Читать книгу Royal Captive - Dana Marton - Страница 8

“I want the security tapes.” Istvan paced the room. He wanted progress, and was getting anything but. No more than half an hour could have passed since he’d first received the news from the Chancellor, but, without answers, every minute of that time seemed unbearably long.

He was at the security offices on the basement level of the palace with Miklos, Janos and Arpad. Benedek was on a world tour with Rayne, his opera-diva wife, in South Africa at the moment. Lazlo was still on his honeymoon on some undisclosed Mediterranean island.

“There’s no security footage.” Miklos was seething, as well, ignoring the worried looks of some of the security personnel in the next room. He could be intimidating when angered, something that came from decades of army life. He could stare down a full platoon if needed. No doubt, he’d had already taken the staff to task.

“This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. And if Miss Steler was involved, she didn’t work alone,” he said, and Istvan agreed.

That the bastards could take as much as they had in half an hour and seemingly turn into smoke was amazing. The crown jewels were just the tip of the iceberg, albeit the most important among the artifacts that had disappeared.

“The cameras went out?” he asked. “Don’t we have backup?”

“We have an alarm that gets triggered if recording is stopped or if the tape is blank.” Miklos’s face hardened. “But recording kept going. We have half an hour of footage of Channel Three. Someone hacked into the system from the outside. That’s not supposed to be possible.”

“And the people whose job it was to watch the monitors?” Arpad asked.

“Killed.”

The guards who’d protected the Royal Treasury had been murdered, as well. The mood in the office could not have been more grim.

“How sure are you that Miss Steler was involved?” Janos asked.

“One hundred percent. I showed her the treasury earlier. She begged Chancellor Egon to take her back there, telling him she needed to take more notes and think things over. She charmed him by asking for his help with the selection process.” The whole story came out once the Chancellor had calmed down enough to talk. “When the Chancellor had to run off for a quick meeting, she convinced him to leave her locked in there so she could keep working until he returned. He left her with a guard.”

“And when he went back, the guards were all dead, and Miss Steler and the loot were missing,” Janos finished for him, still wearing a tux. He’d been pulled from a formal reception for the top economists of the nation. Istvan hated social obligations. Janos very much enjoyed that sort of thing.

“Lauryn Steler,” Arpad was saying the name pensively, staring at the treasury’s blueprint.

He should have seen it coming, Istvan thought. He should have fought harder to keep her from entering the country, or should have put her under heavy guard, or at the very least should have issued a preemptive order to forbid anyone from letting her near the treasury without his being present.

“When we find her, we’ll find her team. Who is looking for her?” he asked, gathering his thoughts, pushing back on the regret and the anger. He needed to calm his mind to be able to think more clearly.

“The police and every man I have available. Every border station, airport, train station, bus station and shipping port has her name and picture,” Miklos reassured him, but from the resignation in his voice it was clear that he knew how little those precautions meant in reality.

Someone like Lauryn Steler would have multiple passports and could switch between identities with ease. Hell, she could be anywhere by now, traveling as a gray-haired grandmother.

But she had to have left a trail, however faint.

Istvan reached a decision. “I’m going out there. I have contacts.”

To break into the palace she had to have local help, and he knew most of the local bad boys in the stolen arts and artifacts world, and had helped to put some of them behind bars one time or another. Anybody hit one of his digs or cherished museums, he went after them with a vengeance. He knew exactly where to look, whom to pressure.

“We’re going with you,” his brothers said as one, moving closer together.

“A reassuring show of loyalty. Thank you. But it would only complicate things.” A few years back, they had resurrected the Brotherhood of the Crown in secret, but in this case he was certain he’d be better off alone. “It’ll be difficult enough for me to get out of the palace unnoticed and go around asking questions without attracting media attention.”

Arpad looked as if he might argue the point, but then said, “A brief press conference about a security breach should keep the media busy in the press room. Nothing about the loss of the crown jewels, of course.” He was always good at seeing the big picture and protecting others. All useful attributes for a Crown Prince.

“We have things on hand for undercover ops. Disguise.” Miklos headed for the metal lockers in the back, the staff immediately clearing a path for him.

“I can distract your bodyguard while you leave the palace,” Janos offered.

Due to prior attacks on the royal family, at least one guard had to escort the princes at all times when they left the grounds, a recent royal order by the Queen that drove all of them crazy. They were all rather attached to their independence.

Miklos came back with a box. “While you’re scouring the underworld for tips, I’ll investigate how they got in and out. I already have a forensics team over at the treasury. Whatever they find should give us some clues to follow.”

Janos and Arpad were heading off, clapping Istvan on the shoulder.

“Stay safe,” Janos said.

“And bring the crown back,” Arpad added. “If we can get everything back in a few days, nobody needs to know what happened. If we can’t, we’ll deal with it then.”

They all agreed on that, given the sharp political climate and their mother’s health. The Queen was feeling poorly again. Istvan swore he would solve this latest disaster before news could reach her and put more stress on her system.

His hands fisted at his sides. This wasn’t just an attack on the treasury. This was a direct attack on his family and his heritage, the two things most important to him.

“I’ll bring back the coronation jewels and see to it that Lauryn Steler pays miserably for taking them,” he promised.

NIGHT HAD FALLEN BY the time he found the first usable clue. He’d dealt with thieves in the past and had a network of informants, one of whom came through half an hour earlier. The meeting left a bad taste in Istvan’s mouth. Now he owed a favor he knew he was going to hate paying back. But he understood that sometimes he had to compromise on smaller issues to obtain something that was even more important.

The man had heard of something going down at the South Side shipyard tonight. A cousin of his worked there and blabbed about a recent bribe. Istvan had called in the tip and agreed with Miklos that a large-scale search would only draw attention and maybe even allow the thieves to escape in the confusion.

And he wasn’t sure if anything would pan out here anyway. For all he knew, this could be some minor drug deal. He didn’t want to pull Miklos’s men who were doing random vehicle checks on the highways and had as much chance of finding something as he did. But he did accept the five corporate security guards Janos sent from his company.

Hungry and tired, he watched the shipyard, alert for any movement. Hundreds of metal shipping crates were piled in orderly rows, giant cranes towering over them. He was near the loading docks, but with the shipyard lit up, he could see even the dry docks in the distance and the small cruise ship that was currently under repair.

“Six vessels at the loading docks,” came the latest intel through his headset.

“We’ll split up,” he ordered and moved forward to the first in line, a flat-bottomed riverboat.

Since Valtria had no seaport, they used these boats to take cargo down through Italy to the mouth of the river. The shipping containers were then transferred to much larger ocean liners and made their way to various worldwide destinations from there.

He took the first boat and realized quickly that he’d made a mistake. The containers were all empty, damaged. They were probably going no farther than the factory four miles down the river where they would be recycled. He checked the crew’s cabins and the engine house anyway, but found no one and nothing of interest. The boat was completely deserted.

He scratched his nose, his face itching under the disguise Miklos had concocted. At least the sun was below the horizon, so he was no longer sweating.

He sneaked back down the plank and caught sight of a small boat on the water, headed for shore. No lights. The motor wasn’t going either, no other sound disturbing the night but the waves gently lapping the docks. The boat drifted, although clearly there was someone at the helm.

Istvan could think of only one reason why the man would want to remain unnoticed. He probably had something to hide. He could have come from the riverboat moored in the middle of the water. It must have been loaded earlier in the day and was still waiting for some permit and the go-ahead, but the captain had been kind enough to leave the loading dock so another vessel could take his place. South Side Port was often crowded.

The captain would get his papers first thing in the morning when the office opened and be off posthaste to wherever he was going. Except, as Istvan watched, the riverboat pulled up anchor and began moving with the current. A quiet departure in the middle of the night.

His instincts prickled even as he realized that every moment he hesitated, the riverboat would only move farther away from him. He jumped without thought, hit the cold water and came up for air, felt his pocketknife slip from his pocket, grabbed after it, but couldn’t find it in the dark. Damn. At least he still had his gun. He shoved it tighter into his waistband, then swam as fast as he could, carried by the current, grateful that the man in the boat didn’t seem to notice him, hadn’t heard the splash.

All the princes were strong swimmers. Soon, he caught up with the impossibly long boat and went around the propellers, then grabbed on to a rope that had been carelessly left to trail the water.

He climbed up with effort, his hands wet and slippery, but eventually he vaulted over the side and ducked down just in time. A handful of men loitered on deck ahead, around an open shipping container. He caught the glint of a rifle, which helped him decide that he’d seen enough to have Port Authority stop and search the ship. Even if the crown jewels weren’t on board, something else most certainly was that shouldn’t have been.

He reached for his radio to call in the information, settling into a spot where he could remain unseen in the meantime and keep an eye on the container and the men.

But the radio was dead, water dripping from the earpiece. Same with his cell phone. He should have called before he’d jumped into the river. Miklos would have thought of that. Arpad, too. But they were military. As much time as he spent in the field and even fancied himself an adventurer, Istvan was an academic, not a soldier.

But all was not lost, he thought, when the men were called to the pilot’s cabin, leaving the container unlocked and free for him to search the contents. He would have specific information when he swam back to shore to alert Port Authority. Maybe slipping back into the water quietly, right now, would have been the smartest thing, but he couldn’t be this close to the royal treasure and not know for sure.

He crept forward, keeping in the shadows, aware that he was leaving a wet trail on deck. The late summer night was warm with a slight breeze. With some luck, his tracks would dry before anyone came this way.

The possibility of a find drew him forward as it had many times in the past. He could hear voices up ahead, but didn’t see anyone, and he was too far away to make out what they were saying. He kept an eye out for Lauryn, listened for her voice. If the crown jewels were on the ship, she had to be somewhere around, as well. Someone like her would never let treasure like this too far from her, not until she handed it over to her buyer. He didn’t think that had happened yet. The stolen artifact business in Valtria was relatively small-time, thanks to his efforts. The more he thought about it, the more trouble he had picturing any of the known players with enough money to pay for something this big, even at devalued black market prices.

And if the buyer was foreign, Lauryn’s fee would include delivering the goods safely to him, smuggling everything neatly out of the country.

Her face and figure floated into his mind unbidden, a mocking smile on her lips and the light of satisfaction in her eyes. She had to be laughing her behind off at how easy it had been to trick them all, to trick him. He pressed his lips together as he swore in silence to wipe that smile off her face at the earliest opportunity. The thing to remember was that she was even more dangerous than he’d thought. He wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating her again.

He made his way to the container without trouble, but other than carefully stacked crates, he saw little in the darkness. He pulled the gun, then stepped inside. At least the gun would work. Miklos had assured him that it was the latest and greatest military model and, among other things, water-resistant. Good thing, since he’d forgotten to consider that, too, before jumping in the water.

He tried the first crate. Nailed down. Ten minutes of looking around brought him no luck with the others, so he moved farther in, hoping he would find something to pry those nails loose with. Nothing.

But he did find an open crate at the very end of the line. And the thirteenth-century war chest inside was more than familiar. His heart beat faster as he ran his fingers over the wood, polished by hundreds of hands through history, some of the paint worn off in places. For the first time since he’d laid eyes on Lauryn Steler, he smiled, because if the men on the ship had one thing from the treasury, then most likely they had the rest of the stolen treasure, as well. The coronation jewels would be recovered.

He opened the chest, not expecting to find much, but was rewarded by the sight of Lauryn’s notebook and pen, further proof of her involvement. He left them there, trying the next crate but only the one with the war chest had been opened. Still, he was certain now that he had what he’d been looking for right here.

Part of him didn’t want to let the crates out of his sight. Another part knew that to save them he had to get help. The sooner he made contact and had the riverboat stopped, the better. He headed out reluctantly, not looking forward to getting back into the night water, but ready to do whatever was required to stop Lauryn and her gang of criminals.

But then two things happened at the same time. He heard—but could not see from behind a stack of crates—men at the door, metal creaking as they worked to seal the container for the journey. And Lauryn Steler stepped out in front of him with something in her hands, cutting him unaware, hitting him on the head so hard that he staggered backward.

After that, he could neither see nor hear.

LAURYN LOOKED OVER THE man’s prone body, her heart going a mile a minute. Not that she would let a little adrenaline rush shake her. She’d been in tighter spots than this and had escaped.

Being trapped here didn’t scare her nearly as much as the implications of this whole incident. She’d sweated blood over the past couple of years to earn trust in the art industry, to change her reputation. If even a shadow of doubt fell on her regarding this heist, her new career would be over. Her new life as she knew it would cease to exist. She would lose everything.

And Prince Istvan would be the first to crucify her. He wouldn’t care if she were guilty or innocent. She’d seen that look in his eyes. If he’d had his way, he would have had her arrested just for thinking of coming near his treasury. He was as judgmental as he was good-looking. Too bad, because she truly respected what he had achieved in his field. He was an amazing archaeologist and practically the patron saint of preservation. But he wouldn’t give her the benefit of the doubt.

Nobody would after this.

Once again, she felt the tentacles of her past reach for her, wrap around her and squeeze. She shivered, as if her body was trying to shake them off.

She could see little; not much moonlight filtered in through the small rust holes on top. The man’s shape was familiar, but his face wasn’t. He had a dark mustache and a nose that looked as if it had been broken at one point. He was no threat to her. She’d taken off his belt and tied him up, gagged him with an oily rag she’d found in a corner.

The bad news was, she was now locked in the damned container. The good news was, she had at least nailed one of the bastards and had his gun, although she hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with it. But if things went badly, he might come in handy as a hostage.

She sat with her back against a crate and waited for him to wake. She didn’t have to wait long.

His dark gaze found her and focused on her as soon as his eyes popped open. He struggled against his restraints. She let him. If he wanted to tire himself out, that was fine by her. She didn’t worry about the belt giving. She knew a hundred ways to tie a knot, one for every purpose.

“Hmm.” He made an unintelligible noise as he glared.

“Stay put and stay quiet,” she told him. Then it occurred to her that he could be a source of information. Knowing who these people were and where they were heading might help her better engineer her escape.

Or, if he wasn’t with those men, he could tell her who on earth he was. Because now that she thought about it, why would they send one of their own into the container and then lock him in? If they knew that this guy was here, wouldn’t they have come looking for him when he didn’t return?

She held the gun on him while tugging the gag free from his mouth with her other hand. The threat was implicit.

He understood and didn’t shout. “I should have had you barred from the country,” he said, enraged but keeping it at a low decibel level.

That voice, those eyes … And her heart about stopped. “Your Highness?” She reached for the mustache on reflex. It came away in her hand. She jerked back, knowing that in some kingdoms, the touching of a royal person without his or her permission was punishable by death. Not that she thought Valtria was that archaic, but truth be told, she wasn’t comfortable with touching its hostile prince.

“The nose piece, too,” he ordered, then added in a less angry voice, “It itches.”

There was her permission. She felt his skin and found the ridge, pulled off an oddly shaped 3D bandage kind of something that blended in perfectly while changing the shape of his nose. Her mind was spinning like a whirligig, but couldn’t come up with an explanation for his sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same, but let’s not pretend we both don’t know the answer to that.” He seemed to be choking with barely controlled anger. “This has been your plan all along. You pulled it off. Congratulations.”

The accusation felt like a kick in the face. “Right. I plan a good kidnapping at least once a year. To others, it might be cumbersome, but to me, it’s like a vacation,” she snapped, hating that he would immediately think the worst of her, even if it was exactly what she’d expected.

“If you’re not guilty of anything, then there’s no reason for you to be scared of me. You can put the gun down and untie me.” He struggled to a sitting position, taking over even though he was practically her prisoner. He was tall and lean, wide-shouldered and dark-eyed like the rest of his brothers. According to the media, he was the least social of the princes, something of an introvert.

Now that they’d met twice, she could certainly see why. Probably nobody could tolerate his paranoia and temper. Too bad. She’d come to the country with nothing but respect for the man and his body of work.

“I’m not scared of you,” she told him. Not that he wasn’t physically powerful, but she had plenty of moves he hadn’t seen yet. “But while I know I’m not guilty, you’re too prejudiced and stubborn to believe that. And if you tried something …” He should know that she wasn’t going to stand still while he steamrolled over her. “I’ve worked hard to change my reputation and achieve the standing I have in this business. I wouldn’t want to ruin it by shooting a prince.”

He swore under his breath in French.

“Hey, I understood that.”

He glared. “So why don’t you tell me your perfectly innocent version of events.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Maybe you can convince me.”

If only. But it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do. A long tale might calm him enough so that she could untie him. She had to do that eventually. He was a prince. Despite what she’d said, she probably wouldn’t shoot him. But she couldn’t set him free until she could be sure that he wouldn’t try to overtake her and tie her up in turn. One of them would get hurt. And because he was a prince, she had a feeling that whatever the outcome of such a struggle would be, it wouldn’t be to her advantage.

“After you barely let me take a look at the artifacts in the treasury, I realized you were going to do your best not to let me back in there. I asked the Chancellor, who is a true gentleman by the way, to allow me some more time. I figured that was my only chance to do a thorough job and make sure I made the right choices.” The treasury was simply breathtaking, the most amazing place she’d ever seen. She wished—for a multitude of reasons—that they were both still back there.

“How convenient that the Chancellor had to step out,” he said with derision.

“Not at all. He was most helpful about the history of some of the objects. And he was very entertaining. A gracious host.” Unlike the prince had been, she thought, but left that part unspoken. No sense annoying an already-angry lion, even if he was tied and she had a gun on him.

“Which probably wouldn’t have stopped you from murdering him if he didn’t have to leave. Are you aware that nine men were killed? Men with wives and children who grieve them. Or were you rushing too fast to count?”

The anger in his voice was like a physical force, overwhelming and real. She thought of the young guard the Chancellor had left with her, and drew a slow breath. The man had pimples, for heaven’s sake. Couldn’t have been more than early twenties. Now he was dead, and others, as well.

“Fine, so it’s not fair that they died and I lived.” She pressed her lips together for a second, feeling the guilt, hating the prince for placing more blame on her and adding to the weight. “I was in the enclosure with the carpets and the war chests. We heard a commotion in front of the door. The guard rushed toward it. I thought I heard something that sounded like a gun being fired with a silencer. I slipped into the nearest war chest just as the door opened.”

He had the gall to laugh at that. “Oh, an innocent bystander. A victim even. Well done, Miss Steler. You’re a very creative woman. If my hands were free, I would clap.”

Keep it up and we’ll never be free. “Fine. Think what you will.” She stood and walked away from him.

“Thank you,” he called after her, as arrogant and full of himself as ever. “I think I’ll do that.”

She checked the door. Locked, just as she’d suspected. If she had her old tools, it wouldn’t have posed a problem, but she had nothing with her save a pen and a notebook that she’d left on the bottom of the chest in which she’d hidden. She’d figured whoever was breaking in would go for gold. How was she to know that they would take the war chest, too?

She walked back to Istvan. “Where are we exactly?”

“On a ship called Valtrian Freedom, heading south, not that you don’t know that better than I do. Out of curiosity, who is your buyer?”

She shoved the gun in the back of her pants so she could put her hands on her hips. She simply watched him for a while, trying to decide whether reasoning with him would be a waste of breath. It would be. But she found she couldn’t help herself.

“First, I don’t steal. Second, even if I did, I’d never be stupid enough to steal crown jewels. Not very low-profile, is it? And not marketable either. They’re easily recognizable. As stolen artifacts, they’d be completely useless. The safest way would be selling the stones separately and melting down the gold, but that’s such a small fraction of their value. And a good thief could easily steal gold and gems from a number of other sources with a lot less difficulty.”

He stared at her without a response. Apparently, her words had given him something to think about. Not long enough. “Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t have to,” he said after a while. “It could have been a crime of passion. You saw the coronation jewels and you couldn’t resist them.”

She shook her head. “You know it as well as I do that this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. This was a carefully planned and meticulously executed heist. There are not that many people in the world who have crews that can pull off something like this. And I’m not one of them.”

“No longer one of them?” he pushed. “Or are the rumors true and you always worked alone?”

She said nothing to that. She never discussed her past.

“You know these crews?”

Again, she remained silent.

“If you didn’t do this, do you have any idea who did?”

She shook her head.

She’d thought about little else while she’d been hiding in the chest. She had plenty of time on the way over here, then while she waited for the men to walk away from the container. Then she finally opened the top, busted the crate’s lid and climbed out. The container door had still been open. But she hesitated too long between escaping and staying with the royal treasures.

Then someone came in, and she thought it was one of the thieves, about to discover her. So she’d done what she had to. But while she was busy with him, the door had been sealed and she’d lost the option of leaving.

“Could you untie the belt? You may keep the gun,” he said.

“Aren’t you the magnanimous one? You’re in no position to negotiate,” she reminded him, but untied him anyway. He was considering other options at least and didn’t look as if he would attack her on the spot.

He rubbed his hands over his wrists, closed his eyes for a second, and for a moment looked almost vulnerable. Must have been a trick of the shadows.

“Are you okay?” she asked anyway before she could stop herself. She did hit him over the head pretty hard back there.

His fierce frown was an immediate rebuke. “Fine.” “Let me look at you.” She leaned forward to check his irises, chancing that he might grab for the gun, but couldn’t see much in the dark.

He drew back as if offended. “That’s not necessary.”

“Do you have any nausea? I could have given you a concussion.” Considering the way he’d been treating her, she felt only mildly guilty.

“You didn’t.”

“You don’t know that. Anyway, if you feel sleepy, try to stay awake.”

“I do not have a concussion,” he said, stiff-lipped.

His obstinacy was ticking her off on every level. “You’re too tough to get a concussion from a girl, is that it?”

He came to his feet and strode away from her, stopped as far as the crate allowed, then stared back. An image of buffalo came into her mind, pawing the snow, blowing steam out of his nose. No need to share that with him.

She gave him a minute before she followed. “How far is the nearest seaport?”

“Trieste would be two hours at the most.”

She considered options and backup options, trying to come up with an escape plan. “What do you think will happen when we get there?”

“If we’re lucky, they’ll open the container to transfer the stolen goods. That’ll give us a chance to make a break for it.”

“I don’t believe in luck.” She peered through the darkness and tried to map the place.

The prince gave a brief nod. “Me neither.”

So for two hours they searched every corner, tried to find a weak spot where they could break out—there wasn’t one—and made plans on what they’d do once the riverboat reached port and the container would be opened.

Except that it wasn’t.

No sooner did the boat stop moving than they felt the container lift as a crane hoisted it in the air. She slid against the prince who in turn slid against the back wall, then shifted quickly to the side, saving them from being crushed to death by some unstable crates.

He wedged himself into the corner and held off what had to be a couple of hundred pounds with his bare hands. Then the container settled with a loud clunk and everything stopped moving.

“I take it this would be the ocean liner,” she said, a little rattled, which annoyed her. She didn’t like thinking that the prince might have just saved her. She prided herself on being a self-sufficient woman. She didn’t want to owe anything to any stuck-up, prejudiced Valtrian royalty.

She handed his gun back to him, a kind of payback, she supposed.

“I’m not too keen on going on an ocean voyage at the moment.” Prince Istvan strode to the front and pointed at the lock from the inside. “Are you sure you can’t open this?”

“Not with my bare hands.” That was as close to admitting her shady past as she was comfortable with.

“I have a tool for you.” He pointed the mean-looking handgun in the general direction. “Show me where to shoot.”

“It’ll be too loud.”

“Not if I shoot just as they rattle the next container into place.”

She felt around in the near darkness, then grabbed the barrel of the gun and pressed it against the right spot.

“Here.”

He aimed. They waited. Then when they could hear chains creak and the corner of the next container bump against another, he squeezed off a shot. Inside the container, the sound seemed deafening. But she had a feeling that with all the machinery and the noise of the harbor outside, it had been barely noticeable. Still, they waited a few minutes. When no one raised the alarm and no one came to investigate, the prince drew back, then slammed his shoulder into the door before she could stop him.

That had to hurt. She winced.

“Patience.” She stepped over to examine the damage to the lock. “You’ll need at least one more shot.”

Except that the crane seemed to move on to the other side of the ship. He waited on the spot anyway, in case the crane came back. It didn’t. An hour or so later they felt the ship shudder, the engines start and the ground move under their feet. Istvan used that distraction to fire off his second shot, which did the trick at last.

This time when he shoved his shoulder into the door, it opened.

Four inches.

Just enough for them to see that they were blocked in by another container in front of them.

“Trapped.” She closed her eyes for a moment against the disappointment and frustration. She could have banged her head against the metal. They should have done something much sooner, on the riverboat. But the prince had thoroughly distracted her, and now it was too late. The very reason she always worked alone. A partner was nothing but trouble.

“Going in an unknown direction on a strange ship,” he thought out loud. His voice sounded off.

“A ship that’s controlled by criminals.” Not that she blamed all this on him. Maybe a little. If he’d let her do her work in the treasury earlier, she would have been done and gone by the time the thieves got there. He would have still suspected her, but she could have been dealing with that unfair cloud of suspicion at the five-star hotel where the Getty was putting her up, instead of here.

“Or your friends. Although, the two might not be mutually exclusive, I suspect.” Apparently, he still harbored some mistrust of her.

“People we don’t want to meet up with,” she offered as compromise. “At this point, if they found us, they’d kill both of us. They sure didn’t hesitate shooting the guards at the treasury.” The memory turned her mood even more somber. “And they will find us. If not sooner, then when they come to get the loot.”

The more she thought of that, the bigger that lead ball grew in her stomach.

And bigger yet when he said, “Just so we’re clear, I still think that you’re involved in this in some way. And when we get out of here and I return the crown jewels to the treasury, I will figure out what your role has been. And then I’ll personally see to it that you’re prosecuted to the full extent of Valtrian law, Miss Steler.”