Читать книгу High-Risk Reunion - Gail Barrett - Страница 11

“I didn’t kill him.” Gabi trailed Rafe through the woods in the darkness, still struggling to wrap her mind around the diplomat’s death. “That drug I gave him … it only made him drowsy. It couldn’t have caused a reaction. And I know he didn’t have allergies because I had his medical records checked.”

Rafe didn’t answer. He continued to push through the bushes, using his tiny penlight to illuminate the rocky ground.

“I mean it, Rafe.” She slid on a pinecone, nearly falling in her awkward designer heels. “There’s no way that drug could have killed him.”

“I believe you.” He stopped, then waited for her to catch up. “The police said he was shot.”

“Shot?” She stumbled to a halt. “But who … Ortiz?”

Rafe’s mouth tightened, his face barely visible in the night. “Who else?”

Her heart took a nosedive. This was so much worse than she’d thought. But why would Ortiz kill the diplomat? Why not simply steal the flash drive while he slept? None of this made sense.

Then even more horror dawned, and she pressed her hand to her throat. “They’ve got evidence against me. I left the reception with him. I’m on the security tapes. I left that note.”

Then another realization slammed into the first one, making her head spin even more. “Oh, God. It was my fault. I drugged him. He couldn’t even defend himself. I left him there to die.”

She hugged her arms, guilt crashing through her, a terrible tightness welling up in her throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” All she’d wanted was justice for her father’s death. Instead, she’d condemned an innocent man to die.

Stricken, she shook her head. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed there and protected him.”

“Then Ortiz would have killed you, too.”

But why? What did Ortiz have to gain from their deaths, aside from silencing her?

“What a mess,” she whispered, dazed. The evening had turned into a nightmare, and it just kept getting worse. She’d taken a chance by returning to País Vell. Certain she would find that flash drive, she’d planned to confiscate the evidence and turn it over to the prime minister before Ortiz could do her harm. But everything had gone wrong. And now she would never escape Ortiz. He had too much power—aircraft and weapons at his disposal, a police force at his command. He would launch a massive manhunt and scour the surrounding hills.

And then, yet another bolt of awareness struck home. She didn’t only need to elude Ortiz. The Americans would hunt for her, too. They would search the globe to find their diplomat’s supposed killer—leaving her no safe place to hide.

Panic rising inside her, she shot a furtive glance around the inky woods. She couldn’t waste time. She had to stay on the move, get farther away from the castle before Ortiz and his men caught up—and then figure out what to do.

“Come on. We need to keep moving,” Rafe said, echoing her thoughts. “There’s an old shepherd’s hut near here. We can rest there for a while and make plans.”

“You think it’s safe?”

“For tonight. I scouted it out earlier. It’s been abandoned for decades, probably since the Spanish civil war. The vegetation is overgrown, and there’s nothing else nearby. I doubt anyone remembers it’s there.”

He resumed hiking. She followed more slowly, her reservations growing as she picked her way through the brush—but she didn’t have much choice. She needed to stick with Rafe until she formed an alternate plan.

But Rafe presented dangers of his own. He was too clever, too suspicious. He knew her far too well, making it hard to hide the truth.

Which meant before he figured out what she was up to, she had to get away from him.

Several exhausting miles later, they reached the abandoned hut. Gabi huddled on a stool by the rustic fireplace, watching Rafe feed scraps of kindling into the sparks. The tiny flames licked the wood, casting firelight over his arms. The scent of wood smoke snaked through the air.

She shivered and rubbed her feet, her open sandals no protection against the bone-shuddering chill seeping through the dirt floor. Adding to her misery, the night breeze gusted through holes in the old tile roof, raising goose bumps along her skin.

Rafe leaned back on his heels and cut her a brooding look. Suddenly he peeled off his black turtleneck sweater, leaving on a short-sleeved T-shirt, and tossed the sweater to her. “Put that on before you freeze to death,” he said.

Too cold to argue, she tugged it over her head. The soft cotton sweater smelled faintly of Rafe’s aftershave, a sandalwood blend she’d always loved. She hugged her arms, the familiar scent giving her comfort, grateful for the added warmth.

For a minute they didn’t speak. Rafe stared at the fire, his rough-hewn, masculine profile illuminated by the flickering light. She scanned the width of his bulging shoulders, the curve of his iron biceps, the sinews in his strong neck.

Then his eyes returned to hers, the impact changing the rhythm of her pulse. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

His mouth flattened in a sign of impatience. “What you were really doing back there.”

“But I already told you—”

“Cut the lies, Gabrielle.”

The bitterness in his voice brought her up short. “You don’t believe me?”

“Of course I don’t believe you.”

“But … I’m telling you the truth.”

“The truth?” He barked out a cynical laugh. “You never told me the truth in your life.”

Her stomach churned. She looked away, knowing she deserved his scorn. She’d treated him abominably that night. She’d hurled cruel, hurtful lies at him, willingly crushing his heart. But she’d done it to protect him. She’d had to drive him away.

But she couldn’t tell him that. She had to keep that secret buried, no matter what the cost.

Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she leveled her voice. “I told you. I came here for information—for my business. It doesn’t affect you at all.”

“Right. And we both just happened to be there when Ortiz showed up.”

His words stopped her cold. Startled, she searched his eyes. “You’re saying you weren’t there by chance?”

He made a sound of disgust. “Come on, Gabrielle. You know damned well that Ortiz set me up.”

She stared at him in shock. “You think he set you up? How?”

“As if you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

He bunched his jaw, the planes of his dark face hard. The fire crackled in the now-tense air.

“I really don’t, Rafe. What does he have to do with you?”

His jaw still working, he turned his gaze to the fire. After a minute, he sighed. “He hired me to steal that ring.”

“He hired you?” She gaped at him, staggered, certain that she’d heard wrong. Rafe was working for Ortiz, the man who’d murdered her father?

Could this night get any more bizarre?

“But … you hate Ortiz.” He’d persecuted Rafe’s family for decades, scapegoating them for a myriad of crimes. The thought of Rafe now collaborating with his archenemy defied logic—and boggled her mind. “Why on earth would you work for him?”

He didn’t answer at first. He kept his gaze on the flames. Then the cool wind gusted, scattering sparks over the dirt, and he slanted her a glance. “He came to my shop last week,” he said, referring to the precious gem business he ran. “He stops by once in a while and accuses me of fencing jewels.” He grimaced. “He doesn’t think I’ve reformed, either.”

Her cheeks burned. She bit back the denial that instantly sprang to her lips. She had to let him think the worst. “And?”

“He offered me a job.”

“To steal that ring.” She couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

Rafe tilted his head. “He said the diplomat would be bringing it to the summit as a goodwill gesture to the king. The Americans want his cooperation in their war on terror.”

That made sense. País Vell had a long history of smuggling given its strategic location between Spain and France. Information—and criminals—often slipped through the porous hills.

“But the ring belonged to the last queen of Reino Antiguo,” Rafe continued, naming the once-independent kingdom now controlled by País Vell. “Ortiz knew the separatists would protest if they found out the king had it. So he hired me to find it. He wanted to keep it hidden until the summit ended so there wouldn’t be any unrest.”

That seemed plausible, too. The last thing the police would want during an important international summit was rioting in the streets. “But wouldn’t that cause problems with the Americans? They’d hardly overlook the theft.”

Rafe shrugged. “He seemed more concerned about the separatists. And he planned to give the ring back after the summit … or so he said. He probably figured he could placate the Americans for a few days.”

She frowned at that. The story sounded logical—up to a point. “But why hire you? Why not get it himself?”

“He said there were separatist sympathizers on the police force so he couldn’t send in his own men.”

“But then why show up at the room?”

“Exactly.” He dipped his head. “He obviously set me up.”

The breeze gusted again, raising more goose bumps on her spine as she turned that over in her mind. Ortiz was clever, ruthless. She could see him concocting this plan. He could arrest Rafe at last, claiming he’d caught him stealing the ring. He could even blame him for the diplomat’s murder. No one would believe Rafe’s word over his.

But why would Rafe take such an obvious risk?

“What did you get out of this?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“But—”

“Forget it. It’s personal. It has nothing to do with you. What matters is that he set me up.”

His brusque tone hurt, but she could hardly fault him for shutting her out. Rafe was a fiercely loyal man. He would never forgive a betrayal.

Especially hers.

Her throat suddenly thick, she returned her gaze to the fire. And she had to admit that Rafe had changed in the past three years. The tender man who’d teased her, the thrilling daredevil who’d fulfilled her need for adventure had disappeared. He was harder now, more cynical. He had a deep-seated bitterness to him—hostility and resentment she’d caused.

A dull ache hollowed her chest, kicking off a swarm of regrets. She’d never wanted to hurt him. She’d adored Rafe. She would have given anything to spend her life in his arms.

But she’d made the right choice. She’d had to break off their engagement. If she’d told him the truth, he would have gone after Ortiz. And there was no earthly way she could have risked Rafe’s life.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she struggled to corral her unruly emotions and think. She couldn’t change the past. She couldn’t erase her lies—or the terrible pain she’d caused. She couldn’t even tell Rafe the truth. All she could do was focus on her mission and find the proof she needed to destroy Ortiz—before more innocent people died.

Rafe was right, though. Ortiz did nothing by chance. And she couldn’t believe that he’d coincidentally hired Rafe to get that ring at the same time that intelligence was coming in. That ring had to be connected to her case.

But how?

“May I see the ring?” she asked, rising.

Rafe hesitated—which stung. “I’m not going to run off with it,” she said, her voice tight.

“You’ve got that right.” He pulled the velvet bag from his pocket and tossed it her way.

She caught it, then moved closer to the fire, determined to ignore the lash of hurt. No matter how much his distrust galled her, no matter how strong the urge to explain and beg his forgiveness, she had to focus on what mattered now.

She loosened the bag’s tassled drawstring, then dumped the heavy ring into her palm. Made of solid gold, it had a flat, square top with the relief of a bearded vulture—the bone crusher, Reino Antiguo’s royal crest. The gold simmered like fire in the light.

“It’s beautiful.” She tilted it toward the flames, studying the words engraved on the thick band. “There’s an inscription … in Latin. Morior invictus. Death before defeat.”

Rafe nodded. “Reino Antiguo’s motto. The ring was used as a royal seal.”

Not a secret message, then—unless the ring was fake. She caught Rafe’s eye. “You think it’s real?”

“It looks authentic. I’d have to examine it to be sure, though.” His gaze sharpened. “Why? You think there’s a connection to the information you’re looking for?”

Of course Rafe would figure that out. Keeping her expression neutral, she slipped the ring back into the bag. “I don’t see how.”

But if there was a connection to her case, she needed to keep the ring. She’d spent too many years waiting for this moment to lose any evidence now.

But Rafe would never give it up. He’d stolen it for Ortiz, which put them squarely at odds.

She handed Rafe the velvet pouch. He shoved it into his front pocket, his perceptive gaze trained on her. And she knew he was sorting through details, deciding whether to believe her or not.

“So what’s your plan?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

“We’ll rest for now. We can start hiking again at dawn. The terrain’s too rough from here on out. I don’t want to fall off a cliff.”

That bought her a couple hours. But it meant staying in the hut with him.

She glanced around the miniscule room—the rickety bed, the two wooden stools by the fireplace, the peeling stucco walls. And suddenly, she needed air, space. “I’ll be right back.”

“You still owe me answers,” he warned as she headed for the door. “Don’t even think of running away.”

So he’d decided not to trust her.

Smart man.

“I said I’d be back.” And she would. She couldn’t run yet, not without that ring. And she couldn’t get that until Rafe slept.

She opened the door and stepped outside, then slumped back against the hut’s stone wall. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the crisp night air, and tried to calm herself down. Cowbells clanked in the distance, the discordant sound doing nothing to assuage her nerves.

The diplomat was dead. She still didn’t have that flash drive. And now Rafe had a ring that might be connected to her case—which meant she had to steal it from him.

A fresh wave of anxiety tumbled through her, her conscience rebelling at the thought of deceiving Rafe again. He’d be furious when she took that ring. She would confirm every terrible suspicion about her he had.

She closed her eyes, fighting back an onslaught of regrets. She didn’t want to hurt him. She hated that he despised her, and that she couldn’t reveal the truth. But Ortiz had robbed her of choices that fateful night.

And nothing mattered more than revenge.

The soft swish of Gabrielle’s dress woke Rafe from a restless doze. He lay flat on his back by the fireplace, keeping his eyes shut, his breathing steady and slow to imitate sleep.

So she was finally making her move. He’d been expecting it for hours. He hadn’t missed the speculation in her eyes when she’d held that ring or the way she’d sidestepped his questions, never quite revealing why she was here.

He intended to get those answers now.

Her footsteps shuffled closer. He waited, his pulse accelerating as the erotic scent of her perfume mingled with smoke from the dying fire.

The swishing stopped. He felt her studying his face. Then she knelt beside him, her silk gown brushing his arm, her soft breath sweeping his jaw as she slid her fingers into the front left pocket of his jeans.

He gritted his teeth, struggling to regulate his breath as her fingers inched down his thigh. But his temper flared, his blood roiling at her gall. She’d accused him of being a thief—while here she was, trying to steal the ring from him.

Her hand came to a halt. For a minute, she didn’t move. Then she caught the velvet pouch between her fingers and started to tug.

He whipped out his hand and clamped her wrist. Her startled gaze flew to his. For several long seconds their eyes stayed locked, her pulse running ragged beneath his palm.

Then he relentlessly tugged her closer, until her face was inches from his. “Looking for something?” he growled.

Her gaze faltered. She nibbled her bottom lip, drawing his eyes to her sultry mouth. Then she relaxed against him, morphing into seductress mode, and shot him a sideways glance. “Can’t you guess?” she purred.

He took in her full pouting lips, the swell of her generous breasts, and his hold on his temper slipped. She was playing him, trying to manipulate him with her charms—just like she’d done to that diplomat.

His mouth thinned. “Nice performance. What’s next? Another striptease?”

Her eyes flashed. She struggled to jerk her hand free, but he squeezed her wrist even harder, unwilling to let her budge. He waited for several heartbeats, making sure she knew she couldn’t escape him, then pushed her away in disgust.

He rolled to his feet, then stalked to the door and back, trying to keep himself under control. When he reached the fireplace, he stopped. “All right,” he said. “Cut the crap and start talking—beginning with why you’re really here.”

She rose and brushed off her gown, her eyes not quite meeting his. “I already told you. I’m after information.”

“The hell you are.”

“I am,” she insisted. He waited, barely managing to restrain his temper, until her guilty gaze rose to his. “It’s just … I think the ring might be involved.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” He shot her a scowl, and she lifted her chin. “I don’t. It’s … complicated.”

“Try me.”

She hesitated.

His jaw hardened. “That wasn’t a request.”

Her movements jerky, she retreated to the stool beside the fireplace and sat. The wind gusted, moaning through the caved-in roof, making the embers in the fireplace flare.

“I told you the truth,” she said finally, her voice subdued. “At least most of it. You know my company makes billing software for communication firms.”

He nodded, and she went on. “Whenever we install a system we keep a secret backdoor access in case we need to do repairs. And … we use that to monitor their calls.”

She spied on them? And she’d accused him of immoral behavior? “That’s illegal.”

She had the grace to blush. “I know. And our customers don’t know we do that, obviously. If people knew we kept track of their activities, they wouldn’t buy our products.”

Which they marketed to governments around the globe.

He leaned against the mantle, wondering where she was heading with this. “Go on.”

“I didn’t know about the backdoor access at first. It’s hardly something we advertise. But after my father died, when I took over the company, I started noticing irregularities. I finally figured out he was checking messages that way. And I think he found out something incriminating, something dangerous that got him killed.”

Rafe blinked, her revelation taking him aback. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that.

He swung his gaze to the glowing embers, searching his memory for details of the case. Her father had died at his office during a late-night robbery. His murder—and Gabi’s subsequent ascent to owner of the company—had prompted her to break off her engagement to Rafe.

“You’re saying he wasn’t robbed?”

“That’s right. The murderer just made it look that way.” Her gaze swerved back to his. “My father was spying for the government, running a secret operation Arturo Menendez—the prime minister—heads. We think he came across some information in one of those messages, something that someone didn’t want to leak out.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“No.” She smoothed her long gown over her legs. “I couldn’t prove anything at the time. And except for the prime minister, I didn’t know who to trust. He suggested we get proof before we accuse anyone.”

Too bad the police didn’t do the same.

Rafe pushed his resentment aside. “So where does the diplomat fit in?”

“A few weeks ago I intercepted a message. He was supposed to deliver some top-secret intelligence at the summit about a traitor in the king’s inner group.

“I figured the information would be on a flash drive,” she added. “That’s what I was looking for in the room. I didn’t know about the ring. And the ring might just be a coincidence—a goodwill gesture like the police chief said. But if there’s any chance it’s connected to my father’s murder, I have to find out. I can’t let his killer go free.”

Rafe’s frown deepened, her revelation complicating an already unholy mess. If Ortiz wanted that ring, and if that ring was connected to her case …

His gaze sharpened on hers. “You’re saying Ortiz is the traitor?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you think he is.”

“I don’t have any proof.”

Hell. Suddenly feeling haunted, Rafe plowed his hand through his hair. This job was supposed to be straightforward—grab the ring, turn it over to the police chief and fulfill his end of the deal.

He wasn’t supposed to be framed for murder. He wasn’t supposed to be chased by the royal guards. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be embroiled in an espionage case involving his former lover—a woman he couldn’t trust.

He eyed Gabi’s thick, tousled hair, the tempting bow of her lips and everything inside him rebelled. He didn’t need her hanging around him. He wanted to forget he’d ever seen her and get her permanently out of his life.

But he couldn’t escape the facts. Ortiz had framed him for the diplomat’s murder. This case was far more complicated than he’d believed. And like it or not, whatever Gabi was searching for impacted him—which meant he had to keep her around.

But he also had to be careful. He had too much at stake to let down his guard around her now. “I want to see that message you intercepted.”

She blinked. “You still don’t believe me?”

“After everything you’ve done to me?”

Her amber eyes turned wounded, but he crushed down an answering spurt of guilt. She was acting again, trying to play on his sympathies, and he refused to take the bait.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly dawn. We can head out now.”

Not bothering to answer, she rose and headed toward the door. But he quickly stepped around her and blocked her path. “I’ll only say this once,” he said when she lifted her gaze to his. “I’m in charge here. From here on out, you do what I say.”

Her eyes filled with outrage, just as he’d known they would. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“You do now. I’m warning you, Gabi. You try to sneak off, you try to stab me in the back or steal that ring, and you’ll be sorry you tried.”

Her mouth tightened. Annoyance flashed in her golden eyes. Then she pushed past him and stalked outside the hut.

He watched her go, unwilling to feel any guilt. No matter how vulnerable she appeared, no matter how expertly she plied her charms, he couldn’t trust her again.

She’d devastated him before, crushing any illusions he had.

And he’d be damned if he’d let her make a fool of him twice.