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His own heart hammering, his pulse rocketing through his veins with a violent buzz, Luke spun back toward Sofia. Her patron still stood there, looking suitably shocked.
But Sofia was gone.
He swept his gaze through the frantic crowd. Where was she? Why hadn’t she tried to steal the necklace? Unless the one on display was a fake…
His stomach dipped. Oh, hell. Where had she gone?
Cursing his stupidity, he raced toward the door with the frenzied guests, shouldering them out of his way. Then he pushed ruthlessly through the bottleneck crowding the exit, paused and scanned the hall. He glanced right, then left, just as a blond woman rounded the corner and disappeared.
His pulse leaped, and he gave chase. She had several yards on him, but he was faster, especially with her tight gown and spiked heels impeding her pace. He bolted down the hall and sprinted around the corner just seconds after she did, catching up in a few long strides. Furious now, he grabbed her arm, jerked her around and shoved her against the wall.
“Where is it?” he demanded. He gripped her arms and leaned against her, blocking her in with his weight. Behind him several guards rushed past, their guns drawn and radios squawking, shouting instructions and commands.
“What? Where’s what?” She struggled uselessly against him, her chest heaving, her eyes pools of panic and fear.
“Luke, let go! That man…the gun—”
“The necklace. Where is it?” He tightened his hands and gave her a shake, and her eyes whipped back to his. “And I don’t mean the fake.”
“But it’s…” A flush stained her cheeks. Her breath rasped in uneven pants. Confusion edged out the fear in her eyes.
“You know where it is. In the safe in the library, right where Antonio put it. Where else would it be?”
Antonio? He blinked, shook his head. What did his partner have to do with this? They’d never discussed the need for a decoy to fool potential thieves. This woman was just trying to distract him. And he didn’t have time for these games. “Prove it.”
Ignoring her protests, intent on finding that necklace before his career was destroyed, he dragged her down the hall, not caring that she had to jog to keep up with him. He towed her through a store room and detoured down another hallway, while questions spun through his brain. Who would want to kill the Roma royals? A terrorist? Or was their shooting just a distraction for the theft?
He stopped at an unmarked door, released her long enough to unlock it with his master key, then grabbed her bicep again. “Let’s go.”
The temperature dropped as they entered the oldest part of the palace, an area off limits to guests—a section the security cameras didn’t reach. The musty air, water-stained ceilings and threadbare carpets reflected years of disuse and neglect.
But Luke knew every stone, every crack in this medieval fortress. He’d spent months memorizing the layout, checking for weak points, scouring the dungeon and ancient bolt-hole, making sure no terrorists could worm in—never suspecting that the real danger would come from inside.
He stopped in front of the huge door leading to the library, its ornate carvings and inlaid panels layered with dust. Cautious now, aware that this could be a setup, he turned the knob, then kicked the massive door open. When nothing moved, he gave Sofia a short, sharp tug and pulled her inside.
He let go of her arm, closed the door, and scanned the room. The vaulted chamber looked empty, except for a few stray pieces of furniture and the cases of books.
“Which safe?” he asked, his skepticism rising. There were two antiquated wall safes in the room, neither secure enough for current use.
“Behind the painting. The one by the fireplace,” she said.
He strode over to a small lamp perched on a table and flicked it on, then turned toward the fireplace. The dim light threw shadows on the frescoed ceiling and illuminated the paintings on the walls.
“You mean the Pacheco?”
“So you know art.”
He scowled. Did she have to sound so surprised? He’d left the slums of El Salobral a lifetime ago. “A thief’s got to be able to identify the loot, right, Sofia?”
Her eyes flashed. “You would know.”
He hissed out his breath in disbelief. “You’re not still trying to pin that on me?”
“But you did steal it. Don Fernando showed me—”
“Yeah, right.” Disgusted, fighting back the futile rage that heated his blood, he crossed the room to the painting. There was no point trying to defend himself. She’d chosen to believe Don Fernando over him long ago.
But her disloyalty still rankled.
Anxious to end this farce, he turned his attention to the safe. He found the hinge in the gilded frame easily enough and swung the painting out from the wall. But when he examined the lock—an old-fashioned disk tumbler—suspicion again crawled through his gut. Why leave a priceless artifact in an unguarded safe—one with a lock a beginner could crack? Nothing about this made sense.
Unless this was a trap. His unease mounting, he swiveled his gaze back to Sofia. She was rubbing her arms, scanning the room. From nerves or guilt?
“What’s the combination?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. I don’t!” she protested when he shot her a dangerous look. “I just made the decoy. Ask Antonio. I brought it here early this evening, he swapped it for the original, and that was it.”
“The hell he did.”
“But…he did.” Her mouth sagged. “You don’t think that I…”
Damn right he did. Fed up now, he stalked back to her, moving too close, invading her space. Then he gripped her chin and tugged it up, forcing her eyes to his. “I wouldn’t suggest lying to me, querida.”
“I’m not lying,” she gritted out. Her cheeks were flushed. Her nostrils flared. Outrage sparked in her eyes.
His gaze held hers. She didn’t waver, didn’t blink.
Five years ago he would have believed her. Then again, five years ago he would have crawled through fire for this woman.
He was a lot smarter now.
He admired her acting ability, though. She had that fervent indignation, that innocent sincerity part down pat.
Wondering how far she’d take this game, he stroked his thumb down her throat, tracing the path his mouth once took. Her eyes turned narrow and dark; her pulse quivered beneath his hand. He lowered his gaze to her lips—moist, lush, tempting—and heard that ragged hitch in her breath.
His own heart kicked in response.
He hissed out his breath and stepped back. This woman was trouble. Dangerous. A distraction he couldn’t afford.
Scowling, he strode back to the safe. He dragged in a breath and exhaled, forcing his pulse to calm, his heart to slow, driving the carnal need from his blood.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Crack the safe.” He glanced back. “Unless you want to share that combination after all?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “But I told you, Antonio—”
“Right.” Fed up with her deception, he turned back to the safe. He flexed his hands, loosened his shoulders, waited until his hands were steady, his breathing calm. Then he reached for the dial.
His attention focused completely on the lock, he turned the dial, closing his eyes to feel the movement of the drive cam. He concentrated, slowly moved the dial, working to align the lever to the groove in the wheel. Sensing, feeling, listening.
Acting like the thief he used to be.
The thief too many believed he still was.
The first wheel clicked into place.
“Por aquí. In here,” a man said outside the library door.
Luke’s heart stopped. He opened his eyes and sliced his gaze to Sofia. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip.
Suspicion rolled through him. Were those her partners? Had she been heading here all along? “Expecting someone?”
“What? Of course not.” Fear edged out the indignation in her eyes. “But…that gunman. You don’t think there are more…?”
He straightened. They couldn’t wait here to find out. And he couldn’t leave Sofia alone in case she tipped them off.
He swung the painting back into place. “Come on,” he whispered and grabbed her arm.
“Where?” she whispered back.
He glanced at the door to the adjoining room. Too far; they’d never make it. And the sofa wouldn’t provide any cover with those tall, clawed feet.
He looked at the high arched windows blackened by the night, their long, velvet drapes tied back with braided cords. It might be an obvious place to hide, but they didn’t have much choice.
“Over here.” He pulled her to the nearest window, then turned and unhitched the tie-back cords. The thick, heavy drapes closed around them, plunging them into darkness, cocooning them in dust and heat.
Unwilling to trust her, he tightened his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. He clamped his other hand over her mouth.
“Don’t move,” he warned and felt her nod.
The library door squeaked open and they both stilled. “It’s by the fireplace,” the voice said again, and Luke’s heart went numb. Antonio, his partner. The man he’d thought he could trust.
Betrayed again.
“You’d better hurry,” another man said and this time, Sofia jerked. So it was someone she recognized. No surprises there. He’d figured that she was involved.
“Claro.” Antonio again.
Footsteps tapped across the marble floor. The heat built behind the musty drapes, and sweat trickled down Luke’s jaw. Sofia stirred slightly, adjusting her position, and he inhaled the familiar spice of her hair, felt her hot breath fanning his palm, her satin-clad bottom caressing his groin.
Dumb move, Moreno. He winced, shifted to ease the sudden arousal he knew she could feel, and peered through the slit in the drapes. His partner, Antonio, was opening the safe with latex gloves while a hulking, balding man waited beside him. Luke frowned, trying to place the man, and then it clicked. Paco, don Fernando’s bodyguard. He’d seen him at don Fernando’s estate.
But what was the bodyguard doing here with Antonio? And suddenly, realization slammed through him, a sick, dizzy feeling reeling through his head. No wonder he’d gotten this job. It had nothing to do with his reputation, nothing to do with his skill or his hard work paying off. What a fool he had been. He’d been hired because Antonio had connections to don Fernando, a politically powerful man.
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.
