High-Stakes Affair. Gail Barrett

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.