High-Stakes Affair. Gail Barrett

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.

       Chapter 2

      Paloma inched her way into the bathroom, fear beating against her breastbone like a vulture’s wings, the narrow beam from the penlight wavering on the marble floor. She held her breath, one hand clamped over her mouth and nose as she tried not to inhale the fetid stench.

      An unnatural silence drummed around her. The soft thud of her footsteps echoed in the gloom. Keeping her gaze trained on the wobbling penlight, she crept past an Iranian granite vanity, a