“When you’re nothing but a body to be kicked aside, then no one will know what you discovered at the bottom of the ocean.” His eyes burned with the passion of a fortune hunter. “When the gold faces rise to the surface for the first time in so many years, I’ll claim them, and I’ll be interviewed, toasted, exalted.”

“No!” He didn’t deserve it.

“When I’ll gift the most important pieces to the Smithsonian, all will marvel at my philanthropy. They’ll name the exhibit after me. It’ll tour the world, and everyone will know me.” Penderghast swayed with an almost-religious fervor.

“I won’t let you,” Elle shouted.

Penderghast snapped to attention. “You’re going to stop me—how?”

“Those relics belong to Peru!”

“Oh, Peru.” He callously dismissed the place and the culture that had created them. “Who’s going to see them in Peru?”

All her doubts fell away.

She owed her great-grandparents credit for their bravery in saving the Moche antiquities.

She owed her mother for raising her with strength and principles.

She owed Adam her very life. She wasn’t going to lose it now. The blood of generations of archaeologists lent her strength. “Whatever antiquities found on the site are the last remnants of a great civilization.” Her voice quavered, but she said what needed to be said. “The Smithsonian won’t take them because they belong in Peru.”

“The Smithsonian will do what I tell them!” he shouted and took a second, swift step forward.

She leaped behind the sculpture. “Please don’t hurt me!” She didn’t have to fake her fear—or her determination.

At the sight of her peeking around the sculpture, Penderghast chuckled, then with a low, constant, mocking rumble of enjoyment, he took one slow step, then another, stalking her, dragging it out, deriving pleasure from her real, white-faced terror.

With the toe of her shoe, she unlocked the lock on the trolley wheels.

She could do this.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and took a firm grip midpoint on the sculpture.

She could do this.

But she had never hurt anyone...except him. And he hadn’t died.

This time, she could do this and finish the job.

She would not freeze. She had found a life with Adam. She would claim it.

Penderghast paced on, a weakened jackal on the hunt. He reached the halfway point. He paused.

She trembled with fear and horror. She knew what she had to do.

Penderghast took another step, then without warning—he charged.

With a warrior’s shout—maybe it was a scream—she leaned her weight into the back of the sculpture and wheeled into the charge.

She rammed into Stephen Penderghast.

She heard the sickening, squelching sound as the scupture’s points pierced his flesh.

His shriek of agony raised the hair on the back of her head.

The force of the collision sent her reeling backward.