High-Risk Reunion. Gail Barrett
dedicated to protecting the king.
Resolve settled inside her. She’d waited three long years for this opportunity to destroy the police chief—the man who’d murdered her beloved father and assaulted her.
And this time she wouldn’t fail.
“You’re stealing from your competitors?” Rafe’s voice rang with outrage, drawing her attention back to him. “After claiming my criminal background would hurt your career?”
She tried not to wince. She’d only said that to drive him away. “I might as well. I learned to steal from the best.”
His eyes turned glacial. And guilt caught her square in the gut. She didn’t want to hurt him. She’d already caused him enough pain.
And she knew he’d gone straight—at least, until now. Shortly after they’d met he’d severed his ties to his tight-knit family, making himself an outcast, sacrificing everything he cared about to uphold the law.
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.