He wanted to take her with him. What he feared was that if he did, he would not bring her back.

“Christian.” He touched her cheek. “You are not my tresora.”

Her hand covered his. “I could be.”

Lucan’s sneering threat echoed in his memory: I will deal with you later. While Jamys did not doubt that Samantha would do all that she could to protect Chris and the mortals who served the jardin—she had appeared fully prepared to shoot Lucan with copper tonight—the suzerain had been a master assassin. He had spent centuries developing his skills and cunning, which were now likely as powerful as his ability to kill with a touch. Jamys also felt sure that Samantha’s love for Lucan as well as the bond she shared with him might render her incapable of ending his life. In his current condition, Lucan would not share such compassion.

“I watched my mother go crazy,” Christian said, startling him. “Every day for two years.” Her hand shook as she pressed it against her shirt, where the cross she wore concealed there hung. “I know Lucan and Sam aren’t my parents, and I’m just supposed to be the hired help, but I can’t go through that again.” Her eyes, now shimmering with tears, lifted to his. “Please don’t leave me here.”

Jamys pulled her close, and held her until her trembling quieted. Her scent became sharp with fear but not deception; she was genuinely frightened of what was happening to Lucan. As he rested his cheek against the top of her head, he thought of Angelica, and the madness that had twisted and consumed her. Discovering his mother’s insanity had made him feel the exact same helpless terror. “We must go now. Do you know how to sail?”

The lightning of her smile flashed, dazzling him. “You forget, I grew up on the beach. Not only can I swim, surf, water-ski and sail—with enough time and materials I could probably build you a boat.”

Convincing the sailboat’s owner to lend his vessel to them proved no problem; Jamys accomplished it a moment after greeting the man, when he shook his hand. Before he left, the owner showed them the supplies he had stocked for the extended fishing trip he had planned, as well as how to use his new navigational array.

While Chris went below to investigate the cabin, Jamys escorted the boat’s owner from the dock to his sports car. “You will return home and enjoy the holidays there.”

“Which home?” the man asked.

Jamys’s brows rose. “How many do you have?”

“Three. Boston, Atlanta, and Paradise.”

“You will go to Boston,” Jamys told him, deciding it would be best to keep the man as far away as possible. Out of curiosity, he asked, “Where is this Paradise?”

“It’s the name of an island off the Keys,” the man told him. “I bought it as a tax shelter. I was going to spend Christmas there. It’s a good place to be alone.”

“Where is this island?” Jamys asked.

“Ten miles east of Lower Matecumbe. The coordinates are programmed into the navigational computer. Just enter the word ‘paradise.’” The man drew out his keys and removed two. “You’ll need these to disarm the security system and get into the house.”

Jamys pocketed them and, once the man had driven off, returned to the slip, where he found Chris at the helm using the computer to chart a course.

“Commercial boats and barges use the Intracoastal as a shipping lane, plus it’s usually clogged with joyriding tourists, so we should probably head out to sea.” She pulled up a map and traced an imaginary line from the marina down to Miami. “There’s a place we can dock here that’s about five miles from the museum. Gifford isn’t lecturing there until tomorrow night, so we have plenty of time.” She glanced at him. “After we talk to him you should ask him to show the actual journals, too. He donated them to the museum, and he’s on the board, so he should have access to them.”

He heard the note of anxiety in her voice. “You are worried about Gifford?”

“No, I think you can handle him.” She frowned. “I just don’t know how much useful information we’ll get. I mean, this is the secondhand account of a dying pirate’s confession made back in the seventeenth century. Gifford also could have faked the journals. He wouldn’t be the first guy to manufacture history in order to boost his professional standing and guarantee a spot on the lecture circuit.”

Jamys would have overlooked the change in her scent, but from here they would be entirely dependent on each other. “But that is not what truly concerns you.”

She sat down in the captain’s chair. “I have to tell you something.” When he nodded, she said, “Something that may make you toss me off the boat.”

He took hold of her hand. “Nothing you could say would do that, Christian.”

“Wait until you hear it,” she warned. “The other night I got a call from Italy.”

As Jamys listened, Chris told him about her petition to be recognized as a tresora, and then related the response from Padrone Ramas. That they would assign such an impossible task to a mortal angered him, but he concealed it from her. It was only when she mentioned the council’s determination to prevent Richard Tremayne from acquiring the gems that he understood the source of her anxiety.

“So that’s why I originally offered to help you.” She sounded ashamed now. “I thought maybe I might be able to find the emeralds before you did, or send you in the wrong direction, or something like that. Then I could give the gems to the council, make them happy, get what I wanted, and save the world in the process.”

As clever as Chris was, she likely would have succeeded. “Why are you telling me now?”

“I can’t do it.” She made a helpless gesture. “Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to. I’ve been working my ass off to train and learn protocol and everything else the council requires. Becoming a tresora is all I’ve thought about for the last three years. I might not have the right bloodlines and pedigrees, but the Kyn are my family. I want them to feel the same about me. But if that means I have to step on your hopes and dreams, I have to give it up. I just can’t do that.”

She had spoken from the heart, and Jamys felt his own clench in response. The sound of her voice breaking over the last of her words made it impossible for him not to touch her. He tugged her out of the chair and into his arms. He meant only to comfort her, but she lifted her face as he bent to touch his mouth to her brow, and their lips met.

He thought of orange blossoms and honey as he kissed her, reveling in her sweetness. Surely this was why his father could not keep his hands from Jema, knowing that at any moment he could drink from such a delicious fount. The heat of her body poured over him, even as his scent spilled around them, and she sighed his name, the touch and sound of it sending a shudder through him.

Chris was the one to draw back, her face rosy. “So I take it you’re not going to throw me off the boat.”

“I think not.” No, after her admission and that kiss, he had other plans for her. But he should first determine what her desires were. “What will you do if we find the emeralds?”

“I don’t know.” She gave him an uncertain look. “Type up my résumé. Look into job retraining. Move to Nepal. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I was imagining you in Paradise,” he said honestly.

* * *

Sam carried her largest empty suitcase over to the bed, and ignored a knock on the door as she opened it.

“My lady,” Burke called. “May I join you for a moment?”

“Not a good time, Herbert.” Sam strode into the closet where she kept her work clothes, jeans, and T-shirts.

Lucan’s tresora appeared in the doorway. “Forgive me, my lady, but I need some assistance.”

“Don’t we all?” She grabbed as many hangers off her work clothes rack as she could hold and carried them out to the bed. “If Alex Keller calls, give her the number to my mobile.”

Burke came to watch her removing hangers. “I do beg your pardon, my lady, but are you packing to go somewhere?”

“Yes.” She stopped what she was doing. “Away from here. Now. You’ll just have to deal with this on your own.”

Burke began helping her. “You should know that I have sent Triple-A to Palm Beach to tow the master’s Ferrari, and he has arranged his own transportation back to the stronghold.” When she said nothing, Burke sighed. “My lady, I know at times the master can be difficult, but if you would find it in your heart to forgive whatever he has—”

“He banished Jamys, he manhandled Chris, and he tried to kill not one but two mortals.” She eyed him. “Right before he called me a whore. To my face.”

Burke paled. “Was Christian hurt?”

“Not physically. She’s taking Jamie to the airport, and then I imagine she’ll be coming back to pack up her things.” Sam retrieved some toiletries from the bathroom. “I don’t know what brought this on, but it wasn’t the usual song and dance. He crossed some serious lines tonight.”

The tresora grimaced. “Under certain circumstance I know he can be most unkind, but he always regrets it later.”

“It wasn’t just what he said or did. I shot him with two tranq darts, and they didn’t even slow him down.” For a moment Sam wondered if she was doing the right thing by walking away, but then remembered how close she’d come to shooting him in the head. “I’m going to talk to Alex, see if she knows what could have caused this. Until we know, you should send the humans home, and tell the men to stay clear of him.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Burke’s locator chimed, and he checked it. “The suzerain has just arrived.”

“Elvis has entered the building, has he?” She closed the suitcase. “For now I’ll bunk with Chris over at her place.” She didn’t want to think about long-term arrangements. “Call me if things get ugly, okay?”