested in Florida treasure hunting must start in these two places.

A special tip of the dive mask to treasure hunting legend Robert Frogfoot Weller, whose writings guided me around the ballast piles, and maritime archaeologist and conservator Wyatt Yeager, who was a great source of information regarding the care and feeding of recovered treasure.

Also, awesome writer, dear friend, and former resident of the Azores, Lara Santiago, and Petty Officer Jennifer Johnson of the United States Coast Guard, who both took time from busy schedules to answer questions and fact check.

Obrigada to Barbie Furtado, who perfected my faulty Portuguese.

There’s a crew of people who are on this ride with me book after book and I love them all. My dear writing friends, especially Kresley Cole, Kristen Painter, Cami Dalton, Allison Brennan, Toni McGee Causey, Marilyn Puett, and so many others who help me through the highs and lows and inspire me to dig deeper every time.

The entire publishing team at Pocket Books—most especially my beloved editor, Micki Nuding, along with literary agent extraordinaire, Kim Whalen. I may write the book, but without them, it would die in my computer.

And, finally, as always, my deepest gratitude to the ones who know me the best, and love me anyway, Rich, Dante & Mia. Without my family, none of this would be possible or even worth doing.

CHAPTER

       ONE

I DON’T NORMALLY make a habit of hiring thieves as security specialists. Lucy Sharpe met the cold blue gaze of a man she’d never imagined would return to the Bullet Catchers after she’d discharged him under a cloud of suspicion.

Habits can be broken. Constantine Xenakis strode across the library and dropped into an antique chair that most men avoided, but his long, rugged body dominated the dainty seat, completely at ease. Kind of like rules. And locks.

Dan Gallagher mentioned you were as confident as ever.

As I recall, that’s a big plus for this job. A flicker of a smile softened his hardened expression.

It helps, Lucy agreed. First of all, thank you again for your assist on the kidnapping in Miami. Helping to find that piece of evidence was key and helped to save several people’s lives, including Dan’s son. I’m very grateful for that.

His smile deepened to show the contrast of white teeth against tanned olive skin. I had to get creative to find a way back into this mansion, Luce.

You could have called. She nodded to the BlackBerry on her desk. The number hasn’t changed in six years.

As if you’d take my call.

In fact, she might have. I tried to find you after the truth came out on that diamond drop, Con. You were exonerated and I wanted to tell you that I was wrong.

You didn’t try very hard, then—because you can find anyone, anywhere, no matter how deep underground they go.

True, she conceded. But by then you’d already taken a new career path, and I didn’t like it. I still don’t.

Neither do I, he said quietly. That’s why I’m here.

She lifted a brow. You’ve grown a conscience after half a dozen years of helping yourself to corporate secrets, priceless jewels, and countless works of art?

He bristled and she knew she’d hit his weak spot. Let’s get this straight. I didn’t help myself to anything. I have never kept anything I’ve stolen. I have worked as a middleman between collectors with a lot of money, and the people and places who have things they want.

Lucy chuckled. I’ve heard euphemisms for stealing before, but that one is in a league of its own.

Think what you want, Lucy, but I don’t want the stuff I’ve stolen. I’ve simply used the talents I was born with—skills I unfortunately honed too well as a teenager.

You haven’t been a teenager for twenty years.

And as you recall, he continued, his voice low and deliberate, "I found that people assumed that because I had certain abilities, I automatically used them."

Definitely his weak spot. That would make the assignment, if she chose to offer it, even more challenging. "I assumed you helped yourself to diamonds because they were missing under your watch and you made no effort to dissuade me of that belief."

For the first time, he shifted his muscular frame in the undersized chair. You hired me, Luce. Don’t you trust your own judgment? Did I have to come in here and plead my case, or is the client always right?

If you wanted to stay a Bullet Catcher badly enough, it would have been a smart move. Instead he’d tested her, and they’d both lost. And, no, the client is not always right. And neither am I. I have an open mind and am a reasonable woman, Con. There was no need for you to disappear and become a professional thief. You could have been protecting those things instead of stealing them.

I made my choice, Lucy, he said simply. And now I am here to unmake it.

"Dan told me you’re serious about becoming a Bullet Catcher and I trust his judgment, she said. And, I admit, the idea intrigues me. But only if I understand why, so that I can believe this sudden change of heart is real."

It’s real, and it’s not sudden. The impetus was the case in Miami last month, when I saw one of your men in action.

Dan Gallagher is one of the best.

For good reason. So, I decided if I was going to steal anything worthwhile… Humor glinted. "It should be his job."

She almost laughed at the idea that anyone could replace the man who’d been her right hand for the last five years. The man who she was already wooing to temporarily fill her chair when her baby arrived in six months. That would be some steal.

Let’s put it this way. I don’t do things halfway. If I work for you, I’d want to be the man you call one of your best. The conviction in his voice erased any concerns that the Con Man was doing a job on her.

A few seconds crawled by, punctuated by the pendulum swing of an antique grandfather clock across the room. Finally, without taking her eyes from his, she circled the writing table, settled in her chair, and reached for the dossier she’d been reading before he arrived. She couldn’t go one more day without fulfilling this client’s request, and the perfect man for the job was right in front of her.

The assignment is tough, even for a seasoned Bullet Catcher. She handed him the file. I need a diver.

My time as a SEAL was brief, but I’m certified to dive.

And I need a thief.

He lifted his gaze from the paperwork. Excuse me?

Or someone who would know how to spot one. When he nodded, she continued. The Bullet Catcher client is Judd Paxton. Are you familiar with him?

Of course. Paxton Treasures is the most successful underwater salvage company in the world. But no one’s diving in November.

Yes, actually, someone is. Paxton is running a highly confidential dive about ten miles off the east coast of Florida that isn’t an official salvage effort.

He frowned. You mean it’s not leased or claimed with the state?

Not yet.

So there’s no state rep on board cataloging everything they recover so Florida can suck its twenty percent of the potential bounty? That makes it a lot easier to sell anything recovered for full profit on the black market.

His knowledge of the inner workings of the salvage industry was another point in his favor, even if it was gleaned from the wrong kind of experience.

Judd’s not out to cheat the state or anyone out of money, she assured him. He has a sponsor who wants to be the exclusive buyer for any treasure recovered on the dive, and that sponsor has insisted that the dive be kept secret, until they can confirm exactly what they’ve found. Evidently it will rock the salvage world, and when word gets out the area will be pounced on by poachers or, worse, pirates.

He looked intrigued. What is it?

"Are you familiar with the legend of the ship called El Falcone?"

Yes, he said with a soft laugh. I’m also familiar with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. It’s folklore, Lucy.

Well, Mr. Paxton doesn’t happen to agree with you, she replied. "The folklore of an unregistered ship that carried treasures from Havana to Lisbon would become fact if he is able to prove that’s what he’s found."

Con sifted through a few pages in the file, obviously unconvinced. There’s no manifest on record of a ship that wasn’t registered, so this is pure speculation.

The entire business of treasure hunting is speculative, but evidently some paperwork does exist, in various bits and pieces, and some of those are in the hands of Mr. Paxton’s sponsor. The dive job is so confidential, I might add, that the crew and divers don’t know what wreck they’re salvaging.

He flipped the page, read some names. Then why are they out freezing their backsides off, diving in November?

Because Paxton’s paying a fortune. So, they’re abiding by a no cell phone, no Internet access rule while on board. Since several of the Paxton ships were ambushed last season by well-organized thieves, the divers have been told the secrecy is for their safety.

He nodded. That makes sense. So what’s the assignment, protection from the potential pirates?

Not exactly. The threat, Judd thinks, is closer. They’ve recovered quite a few items already, and some are missing.

Oh. His fingers rested on the diver and crew list. So there’s a thief on board—one of the crew or divers.

It would appear so, but it’s more complex than that, she said. "In Paxton’s opinion, just as worrisome as someone helping himself to a few gold coins is a leak to the outside world when something more substantive is recovered. There are a few items in particular that are believed to have been on board El Falcone."

What are they?

A pair of gold scepters topped with matching diamonds, made for the king and queen of Portugal on the occasion of their marriage in 1862. And not just any diamonds—the Bombay Blues, two of the most valuable blue diamonds ever mined in India.

He smiled, shaking his head. That tale’s been going around the art world for years. The Bombay Blues don’t exist.

Whether or not they exist doesn’t matter. Our job isn’t to find them, she reminded him. It’s our job to get on the boat and identify the thief, and if there is a leak, stop it.

He acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. Flynn Paxton is the manager of the dive, he noted. A relative?

Stepson. Evidently they have a contentious relationship and Judd is trying to smooth things out by letting him manage a dive. You’ll go undercover as a new diver, infiltrate the crew, stop whoever has the sticky fingers, and figure out if someone’s getting word to the outside world. No one, not even Flynn, will know your real reason for being there.

"Does Flynn know about El Falcone?"

No one does.

So Judd doesn’t even trust his own stepson. Interesting. Con shifted through the file that contained in-depth backgrounds of the six divers, conservator, and crew on board the Gold Digger, then looked up at her. Anything else?

Just check in daily. If you uncover anything or anyone suspicious at all, I want to know immediately. That day, that hour. We’ll strategize together how to handle it.

No problem.

And remember that you’re not on your own. She leaned forward, pulling his attention. Bullet Catchers, even on individual assignments, work as a team. They might not be there with you, but we’re just a phone call away, giving you access to all my resources, my information, my people.

Sounds good. When do I start?

Immediately. My assistant, Avery, will arrange for you to have a bodyguard’s license to carry concealed, and get you a satellite phone and a laptop, both programmed to access this office with the press of one button or a keystroke. One of the Bullet Catcher jets is ready to take you home so you can pick up whatever you need, then fly you to the port where you’ll be taken out to the Paxton boat.

She picked up her BlackBerry to check messages, clicking through what came in during the meeting. Oh, and Con?

He closed the file. Don’t tell me. One mistake and I’m out again?

And you’ll go straight to the authorities, who I believe are looking for you in three states.

Four. He shot her a smile. But who’s counting?

I am. She held up one finger, then lowered it to point directly at him. You get one chance, Con. That’s it. Avoid trouble, stay in constant contact, and do the job exactly as a Bullet Catcher would.

And then?

She tilted her head to the side. Those four states will never have heard of you, and you can arm wrestle Dan for his job.

Tell him to lift weights. He gave her a cocky wink. Thanks, Luce.

She was still looking at the empty doorway after he left, when Jack turned the corner and stepped into her line of vision.

What are you staring at, Lucinda? he asked, leaning against the jamb with his arms crossed and his smile aimed at her.

The man I’m going to marry. She got up to meet him for an embrace, which was as tender as the kiss he added. The father of this baby I’m carrying.

He tilted her chin to look into her eyes. You’re not going to change your mind, are you?

She laughed. Why would you even ask about that?

Because this … He cupped her chin and scrutinized her face. Is that very rare expression you wear when you’re second-guessing yourself.

God, he knew her like no other man ever had. Did you see the man who was just in here?

I saw someone leave, but I didn’t talk to him. New client?

New hire.

Really? You didn’t mention you were hiring someone.

I wasn’t sure I would, until the moment I handed him the Paxton file.

So you found the diver you wanted.

I found the thief I wanted.

He inched back. "A thief?"

Reformed. Or so he says. He’s also a former Bullet Catcher, who I let go after some diamonds were missing from a delivery out of South Africa. He was eventually vindicated and cleared, but by the time that happened, he’d pretty much adopted the ‘if you can’t convince them you’re innocent, then be guilty’ mind-set, and went back to doing what he has an amazing gift for doing: taking stuff that doesn’t belong to him.

Jack dropped on the sofa, studying her with a quizzical look. So you brought him on board for just this job?

We’ll see. He wants more. He wants Dan’s job.

That got a soft hoot. Not that I wouldn’t be happy to see my old rival for your affections gone, but I seriously doubt Gallagher’s going anywhere but in that chair … He pointed to her desk. At least for the first few weeks of Baby Culver’s life.

I’m still figuring that out, she said.

He reached for her and eased her next to him, a familiar and comfortable hand on her still-flat belly. How is my boy, by the way?

She’s fine. I’m not going to stop working, Jack, she said, a vague warning in her voice.

He just laughed. No more than the earth will stop revolving. But you are going to have to restructure to some degree.

To some degree. To the degree where I hire thieves to protect gold and diamonds?

Oh, come on, Luce. That’s exactly why you did it: to test his loyalty and character.

"You know me too well." She nuzzled closer to him, her worries evaporating.

So what happens if he fails?

I could lose one of my most important clients.

And, worse, she’d lose the chance to see Con Xenakis become the man he wanted to be.

The treasure chest. The recovery room. The booty box. The gold hold.

No matter what the crew nicknamed the dive ship’s lab, where recovered treasure was bathed in acid and ash, tagged and numbered, then electrolyzed to its original glory, the place was fairly easy to break into.

But even if it hadn’t been, Lizzie Dare would have made a go of it tonight.

Her watch alarm vibrated at three a.m., when the hundred-and-twenty-foot vessel was silent but for the hum of the generators. The other divers and the captain and crew were asleep in their cabins.

Secure in the fact that Flynn Paxton was on his boat anchored a hundred and fifty feet away, and certain that by tomorrow she’d never get her hands on the beaded silver chain that had been recovered that afternoon, she tiptoed barefoot out of her bunk.

Her feet soundless on the planks of teak of the narrow hallway of the quarters deck, she barely breathed as she glanced up the stairs to the main deck, where all was dark and silent after a day of diving, searching, and celebrating the recovery. If she were caught now, her excuse would be needing air. But once she turned the corner and took the stairs below, she’d have a hard time explaining herself.

Pausing for a second, she pulled a dark hooded jersey around her, took a deep breath, and darted to the steps.

At the bottom, the generators were louder, the engines and electrical systems clunking softly. Grasping the key she’d taken from Charlotte’s stateroom during the hoopla when one of the other divers had emerged from the sea holding the chain, she headed toward the lab. In the midst of the chaotic celebration, it had been easy to slip down to the conservator’s stateroom and steal the key unnoticed. She’d return it tomorrow while Charlotte and Sam Gorman had breakfast, no one the wiser.

The metal hatch of the cleaning lab squeaked, making her cringe, then she entered to suck in a noseful of salty muriatic acid lingering in the air.

Inside it was dark, except for one wedge of pale moonlight through skinny horizontal slatted portholes. She didn’t need much light. She’d been in the lab enough times to know exactly how the worktables were arranged and where the chain would be hanging on alligator clips in an electrolysis tank.

She took a few steps to the left, reached out to touch the table, then glided her hands to the row of tanks. From her jacket pocket she pulled out a latex glove, slipped it on, then dragged her fingertips over the thin metal bar over the stainless steel plate.

But there were no clips draped with a silver beaded chain.

Hadn’t Charlotte started the electrolysis yet? She’d naturally done the initial cleaning that afternoon, and then she should have prepped the chain for electrolysis that would take up to twenty-four hours.

But the tanks weren’t even on; there was no soft vibration of a low-volt current. So where had she put the chain?

Nitric baths, no doubt. Damn. There were beads on the chain and it wasn’t all silver so Charlotte probably added a wash of nitric acid as an in-between step. Getting the chain out of a nitric solution would be much tougher.

But not impossible.

She pulled the other glove from her other pocket and headed to the closet-sized room at the opposite end of the lab, where the nitric acid baths were given to the treasure. They’d also