“Her.” David waved a hand at Maddie.
Both paramedics turned to look at her. She shrugged. Yes, she’d taken a knock to the head, but she wasn’t about to go to the hospital. Not when Cassie was still AWOL.
With her index finger she drew a circle in the air near her temple. “Coconut must have knocked him loopy,” she said. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
The paramedics nodded and started hauling him away.
“Dammit, Maddie,” David said, coming up from the stretcher in one lumbering movement. Apparently he’d gotten his breath back. “You get on this stretcher right now.” He pointed at the gurney, looking like a disgruntled father chastising his child.
That attitude wasn’t going to wash with her. “No.”
“You got hit on the head.”
“It’s nothing. I don’t even have a headache.”
“Liar.”
How did he know she was lying? Her head hurt like the dickens but she was not going to the hospital. She couldn’t show weakness. Especially not now. Not when her twin sister had disappeared again. Not in front of this strength-is-everything FBI agent.
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“So no one goes to the hospital?” one paramedic asked.
“She does.” David jerked a thumb at Maddie at the same time she said, “He goes.”
“You both look fine to me,” said the second paramedic.
“She got hit on the head by a coconut and she was unconscious for several minutes,” David said.
“I thought you said he got hit by the coconut.” The first paramedic raised his eyebrows at Maddie.
“Okay, so I lied, but I’m not going to the hospital.” She shifted her gaze to David. “And you can’t make me.”
“Fine, great, go ahead, suffer the consequences of a concussion.” He threw his hands up in the air, pivoted on his heel and stormed away.
“Hey, wait, where are you going?” Maddie took off after him, leaving the paramedics standing there perplexed.
“To do my job,” he called over his shoulder.
“I’m coming with you.” She scurried to catch up.
“Of course you are,” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Heaven forbid you trust me to perform my duties. You would rather risk your health than have a little faith in me.”
“It’s nothing personal.”
They were walking abreast down the beach toward Philpot’s house. The guests had scattered but the altar remained and the tiki torches still burned. It looked romantic in a rather wistful sort of way.
“Sure as hell feels personal,” he grumbled.
Maddie put a hand on his arm to stop him. She tried not to notice how strong his biceps were or how her fingers seemed to sizzle against his arm. “Where do we go from here?”
“I’m going to call the local police for help searching Philpot’s house and locating the dune buggy.”
“Because of the wedding you’re more convinced than ever that Cassie is a part of this, aren’t you?”
His eyes met hers. His gaze was not unkind. “How can you continue to deny her obvious involvement?”
“She’s my sister. I just know.”
“Tell me, Maddie, what would it take for me to earn such blind loyalty from you?”
The question knocked her off guard. “Don’t ever let me down,” she blurted.
He stared at her and their gazes fused. An invisible, high-energy current passed between them. Something unspoken but so real Maddie felt the pressure in the very center of her body.
“Good to know,” he said at last. “Good to know.”
Two hours later after David and the Grand Cayman police had thoroughly searched Philpot’s mansion and found not even a hint of the Cézanne, David received a call from another contingency of police officers who had been searching the island for Shriver and Cassie.
They were standing in Philpot’s living room, Maddie struggling to pretend her head wasn’t still throbbing from the coconut. David hung up the phone and turned to her. “They found the dune buggy at Rum Point Landing.”
Maddie plastered a palm against her throat. “And Cassie?”
He shook his head. “No sign of her.”
“What now?”
“We’re going to head on over to the dune buggy, see if we can find some clues.”
Maddie noticed he said
we.
For some crazy reason her heart did a somersault.
“I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”
It took them only ten minutes to reach Rum Point Landing. David met with the police officer who’d found the dune buggy while Maddie gazed out at the ocean.
Cassie, where are you? Are you okay?
She sent her questions into the ether, hoping her twin would pick up the telepathy.
David touched her shoulder lightly. “Beautiful night.”
“Yes.”
“You want to help me go over the dune buggy?”
“Wouldn’t that be breaking protocol? What if I found incriminating evidence and destroyed it?”
“Would you do that?” he asked.
“I might,” she admitted.
He looked more than disappointed in her answer. He shook his head. “Then you better just sit on the dock and wait for me.”
She’d just banished herself and she couldn’t say why she’d done it. With a lump in her throat, she plunked down on the dock while David pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He took the flashlight one of the officers had given him and began processing the dune buggy for evidence.
Hugging her knees to her chest, she watched him work in the limited illumination from his flashlight. He looked so stern, so serious. He studiously pored over the vehicle, plodding, methodical, not missing a thing. She could tell he was damned good at his job and that didn’t bode well for her sister.
“Maddie,” he said.
“Yes?”
He held something in the palm of his hand. “Could you come here a minute?”
She rose to her feet, dusting off her bottom with both hands and half-heartedly ambled over. Maybe if she walked slowly enough his discovery would evaporate into thin air.
No such luck.
“What is it?” she asked once she’d reached him. She sounded quarrelsome and she knew it.
“Does this belong to your sister?” He shone the light on his palm and a small cross earring with a ruby in the center glistened up at her.
She caught her breath. She had bought those earrings for Cassie on their twenty-second birthday the year they had lived in Madrid.
With the uncanny intuition of a twin, she knew the earring was a clue Cassie had intentionally left behind for her to find. She also understood that if her sister had left a clue, it meant she was under Shriver’s control and not free to get away or call her for help.
Or, she could have just lost the earring.
But Maddie didn’t believe that, not for a second.
“Well?” David asked.
“It’s hers.” Should she tell him the rest? Maddie mulled over her choices. Should she mention her suspicions to David or should she keep quiet and go after Cassie on her own?
“And . . . ?” He cocked his head, looked at her expectantly. He seemed to know she was holding out on him.
“There is no and.”
“I can read it on your face, Maddie. What aren’t you telling me?”
Her gaze met his and she knew he wasn’t going to let her get away with not talking. She might as well tell him.
That’s right, his eyes coaxed. Give it up.
Knowing she really didn’t have much of a choice, Maddie confessed. “Shriver’s taking her to Madrid.”
SEVEN
W
ITH THE HELP
of the Grand Cayman police, David gained access to Shriver’s hotel room at the Hyatt Regency on Seven Mile Beach. It was a quarter past eleven when he and Maddie stepped into the room.
David had one thing on his mind—find out where Shriver had gone. He felt like he was rapidly losing control of the investigation and he hated feeling stymied. The fiasco at Dead Man’s Bay had dinged his ego. Shriver had been within his grasp and he’d let him get away. He had to do something, anything, to regain his sense of power.
The room was a wreck with the bedcovers strewn across the floor, dresser drawers pulled out and the closet door wide open. Someone had left in a big rush.
Maddie took one look at the room, slumped into a nearby chair and dropped her head in her hands.
Poor woman. She was exhausted. Dark circles ringed her eyes and she kept rubbing her temple. He knew she had a pounding headache from the coconut, but he also knew there was no way she would admit it.
She was tough. He’d grant her that.
Concern for her softened his heart. He had an uncharacteristically sentimental urge to draw her into his arms and promise her that everything would be all right.
Knock it off, Marshall. No getting sloppy over a suspect’s sister.
“Why do you believe Cassie and Shriver might have gone to Madrid?” he asked more to distract himself than anything else and sauntered into the bathroom.
The shower curtain was half-in, half-out of the tub, and there was water on the floor. Shriver hadn’t been gone long. Two hours. Three, tops. He and Cassie might even still be on the island. The local authorities were checking departing flights for him.
“Cassie loves Madrid.” Maddie’s voice sounded heavy, defeated. “We lived there for a year when we were in college. She worked at the Museo del Prado.”
“What?” David poked his head out of the bathroom. “What was that last part?”
“Cassie worked at the Prado.”
“She knows the museum inside out?”
“Yes.”
David exhaled loudly. Ho boy, this tidbit of information had all the earmarks of big trouble.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Maddie stood and marched over to square off with him. The pulse in her neck thumped. Like an ace poker player he was beginning to recognize her tell. Whenever she was gearing up to give him a hard time that pulse point danced.
“Reading minds now, are we?”
She sank her hands on her hips. “You’re thinking she and Shriver are going to rob the Prado.”
“I never said that.” Her feistiness amused him. Too bad their timing was off. If they’d met under different circumstances he would be chasing her hot and heavy.
“My sister is not a thief.”
“Much as I like a good fight, we’ve been over this ground before. Besides, I’ve got work to do. If you’ll excuse me.” He moved past her, his arm barely brushing hers.
That light touch should have been nothing.
Instead, it was everything.
Flesh against flesh. Heat against heat. Scent against scent. He’d never been more aware of anything in his entire life than the brief whisper of her skin scorching his. Holy cow, he had it bad and that wasn’t good.
Mentally, he shook himself and stalked over to the bedside table looking for anything to divert his attention from his damnable attraction to the woman staring after him.
Did she feel it too?
He didn’t trust himself to look at her. If he saw the same desire written across her face, he would want her even more.
And he couldn’t have her.
At least not yet. Not as long as her sister was a robbery suspect.
He tried to concentrate on searching for clues but his ears were highly attuned to the sound of her breathing. Was it his imagination or was she raspy with desire?
David glanced down at the notepad resting on the table and noticed there were indentations in the paper from where someone had written on the top sheet and then ripped it off.
“Do you have a pencil?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so. Hang on.” She dug in her shoulder bag, extracted a mechanical pencil and rolled down the lead for him. “Here.”
Their fingers connected when she passed the pencil over and he tried to ignore the inferno blasting up his arm but the blistering sensation was like ignoring the sun.
Never mind. Do your job.
He took the pencil and rubbed the lead across the indentations.
“Let me see.” Maddie stood next to him, trying to peer over his shoulder. Her warm breath stirred the hairs on the nape of his neck and he felt himself stiffen like a starched shirt at a Chinese laundry.
“Jeez, woman,” he barked. “Give me some breathing room.”
“Okay, sorry.” She held her palms up in a gesture of surrender and thankfully, stepped away.
David glanced at the paper in his hand. The pencil rubbing revealed not only the address of the Louvre museum, but also flight information to Paris.
“Well? What does it say?”
“I’m afraid this blows your Madrid theory all to hell.”
“How’s that?”
He passed her the paper.
“They’re headed for Paris?” Maddie frowned. She seemed confused and for once David wasn’t excited about being right.
“It looks like the earring your sister left behind wasn’t a clue at all, but a red herring. If that’s the case, it means unequivocally that Cassie is working with Shriver. And I think I know why they’re going to Paris. We messed up Shriver’s connection with Philpot. He’s desperate to find a way to unload the Cézanne and Jerome Levy, the one man who can help him out of his pickle, lives in Paris.”
“That’s not what it means at all. I think the Paris info is the red herring. Shriver wanted you to fall for it and take off to Paris.”
“Now why would he do that?”
“Because he’s going to force Cassie to help him rob the Prado. The curator, Isabella Vasquez, is a friend of Cassie’s and I’m certain that’s why Shriver took her hostage,” she said, valiantly trying to support her own desperate theory.
Her chin was notched in the air, her hands fisted at her sides, her eyes glistening in defiance.
“I’m sorry, Maddie, but as far as I’m concerned this evidence points to Cassie’s direct involvement. You’re more than welcome to go to Madrid, but I’m booking the next flight to Paris.”
“And while you’re mucking around in Paris, Shriver will be using my sister’s connections to rob the Prado.”
“You’re wrong.”
The pulse point in her throat was beating triple time. “Now I’m beginning to understand why you’ve been chasing Shriver for all these years but haven’t caught him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” David glared. She’d gone straight for the jugular. The woman knew how to slice a man deep.