Loe raamatut: «High-Stakes Affair»
“I’m a thief, Paloma. It won’t matter what you say. They’ll assume that I coerced you and toss me back into jail.”
“Not without proof, they won’t.”
“Since when do they need proof to arrest someone?”
“I don’t know what happened with your arrest,” she admitted. “But you don’t have to worry about tonight.”
Dante slanted her a glance. “There’s still one problem.”
“What?”
“I don’t believe you.”
He didn’t believe she’d stand up for him? “Why not?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I said I would. And my word is good.”
“You’ve been lying to me from the start.”
“The reason I need that tape doesn’t matter.”
“It matters. I’m in this mess as much as you are, so you damned well owe me the truth. And until I get it, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Princess. You’re stuck with me until I decide I’m out.”
Dear Reader,
I love edgy heroes. The more cynical, disillusioned and bitter they are, the more they fascinate me. That’s why I invented the Stealth Knights—heroes who straddle that murky line between right and wrong, who are neither all-good nor all-bad, and who prove that nothing in life is as clear-cut as it seems.
The hero of High-Stakes Affair, Dante Quevedo, is one such complicated man. A modern-day Robin Hood, Dante dedicates his life to righting the injustices done to his downtrodden people, albeit through unorthodox means. But when circumstances force him to team up with his sworn enemy, Princess Paloma Vergara, he discovers she isn’t the frivolous royal he believed—and that the woman who once seemed completely wrong for him might instead be exactly right.
I hope you enjoy this latest installment in the STEALTH KNIGHTS miniseries.
Happy reading!
Gail Barrett
About the Author
GAIL BARRETT always knew she’d be a writer. Who else would spend her childhood grinding sparkling rocks into fairy dust and convincing her friends it was real? Or daydream her way through elementary school, spend high school reading philosophy and playing the bagpipes, and then head off to Spain during college to live the writer’s life? After four years she straggled back home—broke, but fluent in Spanish. She became a teacher, earned a master’s degree in linguistics, married a coast guard officer and had two sons.
But she never lost the desire to write. Then one day, she discovered a Mills & Boon® novel in a bookstore—and knew she was destined to write romance. Her books have won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart.
Gail currently lives in western Maryland. Readers can contact her through her website, www.gailbarrett.com.
High-Stakes
Affair
Gail Barrett
MILLS & BOON
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Dedication
To Liz and Amanda, for making my sons so happy.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank the following people for their enormous help with this story: Loni Glover for her emergency brainstorming sessions; Ken Archer for providing me with accounting details; Elle Kennedy for her much-needed encouragement; Judith Sandbrook and Mary Jo Archer for their invaluable critiques; and last, but not least, my husband, John, for not complaining when I went AWOL to finish this book.
Chapter 1
If there was one thing Dante Quevedo knew intimately, it was revenge. He’d lived it, breathed it and plotted it for twenty years. And tonight it would finally be his.
He pressed the trigger on the remote control detonator, then watched as a potent mixture of C-4 and diesel fuel exploded, shooting brilliant orange flames high into the midnight sky and rumbling the ground beneath his feet. With a quick surge of satisfaction, he slid the detonator back into his knapsack, then slipped through the inky shadows to the machinery shed where the casino’s emergency generators were housed.
The bomb’s fire leaped and roared in the darkness. Security guards rushed past, shouting into their radios as they raced toward the rocketing blaze. Dante crept around the shed, the thick smoke shielding his movements from the surveillance cameras mounted on the walls, and paused at the metal door. Using his custom-made stainless-steel diamond pick, he jimmied the lock and stepped inside.
He glanced at his watch. Sixteen minutes. Not much time to disable the backup generators and get himself in place. Then the hacker would work his computer magic and cut the main power to the casino, allowing Dante to break into the penthouse, the aristocrat who’d hired him in tow.
Misgivings stirred inside him, but he shook them off. He’d agreed to the deal—his release from prison in exchange for getting the unknown woman inside. Her reasons, her goal—hell, even her identity—didn’t matter.
Only Dante’s chance for vengeance did.
Resolve fisting deep inside him, he strode to the generators’ control panel, located the power switch and turned it off. Then he sawed through the fuel lines with his wire cutters and opened the drains on the tanks to buy more time. Diesel fuel poured out, the harsh fumes stinging his nostrils and watering his eyes. Knowing time was dwindling quickly, he returned to the door and peered outside.
Smoke still billowed past. A cacophony of sirens pierced the air as emergency vehicles sped up the Pyrenees mountain slope. His adrenaline rising, Dante stepped from the shed and locked the door, then melted into the night.
Picking up his pace now, he jogged to the stolen hatchback he’d parked at the periphery of the gravel lot. Nine minutes. He opened the trunk, tugged a crisp white dress shirt over his T-shirt, then yanked on his jacket and tie. Still hurrying, he stuffed his lock-picking tools into his pocket, brushed the leaves and twigs from his suit trousers, and stowed his knapsack beneath a nearby shrub. If all hell broke loose, he didn’t want any evidence traced to him.
Moving slower to avoid attention, he strolled casually past the valet parking and up the casino’s wide stone steps. Located in a medieval fortress, País Vell’s opulent playground attracted high rollers from around the world. Dante nodded to the uniformed doorman, stepped into the chandelier-studded lobby and paused.
The domed ceiling soared above him. Huge marble columns shouldered the mezzanine, its gilded railing glinting in the refracted light. Bells jangled from the adjacent gaming pit, the cheerful noise razoring through him like a garrote to his heart. His sister Lucía had died in this casino. She would never laugh, never hear those sounds again.
He steeled his jaw against a rush of emotions, guilt over his failure to save her bludgeoning his heart. Her death haunted him, all right. He couldn’t stop reliving her final, frantic phone call—that she needed him to help her, that the prince was trying to kill her, that she had witnessed something dreadful during her waitressing shift and had to leave. Dante had raced to the casino, only to find her body dumped in the parking lot like discarded trash. Bloody. Mutilated.
Dead.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the burning need for vengeance threatening to incinerate his hard-won control. But he’d get revenge; he had no doubts about that. He’d find the evidence he needed to destroy the prince—and every other member of the royal family—no matter what it took.
But he had a bargain to fulfill first.
Still careful not to attract attention, he stalked across the marble lobby to the gaming pit, then wove past the baccarat tables and roulette wheels to the private highlimit rooms off the palace’s central hall. He checked his watch. Five minutes. The aristocrat would be in one of the high-roller rooms by now. The plan called for her to enter the hallway nearest the medieval watchtower a minute before the power went off. Dante estimated they’d have half an hour to break into the penthouse, find whatever she wanted and return to the hallway before the maintenance people restored the power.
Veering past a display of medieval armor, he headed to a nearby restroom and ducked inside. Two minutes. He drew in a breath, mentally reviewing the palace’s layout as another minute ticked down.
His belly tensed. A familiar surge of excitement drummed through his veins. One minute left. The game was on.
He stepped back into the hall.
Right on schedule, a woman sauntered down the hall toward him, her slender hips swiveling in her snug black pants, her long legs covering the distance with graceful strides. Dante took in her firm, high breasts, her sweetly curving waist. Thick dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, gleaming like burnished chestnuts in the muted light.
He knit his brows, something about her niggling his memory, prompting a feeling of familiarity he couldn’t place. He shrugged the sensation off. He couldn’t possibly know her. He had little contact with País Vell’s wealthy elite—except when he broke into their estates, relieving them of their cash and jewels.
Conscious of the surveillance cameras recording his movements, he turned toward the water fountain—just as a man strode behind her into the hall.
Dante’s heart skipped. He eyed the newcomer’s short, burly build, the bulge of a sidearm beneath his suit, the hyperalert way he scanned the hall. A bodyguard. What the hell? No one had mentioned him.
Suspicions crowding inside him, Dante leaned over the fountain and dipped his head to drink. This couldn’t be a trap; why bother springing him from prison only to arrest him again? Besides, he trusted his friend Rafael Navarro, the former thief who’d arranged this deal. Rafe never would have set him up.
But then who was the unknown aristocrat? Why would she bring a bodyguard along? And what the hell was he going to do now?
He took several long swallows of water, waiting until the woman had nearly reached him, then angled her another glance. His eyes connected with hers, and recognition kicked him straight in the gut.
Paloma Vergara.
The princess.
His jaw slackened in disbelief.
But it was her, all right. He could hardly mistake her infamous oval face, those mesmerizing amber eyes. He scanned her dark winged brows, her sinfully carnal mouth, that elegant, fine-boned jaw. She continued gliding toward him, her head held high, her slender spine erect, centuries of privilege and breeding evident in every regal step.
A hot rush of fury scorched his gut. No wonder Rafe had kept her name a secret. If Dante had known her identity, he never would have agreed to this job. The royals had gunned down his helpless mother. They’d murdered his baby sister. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d help anyone even remotely connected to them.
And this princess … He thinned his lips in disgust. Paloma Vergara was a notorious wild child, a pampered, frivolous tabloid queen whose escapades had outraged the nation for years. She spent her useless life partying, squandering money earned on the backs of the downtrodden people—epitomizing everything he despised.
She drew even closer, her gaze locked on his. Suddenly, she stumbled, a flash of uncertainty flickering in her eyes. But she recovered her poise and strolled through the door of the women’s lounge, trailing a taunting wisp of perfume.
His face muscles rigid, anger pounding his veins with the force of that bomb blast, Dante turned back to the fountain and swore. He should call this off. He should walk away right now. She was the princess, his enemy, a member of the family he’d sworn to destroy. And now he had her bodyguard to contend with, a complication that could get him killed.
But he’d promised to take her into the penthouse in exchange for his release from jail. The princess had done her part and freed him, so how could he renege on the deal?
He scowled at the gurgling water, an onslaught of conflicting emotions waging a full-blown war in his head. Every survival instinct he possessed urged him to get out now. But his word meant everything to him. His lifestyle might not be conventional—stealing from the aristocrats to help País Vell’s poorest citizens—but he followed his own strict code of honor, meting out justice and revenge.
Abort the mission or adjust? He had only seconds left to decide.
He took a final swallow of water. The princess’s bodyguard stopped, taking up his post beside the restroom door. Ten seconds. Dante continued debating his choices, but a grim feeling of inevitability settled inside. Bottom line, he’d given his word. He had to complete this mission, no matter what.
Hoping to hell he wouldn’t regret this, he turned off the fountain and prepared to strike.
Princess Paloma Vergara had done plenty of things she wasn’t proud of in her life. She’d shown up drunk at a state dinner. She’d had an affair with a man who’d turned out to be a foreign spy. She’d even appeared naked on the internet, thanks to a particularly sleazy boyfriend with a hidden telephoto lens.
But breaking into the casino penthouse was a new low, even for her.
Leaning against the wall inside the restroom, she pressed her palm to her belly to suppress a burst of nerves. But she could hardly miss the irony. She’d been trying for years to rehabilitate her image, to overcome a lifetime spent disappointing her family and finally prove her worth. Now she was about to obliterate a decade of progress with just one act.
But she was desperate. She had to get into that penthouse and confiscate the blackmail evidence tonight. The casino owner would destroy the prince’s reputation—and possibly the entire monarchy—if she failed.
And better that she do this than her brother Tristan. At least if she got caught, no one would blink. Her reputation had been ruined years ago.
Nothing would go wrong, she reminded herself fiercely. This thief, Dante Quevedo, was reputed to be the best. He’d sneak her into the penthouse to find the incriminating surveillance footage and whisk her safely back out.
More anxiety swirled inside her at the thought of the man loitering in the hallway, the memory of his stark, dark face and furious eyes bringing a rush of heat to her skin. She’d expected someone older, shorter … more manageable.
But Dante Quevedo … She swallowed hard. He was too big, too male, too dangerous. He radiated testosterone and power. And the hostility in his midnight eyes …
She inhaled deeply, refusing to let him unsettle her. So he wasn’t what she’d expected. Tough. No matter how much he disturbed her, she couldn’t back out now.
She glanced at her watch. Two seconds. Her heartbeat accelerating, she straightened and faced the door.
The lights winked out. The casino’s mechanical systems powered down, a sudden unnatural hush descending on the pitch-black air.
Her tension rising, Paloma swung open the restroom door and stepped back into the hall—just as a sickening thud reached her ears.
She cringed. She’d hoped her bodyguard Carlos would wait for her down the hall. But if he’d interfered and hurt the thief … What was she going to do now?
A tiny light flickered on. The narrow beam of a penlight drew her gaze to the floor—where Carlos lay slumped at Dante’s feet.
Her jaw dropped. Carlos was an expert fighter. How had this thief managed to take him down?
“What did you do?” she cried, rushing to him. “You didn’t hurt him?” The last thing she wanted was to cause her protector harm.
“He’s fine. He’ll just have a headache when he comes to.” Dante’s flinty eyes narrowed on hers. “But what’s with the bodyguard? He wasn’t part of our deal.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I tried to sneak off without him, but he wouldn’t let me out of his sight.”
Dante only grunted in answer, then held his penlight out. “Here. Hold this.”
Still staggered at Dante’s prowess, she grabbed the penlight and aimed it his way. His back muscles flexed under his suit coat as he gripped Carlos beneath his arms and dragged him across the hall.
“Open the door,” he ordered, his deep voice rumbling in the dark.
Feeling even more off-kilter, she opened the restroom door. Dante dumped Carlos inside and reached for the penlight again. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”
“Right.” They had to hurry to commit a crime.
He strode down the hallway, the small light bobbing in the dark. Her sense of unreality mounting, Paloma scurried behind him, trying to keep up with his lengthy strides. Disembodied voices floated through the darkness—casino workers running through nearby corridors, rushing to restore the power.
But her thoughts kept returning to the bodyguard sprawled on the restroom floor. What would he do when he regained consciousness? Would he assume she’d been abducted and raise the alarm? And what if she and Dante got arrested? What if she couldn’t find the blackmailer’s evidence, and the royal family was ruined?
Fighting back a flurry of anxiety, she rushed after Dante down a private hall. This plan would work. It had to. She’d find that computer disk and return to the hallway before the power came back on. She had too much riding on this to fail.
Dante stopped at the tower door. A remnant of the medieval stronghold, the circular, three-story watchtower led to the penthouse, where the casino owner, César Gomez, had his private suite. Dante tugged on a pair of gloves and swung open the door.
She shot him a look of surprise. “It wasn’t locked?”
“It’s electronic. That’s why we cut the power.”
Of course. Completely out of her depth now, she followed him through the door. He led the way up the spiral stone staircase, taking the steps two at a time. She hurried after, her nerves coiling tighter as they neared the penthouse floor.
Would Gomez be at home? That was the milliondollar question, the one she’d been trying to answer all night. He hadn’t answered her phone calls. His employees hadn’t seen him in days. She prayed he’d left town on an impromptu vacation, because if he found her snooping through his penthouse …
She swallowed hard. It didn’t matter. No matter what the danger, she had to take the risk. It was pointless to pay a blackmailer to stay silent; his demands would only get worse.
And she didn’t dare let him expose that surveillance footage. Not now. Not with the country on edge. The sight of her brother partying with an international terrorist—no matter how innocent his actions had been—would further anger the citizens, leading to even more violent unrest.
They reached the fire door at the top of the staircase, and Dante paused again. “Wait here until I check it out.”
Nodding her agreement, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath.
Dante opened the door and peeked out. “It’s clear. Come on.”
Her pulse skittering wildly, she followed him from the stairwell into a wide stone vestibule carpeted with Belgian rugs. To the right stood Gomez’s private elevator, now dark. On the left loomed the door to the penthouse suite, its heavy planks covered with iron studs.
Experiencing another burst of anxiety, she glanced around, the ominous silence fueling her doubts. Because if anyone got wind of this break-in …
But she was committed now.
Dante handed her the penlight again. “Hold this while I pick the lock.”
“I thought the locks were electronic.”
“This one has a battery backup.”
That made sense. “You need the light?” she asked, shining it at the door.
“No.” Tugging two metal picks from his coat pocket, he lowered himself to one knee. Then he inserted the tools in the lock and closed his eyes.
Paloma shot another nervous glance behind her, then returned her attention to the thief, taking in his hard, chiseled mouth, his flat, masculine cheekbones, his thick shock of straight black hair. He probed the lock by feel, his big hands surprisingly gentle as he worked the picks, intense focus etched on his handsome face.
No, not handsome, she amended. His features were too strong for that, his nose a little too crooked. He was … virile. Blatantly and unapologetically male. She skimmed the cords of his sinewed neck, the impossible breadth of his shoulders, the black beard scruff shadowing his jaw.
She experienced a wayward thrill.
She stiffened, shocked. She could not be attracted to this man. He was a thief, a common criminal. And she’d worked far too hard to subdue her wild streak to backslide into temptation now.
The lock gave way. Motioning for her to be quiet, Dante rose and cracked open the door. He listened for a moment, his ear to the small opening, then signaled for her to follow. Trying to keep her mind off Dante and on the job she needed to do, she slipped inside.
A feeling of wrongness instantly struck her. She glanced around the penthouse, intense dread gathering at the base of her spine, but nothing appeared out of place. Moonlight filtered through the deep-set windows. A profound stillness gripped the suite, assuring her that they were alone. She scanned the grand piano rising like a phantom in the moonlight, a huge dining-room table with high-backed medieval chairs.
Of course she’d feel jittery. She’d never committed a crime before. What did she expect?
“What are you looking for?” Dante asked, his voice low.
She opened her mouth to tell him, then stopped. The blackmailer was targeting her brother. It was Tristan’s secret to reveal, not hers.
Impatience flashed in Dante’s eyes. “Look, Princess. We’ve only got a few minutes until the power comes on, and I don’t intend to be here when it does.”
She couldn’t afford to get caught, either. And two people could search faster than one. “I’m looking for a computer disk.”
“What’s on it?”
His blunt question caught her off guard. “Does it matter?”
“If I’m going to steal something, I’d like to know why.”
“We’re not stealing. Not really,” she added when he shot her a look of disbelief. “It’s footage from a surveillance camera. It has something … incriminating on it. Blackmail evidence.”
Dante snorted.
She blinked, his skepticism taking her aback. “You don’t believe me?”
“Hardly.”
“But … why not?”
“Because it’s ridiculous, that’s why. Why would anyone blackmail you? Your reputation’s already bad.”
His obvious disdain made her face burn, but she couldn’t argue his point. The tabloids had bad-mouthed her for years—and rightfully so. She’d made so many mistakes since childhood that País Vell’s citizens despised her now.
And no matter how hard she tried to redeem herself—no matter how many charities she funded, no matter how many hours she volunteered each week at the royal hospital, doing everything from fundraising and reading to patients, to entertaining the children in the pediatric ward—she couldn’t change their minds.
Which was exactly why she was here. She knew better than anyone the damage a bad reputation could do. And she refused to let that happen to her brother, Tristan, the heir to País Vell’s throne.
She raised her chin. “I’m telling you the truth. I’m trying to stop a blackmailer, whether you want to believe me or not. Now, I suggest we get to work.”
Dante didn’t move. His gaze stayed clamped on hers, his skepticism clear. Then his eyes shifted to her mouth and heated with sensual awareness, making her pulse go berserk.
So he felt the attraction, too.
But his mouth hardened into a scowl. “Have it your way, Princess.” He slapped the penlight into her hand. “You check the cabinets. I’ll look for a safe. Did you bring gloves?”
“Yes.” Her voice came out breathless. Her heart racketing around her rib cage, she pulled a pair of leather gloves from her back pocket and put them on. Wrong man. Wrong time. Definitely the wrong place, she reminded herself sternly. She had to concentrate on finding that computer disk, not let her unruly hormones lead her astray—no matter how compelling Dante was.
He disappeared into the shadows. Still badly rattled, she forced her attention to the suite. Starting at the nearby wet bar, she searched the liquor cabinet and cupboards, then continued around the room. The dining area yielded nothing. Neither did the sideboard, the closet in the spacious bedroom or the bedside table drawers. Kneeling, she shone the penlight under the bed. Nothing, not even dust.
Her desperation growing, she rose. That computer disk had to be here, and she had to find it tonight. But she was fast running out of time.
She spotted Dante searching the office and headed his way, catching up with him at Gomez’s desk. “I doubt he’d keep it here,” she said, but she rifled through a drawer, just in case. “It’s too obvious.”
“You’d be surprised what people do. Half the time they install safes, then don’t even bother to put their valuables inside.”
She paused at that, his words a stark reminder that she hardly knew this man. She knew he owned a small stonemasonry business on the edge of town. He was supposedly a thief, which his actions tonight confirmed. She’d even heard rumors that he might be El Fantasma, the Ghost, a modern-day Robin Hood who plagued the aristocrats of País Vell. And he’d spent the past two weeks locked up in the royal prison, although with his arrest record oddly missing, no one seemed to know why.
She shook her head. Dante’s background didn’t matter, not with that damaging surveillance footage threatening the security of País Vell. But neither could she afford to discount his expert advice. In case Gomez had left the incriminating evidence in the open, she fished a plastic bag from his wastepaper basket, then scooped up every flash drive and computer disk she spotted, no matter what their labels said.
“I need the light,” Dante said from across the room. He swung aside a wall painting, exposing a safe.
He’d found it. Relief spiraling through her, she rushed around the desk.
“Aim it at the keypad,” he added.
Moving in even closer, she complied. But standing this near, the heat from his muscled body teasing her senses, she couldn’t keep her gaze off him. She skimmed his short, tousled hair, the grooves bracketing his sensual mouth, the black beard shadow coating his throat. Another shimmer of awareness fluttered through her, and she dragged in a calming breath. There was something riveting about this man, something that appealed to her in a basic, primal way.
Something she had no business indulging in right now.
Not ever. She’d put an end to her rebellious streak and sworn off inappropriate men. She had a duty to her country to fulfill.
Dante’s long, lean fingers tapped the keypad. The safe popped open, and he edged the door aside.
“That was fast,” she said.
“He’s sloppy. He’s worn off the numbers on the keys he uses most, so it was easy to figure out. And I got lucky. These electronic keypads go into lockdown if you enter four invalid codes. I got it right in three.”
Not sure whether to be impressed or appalled, she peered into the open safe. But all she saw was a stack of ledgers, and her hopes instantly tanked. “That disk has to be here.” She couldn’t keep the desperation from her voice.
Dante glanced at his watch. “I’ll look in the bathroom while you check. Then we need to go. We’re cutting it close as it is.”
Not wasting any time, she took out the stack of ledgers and searched the safe. She found a bag of antique coins, a few pairs of diamond cuff links—but no computer disk. Cursing César Gomez, she held the ledgers by their spines and shook them, in case the disk was wedged inside.
A tiny manila envelope fell to the floor. Bending down, she picked it up and looked inside. It was a key—but to what? Obviously not this safe. Unless there was another one in the room? But surely Dante would have found it by now.
On the off chance that it mattered, she stuffed the key into the bag with the computer disks, replaced the ledgers and closed the safe. Then she headed to the bathroom, her last resort. But as she stepped inside, Dante hustled over and blocked her way, forcing her to stumble back out. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to go around him.
“Don’t go in there.”
“Why not? I need to—” A horrible stench wafted past, and she gagged. Oh, God. “Is it Gomez? Is he—?”
“Yeah, he’s dead.”
Shock rippled through her. She grabbed hold of the door frame, unable to catch her breath. “Dead?” she repeated, dumbfounded. “But that’s impossible.” He’d been alive two days ago, when he’d telephoned her brother, demanding cash. “Let me see.”
“You don’t want to go in there. It’s bad.”
“How bad? Was he murdered?”
His eyes grim, Dante shook his head.
“Suicide?”
“Worse.”
“Worse than suicide?” A deep sense of trepidation clawed her throat. What could be worse than that? “Please,” she whispered. “I need to know.”
His eyes turning even grimmer, he took her bag from her trembling hands and stepped away.
Foreboding turning her blood cold, she took a deep breath and went inside.
Tasuta katkend on lõppenud.
