The Royal Spy's Redemption

Knox inspected the flesh wound in the mirror, the red slash a straight graze across the thick roundness of his shoulder. It still hurt like hell, but it was relatively easy to manage.

The heavy scent of cooking meat had already wafted his way when he finished taping on the last piece of gauze. He’d had worse, and he counted himself lucky Moray had such rotten aim.

Grown soft sitting behind a desk, old man?

Although the thought wasn’t entirely off base, Knox quickly banished it. He’d suspected Moray was up to something, but he had sorely underestimated just how deep the man’s corruption ran. He’d do well not to assume a paunch, and a penchant for issuing orders equaled a lack of skill.

The T-shirts Gabriella had mentioned were stacked neatly on a shelf in a large closet—as ruthlessly organized as the woman’s kitchen—and he snagged one on the top. The name of a vineyard covered the upper-left corner.

He recognized the vineyard—had just had a glass of their wine with room service, as a matter of fact—and marveled again at what she had built. Although he’d been out of it when he first arrived, he hadn’t missed her impressive setup. A large class area in the front of shop, with the industrial kitchen in the back.

He’d done his homework on Dallas before coming here, and the area where Gabby and her friends had built their businesses—the Design District—had caught his attention from the first. Old warehouses, built along the banks of the Trinity River, had lain empty or underused for many years. The design community had brought the area back and turned it from decrepit to a bit dodgy about two decades before, using the large spaces as a place to sell wholesale furniture, fabrics and art. But it was the past five years or so when the area had really come back to life, even more vibrant than its roots.

Storefronts, ad agencies and several restaurants had turned the Design District into a successful business community. The addition of apartments had turned it into a home.

He’d heard from several old friends the same was happening in Manchester and that he should come see for himself, but he’d managed to avoid a trip thus far. He had no desire to go home and wanted even less to see how the near slums he’d grown up in had gentrified through outsiders’ money.

“You okay?” Her voice drifted toward him from the kitchen.

The question pulled him from the images he still carried of gray-washed factories that matched even grayer air. He didn’t care how much money had been put into an update, he had no desire to see it.

“I’m good.” He’d already taken one of the plastic medical waste bags in the first-aid kit and wrapped his bloody T-shirt, her cloth napkins and the waste from his stitch-up job into the red plastic.

As he glanced at the still-open bag, he caught the light scent of her on the air—a mix of vanilla and maybe lavender?—before his gaze roamed over the crumpled bloody shirt.

Why had he come here?

He’d exposed her, as surely as if he’d sent an email straight to Richard Moray with her name and address. That damnable voice tickled the back of his mind once more. Don’t underestimate Moray.

Not only had he done that, but he’d dragged an innocent into battle right along with him.

He wrapped the package into as small a ball as he could, then shoved it into another of his cargo pockets. He wouldn’t leave Moray’s stench anywhere near Gabriella Sanchez.

And if he weren’t such a bastard, he’d remove himself, as well.

* * *

Gabby kept her eye on the chicken sautéing in a large pan while she pounded the flank steak for the beef enchiladas. She could still remember her grandmother’s gentle voice, instructing her in the old kitchen on Castle Street on how to prepare the steak before cooking.

“Pounding the meat’s better than pounding your grandfather.”

She smiled at the old flash of memory and the giggles that had erupted at the imagined image of Tito Jorge beaten under her grandmother’s meat tenderizer. Gabby still grieved the loss of her beloved grandfather, more than a decade now, and she knew her grandmother grieved, as well. Theirs had been a love for the ages, and Gabby had believed herself destined for the same.

Yet here she was.

She’d spent her twenties lamenting her inability to find someone and had sworn to herself on her thirtieth birthday that she was done with sulking and being disappointed. But the memories of her grandparents—so in love—still managed to grab her by the throat every now and again.

On a sigh, she brought herself back to the moment. The kitchen on Castle Street had long since been renovated, the near-decrepit appliances updated with brand-new ones, and her grandmother had moved back with her youngest daughter and son-in-law in Mexico for the majority of the year. Gabby still missed her every day, but she knew her grandmother loved the quieter life in Guadalajara more than the increasingly frenetic pace in Dallas.

“That smells good.”

She turned to see Knox, clad in a gray T-shirt that was a size too small, and she struggled to keep her footing. What was it about this man? He’d invaded her business. Hell, he’d handcuffed her.

And she still couldn’t quite shake the raw interest he managed to gin up.

She also couldn’t deny the sheer exhaustion she saw in his liquid blue gaze.

“I’ve got a cot in the storage room, as well. You’re welcome to pull it down and set yourself up in my office.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re dead on your feet. I thought you were dead on your feet an hour ago.”

“I’ll recover. This isn’t the first—” He broke off, and she turned back to the meat, a small smile tugging at her lips. He might not want to admit how tired he was, but the abrupt cutoff was indicative of his exhaustion.

Now the real question was, how much could she get out of him?

Avoiding the twinge of guilt at the deliberate hunt for information, Gabby settled in to find out all she could. “Okay, big, strong man. Then go sit down and get out of my way.”

“Do you mind if I put on a pot of coffee?”

“Along the wall. I’ve got a single brew, and you can pick whatever you’d like in the top cabinet.”

Knox busied himself with the task, and she snapped off the gas, transferring the heavy pan to the counter and a waiting rack. Her grandmother had taught her many things, and the draining of the meat was key to keeping the enchiladas soft but not soggy.

“Would you like a cup?”

“No on the coffee, but I’d love one of the green teas in there.”

Knox settled across from her a few minutes later and pushed over her mug. “That really smells good.”

“It’ll smell even better wrapped up in fresh tortillas and cheese.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“Maybe if you sit there nicely and keep your handcuffs in your pocket I’ll give you some.”

He did perk up at the mention of the cuffs, a small spark of mischief alighting in his eyes. “I’ll be good.”

The promise was about the enchiladas—rationally, she knew that—but she couldn’t quite dismiss something else in the words.

I’ll be good.

Did she really want him on his best behavior?

Ignoring the flight of sexual fancy, she refocused on the man before her. He might wear it well, but she had to admit exhaustion still painted his face in craggy lines.

Once more, that slight twinge of guilt pinched the back of her neck, but she resolutely ignored it as she changed the subject. “You’re MI5, right?”

“Technically, we’re the Security Service. MI5 is no longer our formal name, but it is what we’re known as.”

“I thought the jewels were originally removed out of England under the direction of MI6.”

His heavy-lidded gaze widened before he caught himself, his normal poker face snapping into position. “How’d you come across that information?”

Gabby shrugged, playing it cool. While she sensed she should parse out what limited information she’d gleaned, she was more than willing to speed up the information exchange if it would ensure her friends stayed safe and the danger they’d all experienced was firmly put behind them.

“Lilah, Cassidy and Violet have told me what they’ve been dealing with,” Gabby offered up. “And don’t forget, the rubies belong to my friends’ landlady, Josephine Beauregard. Her father was given the gems fair and square and asked only to remove them from England.”

“Why?”

Why?

Although she knew she’d started this, his questions held something more than simple curiosity. He didn’t know.

“Because they’re cursed.” A low snort was her only response, so she pressed him, curious as to his response. “You don’t believe in curses?”

“No.” He took a sip of his coffee before something seemed to register in his mind. “Do you?”

“Of course.”

When he only continued to stare at her, his cup midway to his mouth, Gabby continued on. “I absolutely believe in things beyond our control. Forces for good. Forces for evil. They exist.”

“And you think the rubies are cursed?”

“I think the Renaissance Stones carry a force inside them, imprinted from years and years of greed and avarice. I think the Queen Mum was smart to ask them to be removed from England, and I think my friends are well rid of them.”

“Why did she ask for their removal?”

“I thought you knew all this. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Knox only stared at her, that unyielding blue giving nothing further away. With icy fingers, a whisper of premonition skated over her spine.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m a member of the British government, assigned to deliver those gems safely back to England.”

She wanted to believe him—and not because he was the first man in an age and a half who’d managed to hold her interest longer than five minutes—but she refused to accept blatant lies. With careful movements, she settled her carving knife down on the counter and moved toward the large drawer at her hips.

“Not buying it.”

“It’s the truth.”

With lightning-quick reflexes honed from being the only sister in the midst of a horde of rough-and-tumble brothers, she had her handgun out of the drawer and pointed toward Knox in a handful of heartbeats. “I’m only going to ask once more. Why are you really here?”

Chapter 3

Knox stared down the barrel of the impressively steady semiautomatic and figured he had exactly thirty-three seconds to make up a plausible story. She’d gotten the jump on him; that was for sure.

Maybe he was more exhausted than he’d wanted to admit.

Cycling through what he knew, Knox tried to figure out what pieces of the truth he could use to distract her. There was no way she could know about Moray or where he suspected the man’s influence extended. But he also needed to give her something.

Hell, after a midnight arrival that included bleeding all over her kitchen supplies, he owed her that much.

Gun or no gun.

Gabriella glanced toward the door, and he was reminded of her earlier statement. My brother’s a cop. He patrols this dodgy area regularly.

For his money, he wasn’t sure she needed the additional surveillance, but he pressed on.

“Those gems belong back in England.”

“Says who?”

That gun stayed remarkably steady, but the fierce notes of protection had faded slightly from her stance. His first inclination was to disarm her, but he was too damned tired to try anything. And while she’d surprised him with having the gun in the first place, he wasn’t actually concerned she’d shoot.

Her brother was likely another story, so he’d do well to avoid police interference.

“Says the British government.”

“The government doesn’t control the royal family’s possessions.”

“No, but they should have some say and influence over a political gift. And regardless of a decision made decades ago, those gems were given to England. They belong back in my country.”

She seemed to waver slightly before she let out a hard sigh and lowered the gun. “Possession is nine-tenths and all that.”

Knox fought the urge to squirm, the rubies in his cargo pocket suddenly like lead weights beneath the countertop. “A delightful American colloquialism to indicate you can take whatever you want.”

“It was a gift that was subsequently turned over to Mrs. B’s father. Cassidy even found a letter from the king and queen that thanked her father for taking the gems and removing them.”

Knox stilled at that. “A letter?”

“Or more to the point, provenance.”

He filed that detail away. Moray’s behavior was deeply rooted in a lack of ethics, but something that denoted such clear ownership made the Security Service’s claims on the gems far harder to justify. Considering a different tack, he pressed an earlier point. “You said yourself your friends are well rid of the gems.”

“Perhaps I was too hasty.”

Unbidden, a kernel of panic took root in his belly. Her friends were lucky. And from what he knew and a few other aspects he’d pieced together, they were all fortunate to have escaped with their lives. “This isn’t a problem for civilians to concern themselves with.”

“Too late.”

“Or just in time.”

Although she didn’t reset her aim, Gabriella’s gaze drifted toward the gun before snapping firmly back to his. “That doesn’t mean your arrival isn’t worrying and suspicious. No one knew about the gems three weeks ago. Since then, my friends have discovered the rubies, uncovered corruption in the police department and dealt with a horrible threat from a well-respected businessman. Now MI5 shows up? How is it all connected?”

He’d figured out about three minutes after meeting her that Gabriella Sanchez wasn’t a woman to be underestimated. The gorgeous exterior and lush body was an easy distraction, but a whip-quick mind lived underneath.

He couldn’t tell her they’d kept tabs on Josephine Beauregard for years. Nor would he share that the highest levels of British intelligence had information on all of Tripp Lange’s nefarious dealings, a catalog that began when they caught wind a few years back he was nosing around about the gems. That one got awfully sticky because they knew about the man’s unsavory side practices and hadn’t bothered to share the information.

Avoid sharing that one with the class, mate.

Although he wasn’t going to provide extensive details about Lange, he could use the man to his advantage. “Tripp Lange’s involvement is being dissected now.”

“What’s there to dissect? He betrayed his wife and stepson, lying to them both. He manipulated his position as a wealthy businessman to buy off members of the police department. He even put out a hit on Reed and Lilah.”

Reed Graystone had been as suspicious of Knox’s presence as Gabby, but Knox’s badge had gone a long way toward reassuring the cop. Reed had taken the time to fill Knox in on his stepfather’s activities and the hit Gabby spoke of—cut brake lines that had caused an accident Reed and Lilah were lucky to walk away from—was proof positive of Lange’s mania to possess the gems.

A mania that seemed to extend to Moray, as well.

Was it even possible the jewels were to blame?

Although he didn’t doubt their value, the hysteria surrounding their retrieval bordered on obsession.

Dark obsession and a desperate need to possess.

Again he was conscious of the weight against his thigh, and if he focused on the gems he could feel their hard edges. Each was roughly the size of a strawberry—small in the scheme of things, yet massive in the gemology world—and he knew from their history many had killed to possess them.

The ringing of her cell broke the moment, and Gabby eyed the device. On a small sigh, she flipped the safety and shoved the gun back in the drawer she’d pulled it from, then answered the call.

“I’m good.”

Although Knox only got half the conversation, it wasn’t hard to piece together what was being said.

“I’m working late, that’s all. Mama wants enchiladas for the party tomorrow, and I couldn’t get to them earlier.” She paused a moment before quickly talking over whatever was being said on the other end of the line. “There’s no need to stop by on rounds. I’m almost done and trying to get out of here.”

Knox watched, fascinated, as she worked her way around the kitchen. She was a full participant in the conversation with her brother, but she managed to multitask her way through the conversation, pulling a large metal bowl from the fridge, then hip-bumping it closed.

She added several quick comments—barbs, really—in Spanish and it was hard to miss the small layer of frustration beneath.

“I’m fine, Ricardo. And I already made you an extra batch, so you can quit bugging me already. Good night. I love you, too.”

She shoved the phone in her back jeans pocket and walked toward a stacked set of trays on the far wall. The trays settled onto a base that rolled, and she dragged the entire set back to the counters along with the bowl.

“Your brother?”

“Who else?”

“Does he always call you this late?”

“When he’s on rounds and he sees my lights he does.” Gabby looked up from where she carefully pulled light towels off the top of a tray of fresh tortillas. “You’re lucky he didn’t just show up.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“He was called to an accident during his earlier drive-by. Something going on downtown in the park. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No.”

As the lie tripped off his tongue, Knox was suddenly glad Gabby had put the gun away.

* * *

“No?”

“It’s the same answer you’d give your brother if he asked you what’s going on here.”

“I don’t lie to my family.”

“You sure about that?”

Something small ticked behind her eye, and Gabby focused on uncovering the chicken mixture she’d prepared earlier for the first batch of enchiladas. She snatched a fresh tortilla from her tray, muttering a low curse when the soft disc tore down the middle. “I don’t lie.”

“Would you prefer omission, then?” He extended a finger toward the bowl of meat she’d drained off, but she was quicker, smacking the back of his hand.

“You were bleeding over the floor an hour ago. Don’t touch.”

“I cleaned up.”

“You’re still not sticking your fingers in my food. Grab a plate and a fork if you’d like some. Third cabinet from the sink. Forks are in the drawer below.”

He followed her directions and snagged a large spoon, as well.

“That’s more like it. Take as much as you want.”

He tucked into the food, and she was pleased to see he ate well—rushed even—before catching herself. How, where or what he ate was none of her business. Nor was the increasing color in his cheeks any of her business, either.

“This is good.”

She added a few tortillas to his plate. “Those’ll make it even better.”

His words still rattled around in her brain with increasing discomfort. She wasn’t a liar, but the sin of omission had increasingly become her friend of late, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. Her family hadn’t given her a choice, their increasing pressure on her personal life like a vise, squeezing out all the air.

So she filled tortillas like her grandmother taught her and lined them up neatly in a greased pan. She’d save the sauce for tomorrow before she headed out for the party, keeping the tortillas as fresh as possible.

“You’re fast.”

“I’ve been making these since I was seven.”

“Impressive.”

“My grandmother saw I had an interest, and she both indulged me and taught me.”

“You miss her.”

“I do. I still see her fairly often, but it’s not the same as every day.”

“She’s the one you tell the truth to, isn’t she?” That quiet voice was silky, weaving its way through her thoughts like wispy puffs of smoke.

His understanding struck her as an almost absurd counterpoint to his earlier statement. “I thought you said I lie to my family.”

“Omit.” When she only raised an eyebrow at him, he continued, “To the rest of them, but not to your grandmother.”

How did he know that? Lucky guess? Or was it something more?

Gabby had never believed herself to be a sensitive sort. She respected the talents of others—and believed in the things she couldn’t see—but she didn’t have any personal skill for sensing the supernatural.

Knox struck her as possessing a strong streak of practicality, in no way prone to the psychic, so how did he know that about her family? Or, more specifically, about her grandmother?

Even without a sensitive bone in her body, she couldn’t deny the stones had wrought major changes since their discovery. Was it really possible there was something deeper at play?

Ever since Cassidy, Lilah and Violet found the Renaissance Stones buried in the floor of their business, nothing had been the same. Yes, each had found love—Cassidy with Tucker Buchanan, Lilah with Reed and Violet with Max Baldwin.

Each woman had narrowly escaped danger, too.

Was it all because of the mysterious rubies?

While none of them could deny the danger that had come as a result of finding the stones, she wanted to believe her friends had found men they truly loved. Their loves weren’t simply heat-of-the-moment flings. No, they had something real.

Something permanent.

Gabby glanced up, her swirling thoughts vanishing as she realized Knox’s gaze hadn’t wavered. He continued to stare at her with that enigmatic blue fire that seemed to light up his eyes. The man was compelling, no doubt about it. And when she finally figured out what she thought about that, there was no doubt she’d mention Knox to her grandmother.

In the meantime, she acknowledged his words. “No. I don’t omit anything with my grandmother. She’s the one I talk to about anything and everything.”

But she hadn’t mentioned the rubies.

She dropped the last rolled tortilla into the tray before wiping her hands. Although her grandmother was a vault, the story of the Renaissance Stones hadn’t been hers to tell. It wasn’t omission so much as privacy.

And a very real fear that by talking about them she’d bring the same danger to her family’s door that had already been laid on her friends.

* * *

Richard Moray hunched down in his car and scanned his phone, plotting out his next move. The device carried the absolute latest in government encryption software and he’d added a few tweaks of his own. Even if someone back at HQ had wanted to track him, all of its data continued to transmit as if he were sitting at his desk in London, bright and early Greenwich Mean Time.

He was an early riser—everyone knew it. Besides, no one was tracking him. He’d covered his plans well—webs woven within webs—and he’d spent his life cultivating a personality that was part civil servant, part Security Service cheerleader and part purveyor of justice.

But he was always—always—100 percent for queen and country.

Until bloody Knox St. Germain started digging beneath the facade. He’d hired the damn boy, for the love of all that was holy. Hell, even for that which wasn’t. He’d trained him and ensured the Manchester street rat had a future. And Knox had turned on him.

Moray rubbed at his knee, the hasty tourniquet nearly as uncomfortable as the grazed flesh. Oh, how his protégé had turned.

Moray flipped through the web pages he’d already bookmarked, including the catering shop owned by one Gabriella Sanchez. Taste the Moment. The sultry dark-haired beauty smiled back at him from the web page, and he fought the small shot of interest that sparked at her beautiful face. She was a siren, no doubt about it. But that long mane of curly hair and the thick, lush lips were a distraction, nothing more.

She was helping Knox.

Although, if he knew his boy, he also knew Knox was a sucker for a pretty face.

Moray glanced down at the image once more, considering how he might use this to his advantage. He’d been focused on circumventing Gabriella, pulling Knox away from her business to get him out in the open.