Heart of a Thief

And now he was being set up—by Antonio, this bodyguard, don Fernando, probably even Sofia. They were all in on this plan.

And he was the perfect target—a Gypsy with a criminal background. No one would doubt his guilt.

“Ya,” Antonio said as he opened the safe. He pulled out a black velvet pouch containing ancient necklace, opened it and grinned. Even from a distance, Luke could see the triumph on his face.

But then the bodyguard stepped behind Antonio, drew his gun and pressed it against his head.

Luke’s heart stopped. Sofia turned rigid in his arms.

Across the room, Antonio’s smile froze, faded. His eyes bulged, his mouth slackened, like a fish splayed at the local mercado.

No one moved. The air settled, condensed, suddenly too thick, too hot to breathe. Silence swelled like a primal shriek.

The sharp pop exploded in the stillness. Sofia gasped, and Luke tightened his hand on her mouth—too late. The killer swiveled toward the curtains and raised his gun.

Luke stared down the barrel of the SIG, and the hairs on the nape of his neck rose. Only his heart went berserk, thundering, lunging, careening in his chest, slamming the blood through his skull.

Damn. He’d known this woman was trouble.

And now, because of her, he was going to die.

Chapter 2

Sofia’s nerves quaked. Her blood pounded through her skull with a terrified rush. She stared into the killer’s eyes—black, cold, aware—and her stomach plummeted, freefalling into hysteria.

He’d heard her gasp. He knew they were here, hiding behind the curtains.

And now he was going to kill them.

Run! The command sliced through her frenzied brain, frantic, a shriek of delirious fear. But her limbs were rigid, petrified into place.

Paco stepped toward them, and her panic swelled. Dread churned from her belly to her throat, swamping it with bile. She gasped for air, tugging in fast, ragged pants but Luke’s hand pressed against her mouth, and the drapes squeezed down, strangling the breath from her lungs. Terror reeked from her pores.

“¿Han buscado aquí?” a voice called from the hall, and the killer paused. His eyes narrowed, as if he were weighing, calculating, and then he glanced at the library door.

Sofia’s pulse stuttered, and a crazed hope spun through her head. Let him leave. Oh, God, please let him leave.

But he turned back.

They were going to die. There was no way out. Only Luke’s iron arm pinning her waist and the muscled wall of his chest kept her from collapse.

But then Paco bent and scooped the black velvet pouch from the floor. He stepped around Antonio and strode from view.

Through the thundering of her pulse she heard his footsteps recede, the snick of the door as it closed.

Nothing moved.

She didn’t breathe.

Then Luke loosened his arm and dropped his hand. And she grabbed the drape and sucked in air, gulping, heaving, while a disjointed trembling invaded her limbs. Oh, God. They’d nearly died.

“Let’s go.” Luke’s low voice rasped near her ear. He pushed her toward the curtains, and she stumbled out, hardly able to move.

Her skin felt chilled. Her heart still hammered in her chest. And her head seemed light, off-kilter, as if not quite connected to her neck.

Luke strode over to Antonio and dropped to one knee. His wide shoulders strained beneath his tuxedo. His black hair gleamed in the dim light.

He rolled the man over, loosened his tie, and held his fingers to his throat. He waited a beat, then ripped open Antonio’s shirt and bent his head.

Sofia inched closer as he looked up. His grim, cognac-colored eyes met hers. “He’s dead.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the stench of blood made her stomach roil. She managed a nod, wrapped her arms around her waist, avoided looking at Antonio’s head. Instead, she glanced lower, to the black crescent-shaped tattoo exposed on his chest.

A weird thing to notice at a time like this. And so insignificant when the man was dead. Dead.

As if that ancient curse had come true.

She pressed her trembling hand to her lips, shuddered hard, willed that crazy thought away. The entire night had been a shock. The horrific murders, the theft. She swayed again, hugging herself harder to quell the hysteria rising inside. That beautiful, magical necklace was gone.

And seeing Luke after all this time. Luke—the man she’d once loved beyond reason. The man who’d enthralled her with his safe-cracking talent, mesmerized her with his brilliant mind.

The man who now scowled at her with rage and bitterness in his whiskey-hued eyes.

She eyed the implacable lines of his face, his unyielding jaw, that feral maleness that even now—even after all that pain—made everything primitive inside her go wild.

He rose to his feet in a powerful movement and stalked across the library to the door. Her stomach balled at the anger pounding his steps. Surely he didn’t blame her for Antonio’s death?

He pressed his ear to the door, waited, then edged it open and peeked out. “It’s clear. Come on.” His words were curt, clipped.

She forced aside the stab of hurt. His opinion of her didn’t matter right now, and neither did their past. They needed to get out of here, get to safety. Warn don Fernando about Paco. Report the murder and theft. Because if that killer came back…

She shivered, then hurried across the library to the door. Even with her high heels on, she had to look up to meet Luke’s eyes. “Which way should we go?”

He eased the door shut again. His mouth was grim, the hard, shadowed planes of his face taut. “They’ll have the exits blocked. We’ll have to leave through the medieval bolt-hole.”

She blinked. “What? We can’t leave the palace. We have to find the police.”

He shot her a look of disbelief. “And let them arrest us?”

“Arrest us?” Shock rippled through her. “But why would they do that? We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You think they’ll believe that?”

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t they?”

His dark brows rose. “Because you made the replica. Because I’m in charge of security. Because my prints are now on that safe—and that’s my partner lying there dead. Of course they’re going to suspect us.”

“But we didn’t do anything wrong. Antonio arranged it all. And I made the decoy to fool potential thieves, not to steal the necklace.”

“Right.” He jerked his head toward the safe. “You think he’ll testify on your behalf?”

She glanced back at Antonio’s body, his head lying in a puddle of blood, and her gut made a sickening roll. He was right. “But other people know. Don Fernando—”

“Don Fernando?” He made a sound of disgust. “You can’t be that naive. Who do you think set this up?”

“That’s ridiculous. Don Fernando would never—”

“Never what?” He leaned toward her, his jaw rigid, anger sparking his eyes. “Never lie? Never fake a theft? Never frame some Gypsy scum for a crime he didn’t commit?”

She lifted her palms, eased out her breath. “Look, I know you don’t like him—”

“Like him?” His laugh was bitter, raw. He moved closer and fury radiated from him in waves. “That man ruined everything I’d ever worked for. My reputation, my career. Hell, if he hadn’t graciously dropped the charges, I’d be in prison right now for something I didn’t do.”

And she’d sided with don Fernando. She heard the anger whipping his voice, the blame. He thought she should have supported him.

Her stomach twisted. She’d wanted to believe him. Dear God, how she’d wanted to believe him. She’d loved him desperately, insanely. He’d been her world, the most amazing man she knew.

His effect on her had been instant, shocking. Even now, just one glance from those electric eyes brought back that rush of delirious wanting, those shivers of primal desire.

But she couldn’t ignore the proof. Even that blinding haze of love, that frantic need to believe him hadn’t been enough to erase the facts. He’d used her to steal those gems.

But as she stood before him now, feeling his resentment, his rage, doubt slithered through her, and a sick, queasy sensation wormed into her gut. Then why the outrage? If he’d been guilty, then why was he so angry at her, especially after all these years?

Could she have been wrong? Dread spiraled through her, and she forced the thought from her mind. She couldn’t bear to think of that now.

“Look,” he said. His deep voice vibrated with disgust.

“I’m leaving. You can hang around here if you want. Wait for the bodyguard to come back and kill you. Or wait for the police, so you can explain about the corpse.”

Her stomach dipped. “They won’t blame us for that?”

“I don’t know what they’ll do.” His eyes stayed hard, accusing. “I don’t even know who’s involved here.”

Meaning he still didn’t fully trust her.

Sofia tamped back a sharp jab of hurt. She understood his suspicions. She felt just as confused. But she had nothing to do with that theft. She’d never endanger that necklace.

And neither would don Fernando. That man was too kind, too generous to hurt anyone, and he cared far too deeply about antiquities to ever arrange a theft.

But Luke was right about one thing. Other than Paco, they didn’t know who was involved in this, which meant that they had to be careful.

She tugged in her breath, then exhaled. “Okay, you’re right. We’d better hide.” At least until the killer was caught.

“Keep quiet,” he cautioned and opened the door. “And stay close.”

As if he needed to warn her. That killer was out there. Her gaze flicked around the deserted hallway, and uneasiness crept through her chest. He could be lurking in a side room, just waiting for them to pass….

Luke took off, and she scurried behind him, cursing the tight gown and flimsy shoes that hindered her movements, the way her high heels clicked on the marble floor, the stark tat-tat-tat echoing down the corridor like a nervous drum.

They passed through unused rooms, detoured down endless halls, and with every step, her anxiety built. Her breathing turned shallow and fast. That awful pounding returned to her head. She hugged Luke’s steps, seeking the safety of those wide shoulders, wanting to disappear into his skin.

Then, without warning, he stopped. He held out his muscled arm, and she bumped against him, barely staying upright.

“What?” she whispered. Her pulse notched up. Her heart shifted into her throat.

“Shh,” he hissed, and she heard a voice in the hallway ahead.

A familiar voice. Her breath rushed out. She sagged and pressed her hand to her chest. “It’s don Fernando.” Thank goodness she’d found him. Now she could tell him what Paco had done.

But Luke grabbed her arm. “This way. Hurry up.”

“Wait.” She pulled her arm free, and he stopped. “I need to talk to him.”

His eyes filled with disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“No, listen.” She stretched out her hand, but a flush climbed up his dark cheeks. And then he moved farther away.

“Luke, please,” she said, but he took another step back. Her stomach plunged. He didn’t understand. He probably thought she was going to betray him. And she didn’t have time to explain.

She glanced up the hall, and a sick flutter formed in her throat. She needed to leave with Luke. She understood that.

But she couldn’t abandon don Fernando. She owed her patron everything, more than Luke could know—her education, her career. He’d given her the opportunity to follow her dream, acceptance into the antiquities world, the only home she’d ever known.

“I just need a second,” she said. “I just have to tell him…”

But Luke only turned and stalked off.

She watched him disappear into a side room, torn by the overwhelming urge to race after him, to shelter herself in his strength. To beg him to listen, to trust her, to let her explain.

But she couldn’t turn her back on the man who’d helped her, the man who’d been like a father to her. She forced her gaze back to the hall where she’d heard her patron. She only needed to warn him, just whisper a word and then go.

She swallowed, slipped off her shoes to lessen the noise, then inched forward and peeked around the corner. A policeman, a guardia civil in a khaki green uniform stood several yards away, talking to another man. Don Fernando? She couldn’t tell from this angle; the guardia blocked her view. But hadn’t she just heard her patron’s voice?

She hesitated, even more uncertain now. After what Luke said, she didn’t dare involve the police. But she still had to warn don Fernando.

But then the guardia wheeled around and pulled out his gun. “Pare. No se mueva,” he commanded.

Don’t move? Her heart faltered, and she froze. What was he doing? Why did he have his weapon trained on her?

Feeling surreal, as if her world had just spun loose, she gaped at the guardia civil. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she protested. “No hice nada.”

But then Paco sauntered forward, and her throat closed. Her heart nearly popped from her chest.

The killer. Oh, God. He was here.

And where was don Fernando?

Paco stopped beside the policeman, and his black eyes settled on hers. Her palms turned moist. Fear coursed through her, flooding her cells, blanking her mind.

For an eternity, his eyes stayed on hers—brittle, cold, deadly. Then recognition flared.

He knew.

Her stomach pitched. The walls pushed down. A dull ringing clanged in her skull.

He drew his gun. The gun he’d used to kill Antonio. Her mind flashed to Antonio’s terrified eyes, the blood oozing from his flesh.

The bodyguard raised his gun, squinted one eye. And she knew he was going to shoot.

Her nerves zapped; adrenaline blazed through her blood. She whirled, raced around the corner toward the room where Luke had gone. “Alto!” the guardia shouted, and her panic surged.

A gun went off. Fierce fire scorched through her calf. She gasped, staggered, nearly fell. She’d been shot!

Her leg buckled and burned. She cried out at the vicious pain. But footsteps hammered behind her, and she forced herself to rush on.

Mercifully, the door Luke had gone through hung open, and she dashed inside. She glanced around frantically, but he wasn’t there. A wild sob formed in her throat. “Luke! Luke!” Where on earth had he gone?

Panicking, she raced through the room to the opposite door, then tore down another long hall. Her lungs seared. Her heart went wild. The agony in her leg blurred her sight. And she knew she couldn’t last. They were going to catch her. She was going to die.

Then a man stepped out from a doorway, and she shrieked. Luke. He grabbed her arm, jerked her into the room, then slammed and locked the door.

His face looked dangerous, the angles more rigid than she’d ever seen. He didn’t pause. He yanked her along, crossing to the far wall, muttering a stream of obscenities in Spanish.

At the wall, he released her arm. She heaved in air. Her body shook. Blazing heat flamed through her calf.

He pulled back an ancient tapestry and shoved it toward her. “Hold this out of the way.” It wasn’t a request.

Her heart still ramming against her rib cage, she grabbed the tapestry and pulled it back. He ran his hands over the wooden panels on the wall, searching, glowering.

She heard a sound in the hall and glanced back. The doorknob rattled. Someone banged on the wood. Fear plucked at her nerves, constricted her throat. They had to get out of here—fast.

Luke pulled one of the panels, and her gaze swung back. A small door opened, exposing a dark passage carved through the stone. The ancient bolt-hole. Cold, musty air wafted out.

“Get in,” he said.

Knowing she had no choice, she ducked and stepped inside. The freezing stones were a shock on her bare feet, and she realized she still clutched her shoes. But the shoes would have to wait; there was no room to maneuver inside the passage, barely enough to creep through. The dank, clammy space had obviously been chiseled from the stone for a desperate escape if disaster loomed.

She shuddered. This night had been a disaster, all right. She’d been chased. Nearly arrested. Shot.

Luke crouched and followed her into the passage. His broad shoulders brushed against the walls. He dug a penlight out of his pocket and held it out. “Hold this.”

She took it, and he closed the door.

They were instantly plunged into darkness. She twisted the pen, and the narrow light came on, gleaming off the uneven stones.

Still shivering, she looked at Luke. He loomed close in the too-small space. The heat from his powerful body radiated to hers. In the faint light, the shadows blackened the hollows of his cheeks, turning the grim planes stark.

Her gaze met his, and her breath shriveled up. Her heart made a feeble throb.

She’d never seen him so enraged.

Could this night get any worse?

Chapter 3

Luke wanted to plow his fist through the wall.

Twice now Sofia had blitzed into his life, and each time she’d wreaked total disaster. She’d demolished everything he’d ever worked for—his reputation, his honor, his pride.

He glowered at her, his face hot, the muscles of his neck stiff. Hell. This time she’d done far worse than ruin his reputation. She’d put the police on his tail—and not just for the theft of a legendary antiquity but for murder. And now she’d led them to where he hid.

“Just what were you thinking back there?” he demanded.

Her eyes looked hurt in the faint light, and she tugged on a loose strand of hair. “I thought it was don Fernando. I wanted to warn him about Paco.”

“I told you not to trust him.”

“But he could be in danger. And I owe him so much. What do you expect me to do? Just…abandon him?”

The words crashed through him, kicking the breath from his lungs. “Right.” Of course she couldn’t abandon her patron.

But five years ago, she’d had no trouble abandoning him.

He jerked his gaze away, inhaled. And he struggled to hold on to his anger, to cling to the safety of rage. But that dead, hollowed-out feeling still surged through him, that emptiness that mauled him inside. As if she’d gutted him and bled him dry.

Shut it down. Shut it down. He didn’t care. He refused to care.

He sucked in more air and hitched it back out. And gradually, thankfully, he felt the bitterness creep back. He embraced it, letting it edge out the ache, letting his gaze turn hard and caress her eyes, her sultry mouth, that body he’d once revered. Letting the anger swell until the muscles along his cheeks ticked and his voice deepened like a quarry stripped bare. “You’ll have to forgive me, querida, if I can’t see you as the loyal type.”

She flinched back against the wall as if he’d struck her. Her lips parted, then closed. Her eyes looked wounded, flayed. “I’m telling the truth.” She turned away and crossed her arms, making the penlight bounce crazily over the stones.

And damned if he didn’t feel guilty.

How could she still get to him like this?

“Forget it.” He shoved his hand through his hair, rubbed the knotted cords on the back of his neck. There was no point dredging up the past, reliving the pain. It was history; it didn’t matter. He’d been over her for years.

And they needed to get out of here fast. “Just get moving,” he said.

She chewed her lip, her eyes uncertain in the wobbling light, then glanced behind her at the darkened tunnel. “Through here?”

“There’s only one way to go.” And the way this night was turning out, it probably led straight to hell.

She turned around and hobbled off. He trailed her, still ducking to keep from knocking his head, his shoulders grazing the jagged walls. He sucked the fetid air through his teeth and exhaled, while the misery of the long night piled up in his mind.

What a fiasco, a total debacle—Antonio’s deception, his death. He blinked away that gruesome image. No one, no matter how treacherous, deserved to die that way.

And his own stupidity appalled him. How could he have let his partner fool him? He’d never had a clue that he was being set up.

And then there was Sofia. He clamped his gaze on those satin hips, the seductive sweep of her back. A tumult of emotions swirled through him—bitterness, resentment. Lust.

He hissed out his breath. He’d never met a woman who both infuriated and aroused him.

Especially one he couldn’t trust.

And now he was stuck with her, at least until that killer was caught.

Suddenly aware that she was listing oddly, he narrowed his gaze on her legs. She held the penlight in her right hand, clutched the hem of her gown and her shoes in the left.

“What happened to your shoes?” he asked.

“I took them off.” She sounded winded, but she didn’t stop.

“I didn’t want to make any noise until I knew for sure who was in the hall.”

He grunted. So maybe she hadn’t been trying to betray him back there. At least that was something.

But even walking barefoot on the uneven stones wouldn’t cause that limp. He studied the awkward way she moved, listened to her breath wheeze. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Her tight tone contradicted her words.

His frown deepened. What could have happened to her? Then the light swung down, and a shadow gleamed on her calf. His heart thumped. “Wait a minute.”

She stopped and braced her hand against the wall. “What?”

“Hand me the light.” He grabbed it from her and squatted on his heels. “Turn around and hold up your dress. There’s something on your leg.”

“Luke, it doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t.” He aimed the penlight at her leg and his pulse plunged. A raw gash marred her calf and oozed with blood.

He hissed. That had to hurt. “What happened?”

“I got shot.”

“Shot?” He yanked his gaze up to hers. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She lifted her shoulder in a defeated motion and looked away. He dropped his gaze to the wound again, then angled the light to the dark splotches staining the stones.

He muttered a curse. She was losing too much blood. He had to get her to a doctor, fast. But where could he find one that wouldn’t report them to the cops?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, we need to bandage this and stop the bleeding.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Bad enough.” As raw as that gash looked, he was surprised she could even walk. “And we’ve got a few minutes. It’ll take the guards that long to find the latch.”

“You think they know where the door is?”

“They’d have to be blind not to see it.” He raised his brows.

“You’re leaving a nice trail of blood for them to follow, querida.”

“Oh, God.” Her voice quivered, and she placed her hand on her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to lead them here.”

He exhaled, rose and handed back the penlight. And for the first time, he noticed the strain etching her face, the taut grooves bracketing her mouth. She had to be in tremendous pain.

“Look.” He gentled his voice. “There’s a spot just ahead where the tunnel widens. We can bandage your leg there if you think you can make it that far.”

She searched his eyes. “You’ve been in here before?”

“A few months ago when I was doing a security check.” Not that it had done any good. The royal Roma couple had still died.

“I’ll make it,” she said, and he had to admire her pluck. She was determined, if nothing else.

She limped off again, slower now, and he mulled over this new twist. Why would they shoot Sofia if she’d been involved in the theft?

Unless they’d intended to eliminate her all along. A chill struck his nerves at the thought, but it made sense. With Antonio gone, she was the only one who could prove Luke hadn’t stolen that necklace. Worse, she’d seen Paco kill Antonio—which doubled their reasons to want her dead.