High-Risk Reunion

But she had to throw him off her trail. She couldn’t risk that he’d discover the truth about the past—or get too close to her now.

“So why are you really here?” she asked again.

“I’m looking for jewelry.”

“In the castle? During the summit?” Even an adrenaline junkie like Rafe wouldn’t have the gall.

“You know me—always aiming out of my league.”

She flinched, the haughty words she’d used to reject him flaying her now. But she bit down hard on her lip to keep from blurting out a defense. It was safer for them both if he believed the worst.

No matter how badly his derision stung.

She studied his furious eyes, still unable to believe he’d resumed a life of crime. But what else could he be up to? He couldn’t possibly know about the intelligence she sought.

She shook her head. She’d have to puzzle that out later. She needed to get what she came for and leave—before the diplomat came to.

“Great,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “Then we won’t be in each other’s way. You can hunt for jewelry, and I’ll look for that information I need.”

Her composure rattled, she swiveled back to the bed. Trying hard to ignore Rafe still looming beside her, she got to work—punching the pillows and tangling the sheets, tugging off the diplomat’s pants. She couldn’t hide her presence in the diplomat’s bedroom. Dozens of guests had seen them leave the reception together, and the surveillance cameras had recorded them walking through the halls to his room. Her only chance to avoid suspicion when he discovered the missing intelligence was to give the appearance that they’d had sex.

She grabbed the diplomat’s glass from the nightstand and turned toward the bathroom—but Rafe still barred her way. He stood with his feet planted wide, his muscled arms folded over his chest, his cynical eyes tracking her moves.

Her stomach churning, she pushed past him. She didn’t care what he thought. She’d come here for justice, not forgiveness—especially from him.

She marched into the adjacent bathroom, her high heels clicking on the medieval stones, then glanced in the bathroom mirror. Behind her, Rafe finally began prowling around the bedroom, and she let out a pent-up breath. Lord, she didn’t need this. Returning to País Vell was dangerous enough. Hopefully he’d give up on finding valuables and leave before this night got worse.

Still keenly aware of Rafe’s movements, she rinsed out the diplomat’s wine glass, erasing traces of the drug she’d used, then returned it to the nightstand by the bed. To be safe, she swirled in some untainted wine.

Hesitating, she studied the nearly nude diplomat, his gray-haired chest rising with every ragged snore. Deciding to add another touch, she ripped a page from the notepad by the telephone, jotted down that she’d enjoyed the night, and left it on the pillow beside his head.

That done, she set to work. Following in Rafe’s footsteps, she searched the room—rifling through the drawer in the bedside table, checking the diplomat’s suitcase, examining the pockets and seams of his clothes. She assumed he’d put the information she needed on a computer flash drive or something equally as easy to transport.

But where had he squirreled it away?

She rummaged through the antique armoire as Rafe looked under the bed. Still nothing. Frustrated, she re-entered the bathroom and checked his toiletry case.

A soft click from the bedroom reached her ears. Whirling back, she spotted Rafe kneeling beside a briefcase on the floor. Her pulse quickening, she rushed to his side. “Let me see that,” she said.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the briefcase and thumbed through the folders, then pulled out a small velvet bag. He loosened the drawstring and dumped the contents into his palm. A large gold ring gleamed against his black leather glove.

Her jaw dropped. So he really had come here in search of jewels. But why? He’d quit his family’s business years ago.

Still holding the ring, he rose, slipped it back into the velvet bag, then stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans.

She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not really going to take that.”

“Damn straight I am.”

“But … you can’t. I’ll get blamed.” Too much evidence placed her in the room. And stealing the flash drive was one thing. She needed that to bring down a murderous traitor, an end she could justify. But a ring … “You have to put it back.”

“Forget it.” He turned toward the long, velvet drapes.

Panic swarmed inside her. “Rafe, please,” she begged. “This is going to mess everything up.”

His head swung around. The fury in his eyes stopped her cold. “I’m a thief, Gabrielle. This is what I do. So why should I put it back?”

She clenched her hands, her stomach in total turmoil as he flung her words back at her. But she couldn’t explain why she’d lied, why she’d had to push him away. She could never let him know.

But if she got arrested for the theft … The police chief would get away with her father’s murder. He’d lock her behind bars—or worse.

“Listen,” she pleaded. “I know I’m asking a lot, but you have to believe me—”

“Believe you?” He let out a bitter laugh. “After the way you lied to me?”

“I didn’t—”

A man’s voice rose in the hallway, cutting her off. She froze in sudden alarm. Someone was coming. Oh, God. She had to go.

But she hadn’t found the flash drive yet.

“Expecting someone?” Rafe asked.

“What? No, of course not.” How could he think that?

Footsteps thudded outside the door. Her entire body tensed.

“Secure the stairs,” the man called out. “I’ll check the bedroom.”

Her stomach plunged. Raymundo Ortiz. The police chief. The man who’d slaughtered her father and nearly murdered her.

She stared at the door in horror, knowing she had to flee. But if she ran, she’d look guilty. And she hadn’t done anything wrong—aside from slipping the diplomat that drug. But did she dare stay and try to brazen it out, and confront that cold-blooded killer alone?

Rafe shot her a glare, as if she’d conjured up Ortiz, then pushed through the velvet drapes. The doorknob rattled hard. Her pulse went berserk. No way was she taking on Ortiz. She turned and rushed after Rafe.

She caught up with him at the alcove door. He whipped around, anger rolling off him in waves. “What do you want now?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Not with me, you aren’t.”

“Then move aside.” Frantic, she tried to step around him. He shot out his arm and blocked her way. “Are you crazy? You can’t just go waltzing out there. The guards will shoot you on sight.”

“I can’t stay in here.”

“The hell you can’t.”

“Rafe, please.” More thumps rose from the bedroom door, and her desperation surged. “Let me by. I can’t let him find me. I have to go.”

He scowled at her for several heartbeats, then hissed. “Fine, follow me. But you have to do what I say. I mean it.” His fierce gaze burned into hers. “You make one wrong move and you’re on your own.” Motioning for her to be quiet, he cracked open the alcove door.

Relieved he’d agreed to help her, she shot a nervous glance at the drapes. Ortiz must have come for the flash drive. He must have seen her leave the reception with the diplomat and somehow divined her plans. But why bring backup? Why advertise his presence? Shouldn’t he sneak into the bedroom alone?

Rafe glanced her way. “Stay close.”

He didn’t have to warn her. Ortiz ran the royal police. His armed guards swarmed the castle. It would take a miracle to escape.

Rafe crept onto the medieval wall walk. She scurried after, trying not to make any noise. Dressed all in black, he instantly merged with the shadows. Her heart beat triple time as she dogged his heels.

He strode to the nearby watch tower and picked up a bundle of rope—which came as no surprise. Rafe had always prepared his heists meticulously, calculating every contingency—his secret to avoiding arrest.

But suddenly, he wheeled around, grabbed her arm, and shoved her against the tower. She gasped. “What—?”

“Shh!”

He flattened his body against hers. The rough rocks dug at her bare back. A second later, a guard charged by, his rifle raised, his heavy boots pounding the stones.

And a wild sound wedged in her throat. She hadn’t even heard him coming. If it hadn’t been for Rafe, she’d be dead.

The guard reached the alcove door. He kicked it open and charged inside.

“Come on.” Rafe seized her arm, but he didn’t have to convince her to rush. She raced across the uneven wall walk beside him, running as fast as she could in her wobbly heels.

They flew past another watch tower, then jumped down a flight of stone steps. Shouts rose from the courtyard below them, and she prayed the crenellated edge of the battlement would keep them concealed.

But a minute later, Rafe stopped again. “Get down!”

She dove to the ground, heedless of the sharp stones scraping her legs through her flimsy dress, and pressed her back to the wall. A heartbeat later, the searchlight skipped overhead.

She struggled to breathe. A siren rose in the distance, adding more confusion to her already disordered thoughts. Why the show of force? She hadn’t done anything wrong as far as the police chief knew.

Unless he was chasing Rafe …

But that didn’t make sense. Rafe had planned this job down to the second, even timing the searchlight. How had Ortiz known that he’d broken in?

Rafe leaned close. His warm breath feathered her ear. “We’ll climb down here. I’ll go first. As soon as I’m clear, grab the rope and slide down.”

“Slide?” Down a three-story wall?

“There’s no time to lower you down.” He pulled off his leather gloves and pressed them into her hands. “Wear these. And move fast. We’ve only got three minutes to beat the light.”

“Right.” Fighting back a burst of anxiety, she slipped on the supple gloves, still warm from his big hands. Then she tugged off her strappy sandals and looped them over her wrists. She could do this. She had to do this. It was the only way to survive.

The powerful beam passed by. Rafe jumped to his feet, secured the grappling hook to the wall, and tossed the rope over the side. Gabi scrambled upright as he climbed onto the ledge.

She glanced down, but the obsidian night swallowed the ground. She quickly averted her gaze, trying not to think about the deadly drop—or what would happen if she fell.

Rafe pushed off, twirled around and planted his feet on the wall. Then his dark gaze connected with hers, and for an instant, time seemed to grind to a halt. And that old sense of adventure zipped back, that heady feeling of excitement he’d always evoked. Rafe had jolted her from her sheltered upbringing, giving her a thrilling taste of danger she couldn’t resist. He’d been off-limits, forbidden. A thief. A man society didn’t approve of. A man who’d made her feel intensely alive.

“Hurry,” he urged, then disappeared into the dark.

Bunching up the hem of her ball gown, she swung her legs over the ledge. Another siren joined the first one. Footsteps thundered close by. Knowing she only had seconds, she leaned down and grabbed the rope, her stomach a riot of nerves. Then she sucked in a breath and leaped.

For a second, she couldn’t move. She clutched the rope with a death grip, too terrified to loosen her hold. Her shoulders began to ache. The night wind chilled her bare back. The rope undulated wildly beneath her as Rafe worked his way to the ground, and it was all she could do to hang on.

But she had to move. She had to get away from the wall walk before the guards caught up—or her arms gave way and she fell.

Summoning her courage, she pried her fingers apart. She instantly flew downward, the rope tearing through her hands. Too fast.

Startled, she tightened her grip and jolted to a stop, badly wrenching her arms. She panted wildly, so scared she could hardly think.

But the footsteps were pounding closer. She didn’t have time to waste. Slackening her grip, she inched down the nylon rope, sliding and stopping in erratic bursts. Her momentum spun her around, banged her against the wall, and she tried not to let out a moan.

Endless seconds crawled past. Her palms burned despite the leather gloves. Her arms trembled violently, her shoulder muscles searing as she struggled to hold on to the rope. She had no idea how much time she had left—or how many yards to the ground.

Suddenly an arm encircled her waist. Panicked, she gasped and clutched the rope. But Rafe’s voice murmured into her ear. “Let go. You made it.” Shaking, her legs wobbling so hard she couldn’t stand, she collapsed on the hard-packed dirt.

“Run,” he urged her. “Get into the woods.”

Still panting, she lifted her head. She caught the flash of the oncoming searchlight—and a fresh surge of adrenaline zapped her into gear. She lurched to her feet, gathered her hem so she wouldn’t trip, then ran full-out toward the woods.

But she realized Rafe wasn’t with her. She whirled around, spotted him still standing by the wall, whipping the long rope back and forth. A moment later, the grappling hook thudded into the ground.

He scooped up the rope, tossed it into a nearby bush, and began sprinting her way. She spun back into motion, Rafe’s footsteps spurring her on. The searchlight swung steadily closer. She desperately tried to speed up. They only had seconds to reach the trees.

Rafe flew past her and grabbed her arm. She plunged with him into the undergrowth—but then lost her balance and fell. Branches tore at her face, her hair, her arms. She crashed to the ground, her skin stinging, her breath knocked from her lungs. A fraction of a second later, the searchlight passed overhead.

Shaking wildly, her heart stampeding out of control, she lay sprawled in the prickly brush. She waited, not daring to move, as the beam swung past her again.

“This way,” Rafe called softly.

Still breathless, she slipped on her flimsy sandals to protect her feet. Then she rose and battled her way through the bushes, the sharp branches snagging her dress. She jerked it loose, ignoring the sound of ripping fabric as she stumbled through the woods after Rafe.

A wild feeling burbled inside her at the disaster she’d made of the night. She hadn’t found the flash drive. The police chief might now have it—destroying her only proof of his crimes. And she was fleeing the castle with Rafe—the one man she’d vowed to avoid.

So what should she do? She tripped on an exposed tree root, struggling to remain upright in the steep terrain. She couldn’t stay with Rafe, she knew that much. He was a wild card in this fiasco, uncontrollable. She couldn’t take the chance that he would expose her—or discover the truth about the past.

But Ortiz had seen her at the reception. He now knew she’d returned to País Vell. And if he guessed that she knew about his secret activities, he’d stop at nothing to hunt her down.

Rafe came to a halt. “Hold up.”

She bumped against him, then craned her neck to see. “What is it?”

“We’ve reached the road.”

She peered through the thick foliage. A blue LED light flashed below them, illuminating the two-lane road that switchbacked down the mountain into the town. “The police.”

“It looks like they’ve set up a roadblock.” Rafe’s low voice rumbled through the dark. “Stay here. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Without waiting for an answer, he crept off. Car doors slammed nearby. A radio squawked from the road. Gabi shivered and rubbed her arms, the night chill settling into her bones.

And the horror of her predicament spun through her mind. She’d bungled her mission badly. She’d somehow tipped off Ortiz, a man with unlimited power. But she couldn’t give up. She had to find that proof. No matter what else happened, she had to destroy her father’s murderer. This was her only chance.

A twig snapped close by. She spun around, alarmed, as a shadow materialized at her side. “It’s me,” Rafe murmured, and she pressed her palm to her rioting heart.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, her eyes searching his in the dark.

“They’re looking for us, all right.”

“Both of us?” She frowned. “Did you hear why?”

“Yeah.” He paused. His eyes turned even more grim. “They think we’ve committed a murder.”

“Murder?” she gasped.

He nodded, his mouth hardening into a slit. “The diplomat is dead.”

Chapter 3

“I didn’t kill him.” Gabi trailed Rafe through the woods in the darkness, still struggling to wrap her mind around the diplomat’s death. “That drug I gave him … it only made him drowsy. It couldn’t have caused a reaction. And I know he didn’t have allergies because I had his medical records checked.”

Rafe didn’t answer. He continued to push through the bushes, using his tiny penlight to illuminate the rocky ground.

“I mean it, Rafe.” She slid on a pinecone, nearly falling in her awkward designer heels. “There’s no way that drug could have killed him.”

“I believe you.” He stopped, then waited for her to catch up. “The police said he was shot.”

“Shot?” She stumbled to a halt. “But who … Ortiz?”

Rafe’s mouth tightened, his face barely visible in the night. “Who else?”

Her heart took a nosedive. This was so much worse than she’d thought. But why would Ortiz kill the diplomat? Why not simply steal the flash drive while he slept? None of this made sense.

Then even more horror dawned, and she pressed her hand to her throat. “They’ve got evidence against me. I left the reception with him. I’m on the security tapes. I left that note.”

Then another realization slammed into the first one, making her head spin even more. “Oh, God. It was my fault. I drugged him. He couldn’t even defend himself. I left him there to die.”

She hugged her arms, guilt crashing through her, a terrible tightness welling up in her throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” All she’d wanted was justice for her father’s death. Instead, she’d condemned an innocent man to die.

Stricken, she shook her head. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed there and protected him.”

“Then Ortiz would have killed you, too.”

But why? What did Ortiz have to gain from their deaths, aside from silencing her?

“What a mess,” she whispered, dazed. The evening had turned into a nightmare, and it just kept getting worse. She’d taken a chance by returning to País Vell. Certain she would find that flash drive, she’d planned to confiscate the evidence and turn it over to the prime minister before Ortiz could do her harm. But everything had gone wrong. And now she would never escape Ortiz. He had too much power—aircraft and weapons at his disposal, a police force at his command. He would launch a massive manhunt and scour the surrounding hills.

And then, yet another bolt of awareness struck home. She didn’t only need to elude Ortiz. The Americans would hunt for her, too. They would search the globe to find their diplomat’s supposed killer—leaving her no safe place to hide.

Panic rising inside her, she shot a furtive glance around the inky woods. She couldn’t waste time. She had to stay on the move, get farther away from the castle before Ortiz and his men caught up—and then figure out what to do.

“Come on. We need to keep moving,” Rafe said, echoing her thoughts. “There’s an old shepherd’s hut near here. We can rest there for a while and make plans.”

“You think it’s safe?”

“For tonight. I scouted it out earlier. It’s been abandoned for decades, probably since the Spanish civil war. The vegetation is overgrown, and there’s nothing else nearby. I doubt anyone remembers it’s there.”

He resumed hiking. She followed more slowly, her reservations growing as she picked her way through the brush—but she didn’t have much choice. She needed to stick with Rafe until she formed an alternate plan.

But Rafe presented dangers of his own. He was too clever, too suspicious. He knew her far too well, making it hard to hide the truth.

Which meant before he figured out what she was up to, she had to get away from him.

Several exhausting miles later, they reached the abandoned hut. Gabi huddled on a stool by the rustic fireplace, watching Rafe feed scraps of kindling into the sparks. The tiny flames licked the wood, casting firelight over his arms. The scent of wood smoke snaked through the air.

She shivered and rubbed her feet, her open sandals no protection against the bone-shuddering chill seeping through the dirt floor. Adding to her misery, the night breeze gusted through holes in the old tile roof, raising goose bumps along her skin.

Rafe leaned back on his heels and cut her a brooding look. Suddenly he peeled off his black turtleneck sweater, leaving on a short-sleeved T-shirt, and tossed the sweater to her. “Put that on before you freeze to death,” he said.

Too cold to argue, she tugged it over her head. The soft cotton sweater smelled faintly of Rafe’s aftershave, a sandalwood blend she’d always loved. She hugged her arms, the familiar scent giving her comfort, grateful for the added warmth.

For a minute they didn’t speak. Rafe stared at the fire, his rough-hewn, masculine profile illuminated by the flickering light. She scanned the width of his bulging shoulders, the curve of his iron biceps, the sinews in his strong neck.

Then his eyes returned to hers, the impact changing the rhythm of her pulse. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

His mouth flattened in a sign of impatience. “What you were really doing back there.”

“But I already told you—”

“Cut the lies, Gabrielle.”

The bitterness in his voice brought her up short. “You don’t believe me?”

“Of course I don’t believe you.”

“But … I’m telling you the truth.”

“The truth?” He barked out a cynical laugh. “You never told me the truth in your life.”

Her stomach churned. She looked away, knowing she deserved his scorn. She’d treated him abominably that night. She’d hurled cruel, hurtful lies at him, willingly crushing his heart. But she’d done it to protect him. She’d had to drive him away.

But she couldn’t tell him that. She had to keep that secret buried, no matter what the cost.

Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she leveled her voice. “I told you. I came here for information—for my business. It doesn’t affect you at all.”

“Right. And we both just happened to be there when Ortiz showed up.”

His words stopped her cold. Startled, she searched his eyes. “You’re saying you weren’t there by chance?”

He made a sound of disgust. “Come on, Gabrielle. You know damned well that Ortiz set me up.”

She stared at him in shock. “You think he set you up? How?”

“As if you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

He bunched his jaw, the planes of his dark face hard. The fire crackled in the now-tense air.

“I really don’t, Rafe. What does he have to do with you?”

His jaw still working, he turned his gaze to the fire. After a minute, he sighed. “He hired me to steal that ring.”

“He hired you?” She gaped at him, staggered, certain that she’d heard wrong. Rafe was working for Ortiz, the man who’d murdered her father?

Could this night get any more bizarre?

“But … you hate Ortiz.” He’d persecuted Rafe’s family for decades, scapegoating them for a myriad of crimes. The thought of Rafe now collaborating with his archenemy defied logic—and boggled her mind. “Why on earth would you work for him?”

He didn’t answer at first. He kept his gaze on the flames. Then the cool wind gusted, scattering sparks over the dirt, and he slanted her a glance. “He came to my shop last week,” he said, referring to the precious gem business he ran. “He stops by once in a while and accuses me of fencing jewels.” He grimaced. “He doesn’t think I’ve reformed, either.”