Gift of Fire

inside. A wet piece of paper lay on the bottom of the sack, a receipt from a California pharmacy.
    Jonas suddenly remembered Slade Spencer popping pills from a small bottle with a prescription label on it.
    “Jesus H. Christ, talk about stupid.” Jonas leaped out of the boat. He balanced on the slippery rocks with unconscious ease; jumping from one to another until he was on the beach. Then he loped up the short cliff and headed back toward the villa at a run.
    He had not used the flashlight except to explore the interior of the boat locker. No need to take a chance that someone looking out a window might spot him leaving or returning to the villa.
    But someone else leaving the villa was not being nearly as cautious.
    A narrow beam of light bounced through the trees, moving in Jonas’s direction. The erratic movement of the light indicated that whoever was holding the flashlight was running at a breakneck pace.
    Jonas stopped and moved out of the way. The weak dawn light had not yet penetrated the heavy branches overhead. It would be easy to stay hidden in the shelter of the trees until he caught a glimpse of whoever was running toward the cliffs.
    It had to be Spencer, Jonas thought. No one else would know where the boat was now except the man who had moved it last night. But why the sudden rush? Spencer had been lolling around in what had appeared to be an alcoholic haze for days.
    Jonas didn’t like the question, and he liked the possible answers even less. His stomach clenched as he thought of Verity. As long as she stayed in the bedroom she would be all right, he told himself. There was no reason why she and Spencer should have encountered each other this morning.
    The flashlight darted past, accompanied by a lot of heavy breathing. Spencer was in a state of panic—Jonas could literally smell the fear on the man.
    Jonas stepped out from behind a fir and threw himself forward.
    “No!” Spencer shrieked as he was toppled to the ground. “No, goddammit,
no.
Let me go, you frigging bastard. Take your damned hands off me.
Let me go!
”
He lurched beneath Jonas’s weight, swinging wildly with the flashlight and something else—a gun.
    Jonas slashed at the flailing arm holding the pistol. Spencer fought back with an unnatural strength. The man was clearly hysterical and he struggled with frantic energy.
    The flashlight caught Jonas on his jaw. He reeled backward, seeing a few bright lights in his head. But he had a grip on Spencer’s gun arm and he hung on with grim determination, squeezing until he was sure the small bones in Spencer’s wrist had to crack.
    Spencer screamed, a high, thin wail of despair and fury, and then the gun tumbled to the soggy ground.
    Jonas drew back his arm for a solid blow, then abandoned the effort in disgust. There was no point in hitting his victim again. Spencer was racked with heavy sobs, totally incapacitated by his emotions.
    “It was an accident,” Slade gasped between gulping sobs. He lay in the mud, one arm over his face. “A damned accident. I didn’t plan it. She just showed up at the wrong time. Started yelling at me, saying she knew all about me. I had to do something, don’t you see? I had to shut her up.”
    Cold terror swept over Jonas. He grabbed a fistful of Slade’s shirt and jerked him to a sitting position. “Who did you shut up, Spencer?
Who?
”
    Spencer blinked, his gaze oddly vague. “That old bag Frampton. What else could I do? She knew, I tell you. Somehow she figured out who I was.” Spencer swallowed more sobs. “Shit, I didn’t think she’d recognize me. I lost a lot of weight in the clinic—got contacts—shaved my beard. I was so damn sure. But she knew me, the old bitch. She knew me. So I hit her and she fell, like a sack of laundry. She just fell, I tell you. I didn’t mean to kill her.”
    In spite of what he was hearing, a sickening sense of relief swept through Jonas. His first thought had been that it was Verity whom Spencer had killed.
    “You killed Maggie? This morning?” He shook Spencer. “Answer me, dammit!”
    “Have to get away. Everything’s gone wrong.” Spencer gazed wildly about, his eyes glazed. “Hazelhurst said it would. He always claimed the treasure was protected with a curse or something. Stupid old man—crazy. He was crazy, you know. I mean, those assholes in the clinic said I had a few screws loose, but Hazelhurst was downright insane.”
    Jonas had his doubts about who was crazy and who wasn’t,