Page 56 of Vows of Revenge

‘And then you could do what you’d intended to do right from the very start—make me a weapon to use against my father.’ Her voice twisted. ‘For money. For profit.’

Her eyes were on him still, but now there was a bleakness in them that struck him like a blow. And she struck him another blow with her next words, cutting him to the very quick.

‘You once told me that there was a difference between using opportunities that presented themselves and using people to achieve them.’ Her voice was hollow. ‘But that wasn’t a differenceyoutook any notice of. I was an opportunity presenting itself to you and you took full advantage. You lied to me...made a fool of me...used me.’

She pushed her chair back, got to her feet. She looked down at him. Spoke again. But now her voice was hard. As hard as her expression. As hard as the look in her eyes.

‘I thought you were different from my father, not cut from the same vile cloth.’ She drew a breath, and he heard it rasp in her throat. ‘How wrong I was.’

She turned away and walked back to the yacht, coffee untouched. There was something about the way she was walking, about the way her shoulders were hunching, her head dropping. He launched to his feet—then realised he had to pay for the undrunk coffee. He snatched out his wallet and dropped a note on the table, then strode after her rapidly.

He had to catch up with her.

Had to tell her what he had flown to Spain to tell her—what he would cross the world to tell her.

If she would let him...

She gained the gangplank and ran up it, head still bowed.

Someone stepped into his path. Not her mother, but her stepfather.

‘Stay away from her, Mr Kallinikos. You’ve done quite enough damage. Leave our family alone.’

He spoke calmly, but with the authority of his years, of his place as Kassia’s guardian right now. Keeping her safe from men who made use of her...

Damos looked past him. A taxi was pulling up on the quayside. Kassia and her mother were walking down the gangplank. Kassia’s mother had her arm protectively around her daughter, despite the disparity in their heights. Kassia’s head was turned away from him. A steward was following them with their suitcases.

Kassia’s stepfather had gone to open the door of the taxi, ushering in his wife and stepdaughter. The steward put the suitcases in the boot, and Kassia’s stepfather got into the front passenger seat.

The taxi moved off. Damos watched it go.

Then the taxi turned out of the marina into the traffic. Lost to sight.

Like Kassia—lost.

Damos went on staring. Though his eyes were blind.

CHAPTER TWELVE

KASSIAPOSITIONEDTHEtip of her trowel over the protruding shard. She had to work carefully. And work she must. Without work she could not exist. Without work she would be a ghost. Without work she would be defenceless. Work could fill her days, her mind, her thoughts.

But it could not fill her nights.

That was the time she dreaded—feared. Nights brought thoughts, and thoughts brought memories, and memories brought dreams.

And dreams brought nightmares...

Her brow furrowed now, as she teased the earth from the shard. This was the last day of the dig and she wanted to get this shard out—and those that went with it. She was the last person in the trench, for the site was being shut down for overwintering. All the finds were packed away, all the notes and catalogues boxed up to be taken back to the museum. Her winter would be filled with completing the work done so far—typing up the paperwork, getting restoration work underway in the lab, choosing what should go on display, what should be sent to other museums, what archived.

Winter would keep her busy. And that was essential.

How long ago summer was. It was late autumn now, and the weather was breaking. Rain squalls were not uncommon, and a chill wind was sweeping down off the steppes. Time to hunker down...stay warm and dry.

Memory pierced... She and Damos, lolling by the roaring fire in the castle in the Highlands, rain spattering on the leaded windows, and she and he playing chess. Her mouth twisted and she dug the tip of her trowel in with more ferocity than she should. Damos had run circles around her playing chess. Just as he’d run circles around her in all the time he’d spent with her. Right from the very start.

She lifted her head. This trench, deserted but for herself, was an extension of where she’d been working all those months ago—the first time she had ever set eyes on Damos Kallinikos.

She felt her vision smear and dropped her head again. Her hand gripped the trowel so tightly her earth-stained hands went white. Dimly, she heard voices nearby, but her vision was still smeared.

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