Chapter 9

Liam POV

​The coordinates do not lead to a sci-fi base. They lead to a decommissioned lighthouse on a private island off the coast of Maine. It is a place of salt, rotting wood, and cold stone. It is a place for a quiet murder, not a global takeover.

​I push the boat toward the rocky shore. The waves hit the hull with a heavy thud. The engine hums. My heart is a faster rhythm.

​Eleanor has my mother. My mother is a woman who loves gardens and old books. She does not belong in this damp, gray hell.

​"Felix," I say into my phone. "Stay on the line. If I do not check in every ten minutes, send the police to Arthur Vane’s private dock. Tell them everything."

​"Liam, be careful," Felix says. "Eleanor is desperate. Desperate people do not care about the rules."

​I look at Isabella. She wears a heavy wool coat. She looks at the lighthouse. Her face is a mask of stone. She is not afraid of the dark. She is afraid of the woman waiting in it.

​"We go in through the cellar," Isabella says. "My father used this place for offshore storage. The locks are manual."

​We jump into the freezing water. We scramble over the rocks. We reach the base of the lighthouse. The air smells of dead seaweed.

​Isabella POV

​I know this place. My father brought me here once when I was ten. He told me it was where we kept the "family secrets." I thought he meant old photos. I was wrong.

​I find the iron handle in the tall grass. I pull. The hinges groan.

​We descend into the dark. Liam holds a simple flashlight. The beam cuts through the dust. We pass crates of old records. We pass dusty furniture.

​We reach the stairs. I hear a voice.

​"I always liked the sound of the ocean, Catherine. It drowns out the screaming."

​My mother. Eleanor.

​We reach the top of the stairs. The room is circular. It is filled with the orange light of a kerosene heater.

​My mother stands by the window. She holds a small, snub-nosed revolver. She looks elegant even in a drafty lighthouse.

​Catherine Sterling sits in a wooden chair. She is tied with simple rope. She looks tired. She looks small.

​"Liam," Catherine whispers. Her voice is a thread of silk. "Go away."

​"I am not leaving you, Mom," Liam says.

​He steps into the light. He does not have a gun. He has his hands. He has his pride.

​"The stone is in my pocket, Eleanor," Liam says. "Let her go. You want the Vane fortune. I want my mother. It is a simple trade."

​Eleanor smiles. It is a thin, dry smile.

​"The Vane fortune is gone, Liam. Your 'intern' saw to that. The markets are closing in on Arthur. The banks are seizing the accounts. I do not want the stone for the money."

​She looks at me.

​"I want the stone because it is the only thing Arthur loves more than himself. I want to see him watch it burn."

​Liam POV

​I see the flaw in Eleanor. She is not a businesswoman anymore. She is a woman scorned. She is a woman who wants to destroy the man who replaced her.

​I look at Isabella. She is moving slowly. She is circling the room. She stays in the shadows.

​"Arthur is on his way," I say to Eleanor. "I called him. I told him you were here. I told him you had the sapphire."

​Eleanor’s hand shakes. The gun wavers. "You did what?"

​"He will be here in twenty minutes," I lie. "He is coming with his security team. If you kill us, you stay here. You get caught. Is that what you want? To spend the rest of your life in a gray cell?"

​"He wouldn't come," Eleanor whispers. "He hates me."

​"He loves the sapphire," I say. I pull the blue stone from my pocket. It glints in the orange light. "And he knows you have it."

​Eleanor steps toward me. She wants the stone. Her greed is a physical weight in the room.

​"Give it to me," she commands.

​I look at Isabella. She is behind Eleanor now. She holds a heavy iron fire poker. Her face is pale. Her eyes are wide. She has never hit anyone in her life. She is a calculator, not a killer.

​"Liam, don't," Isabella whispers.

​Eleanor spins around. She sees Isabella.

​"You," Eleanor spits. "The disappointment. The girl who thinks a man will save her."

​She raises the gun at Isabella.

​I lunge.

​Isabella POV

​The world moves in slow motion.

​Liam throws himself at Eleanor. The gun fires. The sound is deafening in the small room.

​I hear a cry of pain.

​Liam and Eleanor crash to the floor. The kerosene heater tips over. The orange flames lick at the dry floorboards.

​"Liam!" I scream.

​I run to them. Liam is pinned under my mother. He is gasping. Blood is soaking into his dark sweater. He was hit in the shoulder.

​My mother is reaching for the gun. It is inches from her fingers.

​I grab the fire poker. I swing. I do not think about math. I do not think about logic.

​The iron hits her wrist. She screams. The gun slides toward the stairs.

​I pull Liam away from her. He is heavy. He is warm.

​"The ropes," Liam gasps. "Get my mother."

​I run to Catherine. I use a small pocketknife to saw through the ropes. My hands are shaking. The room is filling with smoke. The old wood of the lighthouse is dry. It burns fast.

​"Isabella, look out!" Catherine screams.

​I turn. My mother is standing by the window. She is not looking at us. She is looking at the sapphire.

​It fell out of Liam’s pocket. It sits near the growing fire.

​The heat is making the air shimmer.

​My mother reaches for the stone. Her sleeve catches fire. She does not seem to notice.

​"My legacy," she whispers.

​She grabs the stone. She looks at me one last time.

​"You were always too soft, Isabella. Just like your father."

​She doesn't run for the stairs. She doesn't run for the door.

​She jumps.

​Liam POV

​I hear the splash. I hear the wind.

​I struggle to my feet. My shoulder is a white-hot scream of pain.

​"Isabella! We have to go!"

​The floor is a sea of fire. Catherine is leaning on Isabella. They are moving toward the stairs.

​We scramble down the stone steps. The smoke is thick. It tastes like ash and history.

​We reach the cellar. We burst out into the night air.

​I collapse onto the rocks. The lighthouse is a torch in the dark.

​"Mom," I gasp.

​Catherine kneels next to me. She is crying. She pulls my head into her lap. "I'm here, Liam. I'm here."

​I look for Isabella.

​She is standing at the edge of the cliff. She is looking down at the dark, churning water.

​The sapphire is gone. Her mother is gone. The Vane name is burning behind her.

​She looks at me. She looks like a ghost again.

​"It's over," she says.

​But then, the sound of a helicopter cuts through the wind.

​It is not the police. It is a black chopper with the Vane logo on the side.

​Arthur.

​The helicopter hovers over the island. A spotlight hits us.

​A voice comes over a loudspeaker.

​"Isabella. Liam Sterling. I hope you saved the stone. Because if you didn't, I have no reason to keep the Sterling lawyers from filing those kidnapping charges."

​I look at Isabella. She looks at the fire.

​She reaches into the pocket of her coat.

​She pulls out the sapphire.

​She didn't let her mother take it. She switched it again.

​She looks at the helicopter. She looks at the gun Julian dropped in the cellar, which she had tucked into her waistband.

​"Liam," she says. Her voice is cold. "The war isn't over. My father is here. And he thinks he still has a daughter."

​She points the gun at the spotlight.