Heart of a Thief

Which meant it was up to Luke to protect her—whether she was guilty, believed him about her patron, or not.

A minute later, the tunnel widened slightly. Part of one wall had crumbled, scattering stones and exposing the ancient garderobe, the palace’s primitive plumbing chute that dropped to the ground below. The result was an alcove—tiny, but wider than the narrow passage they’d just crept through.

“Stop here,” he said. “Let’s get that leg wrapped.” But they needed to do it fast. They didn’t have more than a few minutes’ lead on the police.

Sofia paused and turned back to face him, shivered and rubbed her bare arms. He pulled his car key from his pocket, then lifted the hem of her dress.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Cutting up your dress. Unless you’ve got something else we can use for a bandage?”

“No.” She sighed. “Go ahead.”

He used the key to punch a hole in the satin, then tore off several long strips, while Sofia held the dress up and helped. Then he removed his tuxedo jacket, kicked aside the loose stones and spread it out. “Here, sit on this.”

He moved in close to help her. She grabbed his shoulder for balance, and her body curved into his. Her soft, very feminine body. Their eyes met. A sudden tension hovered between them. And they both went perfectly still.

The shadowy light cocooned them, making the embrace seductive, intimate, tempting. His pulse began to batter his skull.

She felt good in his arms. Too good. And it had been so long.

But this was wrong. The wrong woman, the wrong time.

He grasped her waist, felt her heat sear his hand through the satin gown, while his pulse rocked loud in his ears. He helped her to the ground, aware of her soft, lush body molded to his, the weight of her breast brushing his arm, the compelling scent of her skin.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice breathy, and he had to force himself to let go.

She tugged the dress above her knee, and he cleared his throat. “Shine the light on your leg.” He lowered himself to one knee and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. “You’ll have to help hold this in place.”

He bent forward just as she did and, despite his intentions, he paused. She was so close, her face just inches from his, and the urge to tilt up her chin, to slant his lips over hers in a deep, hot kiss nearly did him in.

Instead, he pressed the handkerchief to her calf. Her hand covered his, and desire shuddered through him, a hot jolt scalding his veins.

Their gazes collided again, and memories slashed through him—her feverish lips, her slick, velvet skin. That delirious moment when sanity ceased and their bodies exploded in bliss.

He dropped his gaze to her parted lips, hauled it back up. Their gazes held and he saw the desire in her eyes, the same stunning need he knew she’d see reflected in his.

Damn, she’d been hot. So hot that he’d dreamed of her, fantasized about her, every day for five long years, despite the betrayal and lies.

But this woman was treacherous, unreliable. And no way would he relive the pain she’d dragged him through. No matter how much he craved that exquisite body, he couldn’t forget the past.

He ripped his gaze from hers and leaned back. “Hold this in place while I wrap it.”

He started wrapping the strip of cloth around her leg, far too conscious of where his hands touched, of the silky gleam of her thigh. And the faint trembling of her hands, the tug of her breath told him she felt that pull, too.

But he forged on, forcing himself to ignore the insistent pulsing in his groin, to concentrate on the problem at hand. “So who shot you?”

She exhaled and the soft sound rent the still air. “I don’t know. There was a guardia civil there—he tried to arrest me, just like you said—but then Paco drew his gun.”

His hands jerked. “The bodyguard was there?” How could she have put herself in danger like that?

“I didn’t see him at first. I thought it was don Fernando. But then he pulled out his gun, and I ran. That’s when I got shot.”

She shivered, her eyes vulnerable again, and he pulled his gaze away. For a moment, neither spoke. “Do you really think you’re being framed?” she finally asked.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Here, hold this.” While she held the end of the cloth in place, he picked up another piece and wrapped it on top. “Look, you said Antonio hired you to make that replica.”

“So?”

“So if he only wanted to steal the necklace, why go to all this trouble? Why didn’t he just swap the replica for the original? I never would have known.”

Because no matter what he thought about Sofia, he couldn’t deny her talent. She was the foremost restorer of ancient amber, the best in the world. Her passion, her nearly magical ability to understand the living stone had brought her worldwide acclaim.

And she made flawless reproductions, copies nearly as priceless as the originals and coveted by celebrities, museums…Hell, with her skill, even other experts wouldn’t have known that necklace was fake—at least not without running tests.

“I would have known what he’d done,” she pointed out.

“Not necessarily. You would have assumed that after the ceremony he’d switched the original back. And once the necklace went to Romanistan, you never would have seen it again.”

“Maybe.” She frowned. “But why would Paco kill Antonio if they were partners?”

He reached for the last strip of cloth. “To eliminate a witness, probably. They want everyone to think I’m guilty. So they can’t risk letting someone who knows the truth live.”

Even in the dim light, he saw her face pale. “You mean like me?”

“Like both of us, querida. We both know the truth.” Their gazes held. She raised her hand to her throat.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

Oh, God was right. They were in a hell of a mess.

He pulled his attention back to the bandage, tied a knot to secure it, then rested back on his heels.

She inhaled, a shaky, feeble sound that told him how rattled she really was. “But…the royal family. Who murdered them?”

Good question. “Hard to say. It might have been unrelated. Terrorists maybe.”

She frowned. “Because they wanted the necklace?”

“Maybe. Or they wanted to get rid of the king.” When the controversial necklace had surfaced in the Spanish bank vault, Spain decided to donate it to Romanistan, the reputed homeland of the Gypsy people. It was a brilliant move, not only lending support to Romanistan’s moderate leader and helping stabilize the volatile region, but gaining Spain access to Romanistan’s vast reserves of oil.

“A lot of people don’t want Romanistan stable,” he added.

“And eliminating the king could lead to war.” Even nuclear war. Which meant there would be a worldwide hunt to get that necklace back.

“I guess it’s possible they’re unrelated,” she said, her voice doubtful. “It would be an awful coincidence, though.”

“Yeah.” He grimaced, then shook his head. “My gut tells me there’s a connection between those murders and the theft. Something more than a simple distraction.”

Plus he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow personal. A vendetta. But why would don Fernando want to ruin him? Luke had never met the man before working at his estate. So what did he have against him?

He rubbed the dull ache between his brows and fought off a wave of fatigue. He couldn’t worry about that now. He had to get them to safety first.

He rose while Sofia pulled on her shoes. He held out his hand, and she grabbed it, and he tugged her to her feet. “How does that feel?”

She put weight on her leg and gasped. “Better.”

“Right.” He knew better than that. He bent to pick up his jacket. But then a soft clank in the distance broke the stillness.

His pulse skipped, and he slowly straightened. That sound had come from down the tunnel. Someone was at the other end.

“Luke,” Sofia whispered.

He motioned with his hand to cut her off. The police had beaten them to the exit. Now what were they going to do?

He searched his memory of the bolt-hole, but there were no side passages branching off, no more secret doors.

They were trapped.

“Through the garderobe—the old plumbing chute,” he decided. There wasn’t another way out. “Give me the flashlight.”

She handed it over, and he knelt and aimed the light down the chute. It was a fifteen foot drop to the ground, barely wide enough to squeeze through. But they didn’t have a choice.

“You go first. Sit over here on the edge.” Despite everything, he wished he could spare her this. “Hold on to the sleeve of my jacket. I’ll lower you down as far as I can. You’ll have to drop the rest of the way, though.” And land on her injured leg.

She perched on the edge of the chute and chewed her lip. “What’s down there?”

“Just dirt.”

“Okay.” Their eyes held and, despite her fears, he knew she’d try.

He handed her the sleeve of his jacket, set the penlight down and adjusted his position, bracing himself to offset her weight. “Get a good grip, then push off.”

Footsteps pounded in the tunnel now. Sofia grabbed the jacket’s sleeve and slid off the edge.

He lowered her down the chute, inching the jacket through his burning palms to control her descent, trying to keep her from bumping the walls. His biceps throbbed. The muscles along his back wrenched. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he blinked away the sting.

Then the jacket played out. “That’s it,” he said softly. “I can’t go any lower. As soon as you hit the ground, move out of the way.”

“All right.” Her voice quavered in the darkness below him. And then suddenly she let go. The pressure on the jacket eased. He rocked back, and she shrieked.

The sharp cry echoed up the shaft, and his gut clenched. Damn, that must have hurt.

The footsteps behind him grew louder now, drumming toward him with increasing speed. Adrenaline hammered his veins. He couldn’t wait any longer. He just hoped she’d rolled out of the way.

He dropped his jacket down the chute and lowered himself over the edge. He balanced on his forearms for a moment, braced his thighs against the sides. Then he grabbed hold of the ledge and began to work his way down. The rough stone grated his palms, shredded his clothes. His shoulders shook with fatigue.

Then footsteps pounded above him and a bright light flashed on his face.

“Policía,” a man yelled. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

Damn. Maybe that necklace really was cursed.

He sucked in his breath and let go.

Chapter 4

The gunshot ricocheted down the garderobe, thundering off the rock walls, echoing through Luke’s skull as he plunged toward earth. He crashed into the ground, then rolled, ignoring the spasm jolting his legs from the brutal impact. Rocks gouged his shoulders, his back, but he forced himself to keep rolling to get out of the line of fire.

Sofia’s body stopped him.

His heart fisted, then dove, and he shoved himself to his knees. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she hurt? “Sofia. Sofia!”

He shook her shoulder, but she didn’t respond. He shook it again, harder, and his pulse raced into his throat. “Sofia. Di algo. Are you okay?”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and he hissed out air. Thank God, she was alive. Because for a moment there…

“I’m fine. I—” She winced, then moaned. “My leg.”

He could imagine. That jackknife landing would have been agony on her gunshot wound. But they couldn’t linger here and assess the damage. The police would arrive at any time.

Swearing softly, he speared his hand through his hair. “We’ve got to keep going. Can you stand?”

“Just give me a second.” She rolled forward and struggled to her knees.

“Here. Hold on to me.” He crouched and put his arm around her waist to lift her. His hand touched bare flesh, and she flinched.

He jerked. “What?”

“I…I just scraped my side, that’s all.”

He didn’t doubt it. The stones had shredded her elegant dress, peeling it into strips. He could imagine the damage to her skin.

More gently now, he adjusted his hold on her waist and tugged her to her feet. She leaned against him, panting, one hand clutching his shirt, her soft breath caressing his ear. Strands of loose hair fell around her face, tumbling from the lopsided twist.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes, I’m—” she stepped forward, gasped, and he grabbed her again, afraid that she would pass out “—fine.” She sucked in her breath. “Really. I’m okay.”

She was lying. Pain tightened the corners of her eyes and etched lines around her mouth. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that now. He dropped his hands and stepped back.

“Which way now?” she asked.

Good question. He glanced around. They’d landed where the garderobe drained, outside the palace on a rocky slope. In fact, considering how steep the hill was, they were lucky they hadn’t rolled down.

Then again, it might have been better if they had.

As it was, they stood highlighted against the wall, trapped by the spotlights that ringed the palace, as visible as actors on a brightly lit stage. But if they moved away from the wall to escape the spotlights, they’d be seen by the guards on the roof. Guards he had put in place.

“The easiest way out is toward the front,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But the entrance will be crawling with police.”

“Down the hill then?”

He glanced at the shallow trench leading into the darkness.

“Too obvious. This is the first place they’ll look. We need to do something they won’t expect.”

Like climb down the other side. His mind flashed to the sheer slope that backed the palace. Could Sofia make it? Could he? Did they have a choice?

“Back here. Come on.” His sense of urgency rising, he scooped his tuxedo jacket from the ground and slipped it on. The dark color would help him blend with the night. “Stay close to the wall.”

“But shouldn’t we get out of the light?”

“Not yet. The guards on the roof could pick us off.”

Ignoring her quick intake of breath, he turned and led the way over the slanted ground toward the back of the palace. In the distance, a siren wailed. A second later another joined it, their off-key notes dueling in the summer night.

The hunt was on.

And that’s exactly what this was, a manhunt. Anger knifed through him, like talons clawing his gut. They’d set him up tonight. Chosen him. Baited and trapped him like some weak, defenseless prey.

And now they intended to kill him.

They could think again.

He curled his hands, thinned his lips, felt the muscles bunch in his jaw. They’d played him for a fool, flayed his pride. But he was a survivor. He’d battled his way out of the ghetto, scrapped for every crumb he’d had.

And he would fight this war to win.

His stride lengthening, he closed the distance to the end of the palace, turned the corner and stopped. The light hazed over the rock-strewn ground to the point where the slope dropped off. If they made it past the edge, no one would see them. But then they’d still have to climb down the cliff.

Sofia limped up beside him and stopped. “You want to go down this?” Her voice rose. “Is there even a path?”

His gaze met hers, and he shook his head. “It’s not as steep as it looks. We’ll stay to the side where the bushes are.”

She gnawed her lip. Her eyes stayed frozen on his. Then she jerked her gaze to the cliff.

“They’ll have the other routes blocked. There isn’t another way.”

“I know.”

He knew she was scared. He didn’t blame her. The descent would be tough in the dark.

But then she lifted her eyes to his. “So who goes first?”

And without warning, a sliver of warmth stole into his chest. She’d been shot, chased, injured, scraped—but she was still willing to climb down that cliff.

Oh, hell. He yanked his gaze away. He didn’t want to admire her. He didn’t even want to like her. And he sure didn’t want to feel that connection to her again, that link.

The physical attraction was bad enough. But he could handle that. He could keep those feelings cornered, contained, battened safely in a distant place.

But that fusing of minds, that need…Never again. No way.

Furious at himself, he wrenched his mind back to the cliff. “I’ll go first.” The words came out harsh, and she blinked. “Wait until I’ve started down, then run to get past the light. And try not to make any noise. We don’t want to attract the guards.”

Someone shouted from the rooftop then. The sirens grew closer, then cut off abruptly. His body tensed. They had to do this now. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.” His adrenaline surging, he crouched and sprinted to the edge of the cliff. Then he slowed, grabbed a bush for balance, picked out a path, and stepped off. Stones slid beneath his feet, but he kept moving, dropping from one foothold to the next, lowering himself away from the edge. When he’d passed safely beyond the light, he stopped.

His breath sawed the air. His pulse drummed a ragged beat. He’d made it. Now it was Sofia’s turn.

He watched her as she hurried toward him, doubled over and limping badly, anxiety and pain carved on her face. She slowed and gripped the same bush he had, pivoted to start down. But then her injured leg buckled. She stumbled toward him and gasped. His heart thudding, he leaned forward to block her fall.

“Easy,” he murmured as she thumped against him. Pebbles slid loose and bounced around them, and he struggled to keep them from plunging down.

“I’m all right,” she whispered when she’d found her balance. But her back was rigid, and she was pulling out the roots on that bush.

And that sliver of admiration, that traitorous warmth around his heart, increased.

He eased his hands from the cliff, keeping his motions slow to calm her. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going down now. Watch me and step where I do.”

“But I can’t see.”

“Don’t look at the lights. Let your eyes get used to the darkness.” A trick he’d learned as a kid, stealing through the night. “Better?”

“Yes,” she whispered, but her breath hitched.

“Good. Now follow me. Take your time. Don’t rush, even if you hear any noise.”

Hoping she wouldn’t hurry and fall—especially if those guards gave chase—he reached for another branch. He tugged it to make sure it would hold his weight and scooted down the hill a few more steps. He glanced back, relieved to see that she’d followed, then returned his attention to the cliff.

He stuck to the safest route, choosing caution over speed for Sofia’s sake. But while his progress down the hill was slow, questions about the night careened through his mind. Who shot the royal Roma couple? Were the killings related to the theft? And why steal the necklace tonight when the entire world was watching?

The news would create a media frenzy, no doubt—royals murdered, priceless treasure stolen, Romanistan pushed to the brink of war. And as if that weren’t sensational enough, there was the curse.

He grimaced, skirted a boulder and grappled for another handhold. Of course, the curse was nonsense.

But there was one fact he couldn’t deny—he’d been involved in this mess for a reason. What that reason was, he didn’t know. He’d have to unravel that once they were safe.

He inched around another section of rock, then realized he could make out shadows beneath him. They’d nearly reached the bottom. Now they just had to get up the opposite hill and they’d be on the open road.

He turned back, intending to tell Sofia, but a small stone bounced past his face. He glanced up, blinked as dirt rained onto his head. Sofia let out a muffled cry.

She hurtled toward him, and his lungs froze. He reached out to try to block her, but her momentum knocked him back. He grunted, fell—Sofia with him—into the empty space.

He flailed, unable to latch onto anything, then slammed to the rocky earth. His shoulder and back took the impact, but he didn’t slow. Instead, he skidded downward, crashing through bushes, knocking more stones loose, grabbing at anything he could.

He finally smacked against a boulder and stopped. Sofia rammed into him a moment after, knocking the wind from his lungs. He wheezed and bit off a groan.

For several heartbeats, neither moved. Sofia moaned and clutched her head. “Luke, are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Although his back ached, and his shoulder burned. He blinked the dirt from his eyes and rolled to his knees. A wave of dizziness made him suck in his breath.

Still dragging at air, he stumbled to his feet and rotated his bruised shoulder to test it. Then he reached down to help Sofia up.

But then a bright light slashed the sky, and his breath stopped. Searchlights. Oh, hell. Just what they didn’t need.

“Come on,” he urged her. “¡Rápido!” His pain forgotten, he grabbed Sofia’s hand and yanked her to her feet. Then he hauled her up the short, steep hill, dragging her, not giving her time to slow down. “Faster. Faster!” The guards would see them at any time.

Shouts came from the palace behind them. The searchlight skipped past, barely missing them as it swept the ravine.

Knowing every second counted, Luke ran flat-out, pulling Sofia harder. His thighs burned. His lungs heaved. But they were exposed now, out in the open. They had to take cover fast.

They crested the hill, and he glanced around wildly, searching for a safe place to hide. But then a deep thrumming sound filled his ears. Vibrations drummed the ground beneath him, and he jerked his gaze to the sky.

His heart stopped. A police helicopter. Could their luck get any worse?

Still towing Sofia, he sprinted across the road toward some bushes while his desperation surged. The rotors pulsed louder, closer. The air around them throbbed.

“In here,” he shouted to Sofia, but the deafening noise swallowed his voice. He dropped her arm and shoved through the dense, prickly branches. Thorns snagged his sleeves, clawed his face, but he lunged past them, battling them out of the way to help her crawl inside.

Then he dragged her to the ground. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, ignoring the sharp twigs poking his back.

“My hair,” she said, and he saw the problem—her blond hair wouldn’t blend in. But she tugged the hem of her gown from beneath her legs, and he helped drape it over her head.

Then suddenly, a bright light flashed. And the helicopter thundered above them like an airborne train, its roar deafening, its searchlight probing. The earth around him shook, jarring his bones, vibrating his teeth.

He huddled against Sofia, sheltering her as the downdraft spun the dirt loose, dislodging stones and leaves. The branches around them swayed, and he couldn’t breathe, afraid the bushes would part and reveal them. The intense light lingered, skipped past, flared again.

And then, mercifully, it headed away.

“Don’t move yet,” he said into Sofia’s ear.

Still curled against him, her face buried in his chest, she shook her head. She clung to him, trembling wildly, her soft body plastered to his. His own stomach churning, he held her, absorbing her fear, listening as the thump of the rotors receded, replaced by sirens again.

He finally blew out his breath and slumped back. That had been close. Too close. Sofia eased her hold on his jacket and lifted her head.

“Oh, God, Luke. I’m so sorry. That was all my fault. My leg gave way and I slipped and the stones made noise and—”

“Shh.” He put his fingers to her lips. Her eyes were huge in the darkness. Her soft mouth quivered against his hand. Tears streaked her face, forging a trail through the grime to her chin.

She looked exhausted. Dazed. And so beautiful she made his lungs hurt.

He slid his hand up her back to her neck and rested his forehead on hers. Her warm breath hitched and brushed his face. “Luke,” she said, her voice cracking.