High-Stakes Affair. Gail Barrett

any further chance to find clues.

      “At least give me a minute to grab his laptop. Maybe he left some information on that.”

      “Five seconds,” Dante warned, his voice hard. “And then you’re on your own.”

      Paloma whirled on her heels and dashed across the penthouse, refusing to dwell on Dante’s anger. It didn’t matter what he thought. She had far more to worry about than this thief’s poor opinion of her. Working quickly, she unplugged the lightweight laptop, tucked it under her arm and raced back across the room.

      Dante opened the door to the hall and went out. Her pulse erratic, she trailed him into the vestibule and back to the stairwell door. Then she followed him down the spiral staircase, her mind whirling, her soft boots slapping the stones.

      What a disaster. Gomez was dead. She probably hadn’t found the blackmail evidence, so her brother was still at risk. All she had was a bank key, a laptop computer and a handful of random disks which might not yield any clues.

      And if anyone discovered she’d been in the penthouse …

      She shuddered, picturing the media circus that would cause. It would bring back the worst of her scandals, resurrecting the stories of her older brother Felipe’s death—which people still blamed on her.

      At the bottom of the tower, Dante paused. “We’ll head to the service entrance. It’s the fastest way out.”

      “Great.” She needed to get past those surveillance cameras before the power came on. Once news of Gomez’s death came out, the police would study the footage for signs of foul play—and she couldn’t afford to be implicated in any way.

      Dante exited the tower. Staying close on his heels, she ran after him down the hallway, trying to decide on a plan. Once she was safely outside the casino, she could circle around to the main entrance and go back in. She would pretend she’d lost sight of her bodyguard when the power went off and feign ignorance about his attack.

      But what about the disks and laptop? How was she going to account for them? There was no logical reason for her to have them, no explanation that made sense.

      Unless she stowed them in the bushes and returned for them later. But what if someone found them first? She didn’t dare risk losing the only possible clue to that blackmail evidence she had.

      Tightening her grip on the laptop, she pushed her pace, trying to keep up with Dante’s strides. She could ditch her bodyguard completely, pretend she’d hooked up with Dante when the power went out, and have him drive her home. With her wild reputation, no one would question that.

      But leaving the casino without her bodyguard would infuriate her father, especially after that assassination attempt. It would reinforce his belief that she was reckless, irresponsible, undoing the efforts she’d made to convince him that she’d reformed.

      But what other choice did she have?

      Still trying to find a solution, she turned the corner behind Dante and raced down another hall. But suddenly, voices came from the darkness ahead.

      “Who’s there?” a man called out.

      Dante abruptly stopped. Paloma staggered to a halt beside him, a wild spurt of panic robbing her of breath. Now what were they going to do?

      “Back here.” Dante took hold of her arm and spun her around. But he didn’t need to urge her along. She was in an off-limits area of the casino, carrying items stolen from a dead man—in the company of a thief. No way did she want to get caught!

      She fled with Dante back down the hallway, running as fast as she could in the dark. But footsteps pounded behind them. “Stop!” the man shouted.

      Her pulse frantic, Paloma forced herself to run faster, ignoring the searing burn scorching her lungs. “This way,” Dante said, and she veered hard to the left. They entered another hallway, then sprinted full out toward the emergency-exit sign glinting in the darkness a dozen yards ahead.

      Almost there. Fatigue weakened her legs. Her breath rasped like a frenzied saw. Calling on all her strength, she sped down the musty hallway, desperate to get outside and disappear into the night, away from prying eyes.

      Dante surged ahead. She trained her gaze on the exit sign, still several yards away.

      But then a brilliant flash of light filled the air. Blinded by the sudden brightness, Paloma stumbled and nearly fell. Managing to keep hold of the laptop, she pulled herself upright and squinted in the garish light—straight into a surveillance camera mounted beside the door.

      Her heart plummeted. They’d just been captured on camera together.

      Dante shouldered open the door. Unable to believe that she’d screwed up yet again, she barreled after him into the night. Then she staggered to a row of delivery trucks parked beside the loading bay, and stopped.

      Her lungs heaved. Her heart beat triple time as she gulped in the crisp night air. She’d messed up, all right. Not only had she failed to find that hidden computer disk, but she’d been recorded on camera with Dante, giving the guards a reason to investigate them.

      “Wait here,” he said. Before she could ask what he intended, he strode around the truck and disappeared.

      Still struggling to breathe normally, she glanced around. Fire trucks rumbled in the parking lot below them. Smoke from the bomb blast lingered in the air, the acrid smell permeating the night. She walked to the end of the alley and scanned the well-heeled people milling around the casino entrance, commenting on the power outage and fire.

      Suddenly two guards burst through the emergency exit behind her. Her heart galloping, she moved deeper into the shadows, afraid they would mount a search. But the men just stood on the loading dock for a moment, peering at the commotion outside the casino, then gave up and went inside.

      Paloma exhaled. She’d dodged one bullet, at least. But then the shadows beside her swirled, and she whipped around. “It’s me,” Dante said, emerging from the darkness.

      She pressed her hand to her chest. “You scared me. I thought you were a guard.”

      “Sorry.” He stepped closer, moving into a circle of light, and she caught the tension lines bracketing his mouth.

      Her belly tightened again. “What happened?”

      “I’ll tell you later. Let’s get out of here first. My car’s at the edge of the lot.”

      Not seeing an alternative, she fell in beside him, but her anxiety ratcheted up a notch as they went across the lot. Something had put that worry in his eyes, but what?

      Still mulling that over, she wove behind him through the rows of parked cars. People streamed around them, chattering about the night’s events. Paloma ducked her head, hoping no one recognized her—a complication she didn’t need.

      Dante stopped beside a dinged-up hatchback. “Get in. It’s not locked.”

      Surprised at his choice of cars, she climbed inside. While she buckled her seat belt, Dante grabbed a knapsack from beneath a nearby shrub and tossed it into the back. Then he slid into the driver’s seat and fiddled with some loose wires under the dash.

      She blinked. “You stole this car?”

      “I was trying to stay anonymous.” He shot her a pointed look. “A lot of good that did.”

      She dragged her gaze to the windshield as the old car stuttered to life. She’d definitely fouled up. Getting caught on camera with Dante would create exactly the kind of publicity she’d hoped to avoid—and put innocent people at risk.

      Including him.

      Although innocent hardly described Dante Quevedo. She cast a glance at his profile as he drove through the gravel lot. She skimmed his dark, stubbled jaw, his big hands grasping the wheel, the heavy bones of his wrists. And that restless feeling quivered through her, that primitive, carnal awareness