Читать книгу Heart of a Thief - Gail Barrett - Страница 12

Luke wanted to plow his fist through the wall.

Twice now Sofia had blitzed into his life, and each time she’d wreaked total disaster. She’d demolished everything he’d ever worked for—his reputation, his honor, his pride.

He glowered at her, his face hot, the muscles of his neck stiff. Hell. This time she’d done far worse than ruin his reputation. She’d put the police on his tail—and not just for the theft of a legendary antiquity but for murder. And now she’d led them to where he hid.

“Just what were you thinking back there?” he demanded.

Her eyes looked hurt in the faint light, and she tugged on a loose strand of hair. “I thought it was don Fernando. I wanted to warn him about Paco.”

“I told you not to trust him.”

“But he could be in danger. And I owe him so much. What do you expect me to do? Just…abandon him?”

The words crashed through him, kicking the breath from his lungs. “Right.” Of course she couldn’t abandon her patron.

But five years ago, she’d had no trouble abandoning him.

He jerked his gaze away, inhaled. And he struggled to hold on to his anger, to cling to the safety of rage. But that dead, hollowed-out feeling still surged through him, that emptiness that mauled him inside. As if she’d gutted him and bled him dry.

Shut it down. Shut it down. He didn’t care. He refused to care.

He sucked in more air and hitched it back out. And gradually, thankfully, he felt the bitterness creep back. He embraced it, letting it edge out the ache, letting his gaze turn hard and caress her eyes, her sultry mouth, that body he’d once revered. Letting the anger swell until the muscles along his cheeks ticked and his voice deepened like a quarry stripped bare. “You’ll have to forgive me, querida, if I can’t see you as the loyal type.”

She flinched back against the wall as if he’d struck her. Her lips parted, then closed. Her eyes looked wounded, flayed. “I’m telling the truth.” She turned away and crossed her arms, making the penlight bounce crazily over the stones.

And damned if he didn’t feel guilty.

How could she still get to him like this?

“Forget it.” He shoved his hand through his hair, rubbed the knotted cords on the back of his neck. There was no point dredging up the past, reliving the pain. It was history; it didn’t matter. He’d been over her for years.

And they needed to get out of here fast. “Just get moving,” he said.

She chewed her lip, her eyes uncertain in the wobbling light, then glanced behind her at the darkened tunnel. “Through here?”

“There’s only one way to go.” And the way this night was turning out, it probably led straight to hell.

She turned around and hobbled off. He trailed her, still ducking to keep from knocking his head, his shoulders grazing the jagged walls. He sucked the fetid air through his teeth and exhaled, while the misery of the long night piled up in his mind.

What a fiasco, a total debacle—Antonio’s deception, his death. He blinked away that gruesome image. No one, no matter how treacherous, deserved to die that way.

And his own stupidity appalled him. How could he have let his partner fool him? He’d never had a clue that he was being set up.

And then there was Sofia. He clamped his gaze on those satin hips, the seductive sweep of her back. A tumult of emotions swirled through him—bitterness, resentment. Lust.

He hissed out his breath. He’d never met a woman who both infuriated and aroused him.

Especially one he couldn’t trust.

And now he was stuck with her, at least until that killer was caught.

Suddenly aware that she was listing oddly, he narrowed his gaze on her legs. She held the penlight in her right hand, clutched the hem of her gown and her shoes in the left.

“What happened to your shoes?” he asked.

“I took them off.” She sounded winded, but she didn’t stop.

“I didn’t want to make any noise until I knew for sure who was in the hall.”

He grunted. So maybe she hadn’t been trying to betray him back there. At least that was something.

But even walking barefoot on the uneven stones wouldn’t cause that limp. He studied the awkward way she moved, listened to her breath wheeze. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Her tight tone contradicted her words.

His frown deepened. What could have happened to her? Then the light swung down, and a shadow gleamed on her calf. His heart thumped. “Wait a minute.”

She stopped and braced her hand against the wall. “What?”

“Hand me the light.” He grabbed it from her and squatted on his heels. “Turn around and hold up your dress. There’s something on your leg.”

“Luke, it doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t.” He aimed the penlight at her leg and his pulse plunged. A raw gash marred her calf and oozed with blood.

He hissed. That had to hurt. “What happened?”

“I got shot.”

“Shot?” He yanked his gaze up to hers. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She lifted her shoulder in a defeated motion and looked away. He dropped his gaze to the wound again, then angled the light to the dark splotches staining the stones.

He muttered a curse. She was losing too much blood. He had to get her to a doctor, fast. But where could he find one that wouldn’t report them to the cops?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, we need to bandage this and stop the bleeding.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Bad enough.” As raw as that gash looked, he was surprised she could even walk. “And we’ve got a few minutes. It’ll take the guards that long to find the latch.”

“You think they know where the door is?”

“They’d have to be blind not to see it.” He raised his brows.

“You’re leaving a nice trail of blood for them to follow, querida.”

“Oh, God.” Her voice quivered, and she placed her hand on her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to lead them here.”

He exhaled, rose and handed back the penlight. And for the first time, he noticed the strain etching her face, the taut grooves bracketing her mouth. She had to be in tremendous pain.

“Look.” He gentled his voice. “There’s a spot just ahead where the tunnel widens. We can bandage your leg there if you think you can make it that far.”

She searched his eyes. “You’ve been in here before?”

“A few months ago when I was doing a security check.” Not that it had done any good. The royal Roma couple had still died.

“I’ll make it,” she said, and he had to admire her pluck. She was determined, if nothing else.

She limped off again, slower now, and he mulled over this new twist. Why would they shoot Sofia if she’d been involved in the theft?

Unless they’d intended to eliminate her all along. A chill struck his nerves at the thought, but it made sense. With Antonio gone, she was the only one who could prove Luke hadn’t stolen that necklace. Worse, she’d seen Paco kill Antonio—which doubled their reasons to want her dead.

Which meant it was up to Luke to protect her—whether she was guilty, believed him about her patron, or not.

A minute later, the tunnel widened slightly. Part of one wall had crumbled, scattering stones and exposing the ancient garderobe, the palace’s primitive plumbing chute that dropped to the ground below. The result was an alcove—tiny, but wider than the narrow passage they’d just crept through.

“Stop here,” he said. “Let’s get that leg wrapped.” But they needed to do it fast. They didn’t have more than a few minutes’ lead on the police.

Sofia paused and turned back to face him, shivered and rubbed her bare arms. He pulled his car key from his pocket, then lifted the hem of her dress.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Cutting up your dress. Unless you’ve got something else we can use for a bandage?”

“No.” She sighed. “Go ahead.”

He used the key to punch a hole in the satin, then tore off several long strips, while Sofia held the dress up and helped. Then he removed his tuxedo jacket, kicked aside the loose stones and spread it out. “Here, sit on this.”

He moved in close to help her. She grabbed his shoulder for balance, and her body curved into his. Her soft, very feminine body. Their eyes met. A sudden tension hovered between them. And they both went perfectly still.

The shadowy light cocooned them, making the embrace seductive, intimate, tempting. His pulse began to batter his skull.

She felt good in his arms. Too good. And it had been so long.

But this was wrong. The wrong woman, the wrong time.

He grasped her waist, felt her heat sear his hand through the satin gown, while his pulse rocked loud in his ears. He helped her to the ground, aware of her soft, lush body molded to his, the weight of her breast brushing his arm, the compelling scent of her skin.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice breathy, and he had to force himself to let go.

She tugged the dress above her knee, and he cleared his throat. “Shine the light on your leg.” He lowered himself to one knee and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. “You’ll have to help hold this in place.”

He bent forward just as she did and, despite his intentions, he paused. She was so close, her face just inches from his, and the urge to tilt up her chin, to slant his lips over hers in a deep, hot kiss nearly did him in.

Instead, he pressed the handkerchief to her calf. Her hand covered his, and desire shuddered through him, a hot jolt scalding his veins.

Their gazes collided again, and memories slashed through him—her feverish lips, her slick, velvet skin. That delirious moment when sanity ceased and their bodies exploded in bliss.

He dropped his gaze to her parted lips, hauled it back up. Their gazes held and he saw the desire in her eyes, the same stunning need he knew she’d see reflected in his.

Damn, she’d been hot. So hot that he’d dreamed of her, fantasized about her, every day for five long years, despite the betrayal and lies.

But this woman was treacherous, unreliable. And no way would he relive the pain she’d dragged him through. No matter how much he craved that exquisite body, he couldn’t forget the past.

He ripped his gaze from hers and leaned back. “Hold this in place while I wrap it.”

He started wrapping the strip of cloth around her leg, far too conscious of where his hands touched, of the silky gleam of her thigh. And the faint trembling of her hands, the tug of her breath told him she felt that pull, too.

But he forged on, forcing himself to ignore the insistent pulsing in his groin, to concentrate on the problem at hand. “So who shot you?”

She exhaled and the soft sound rent the still air. “I don’t know. There was a guardia civil there—he tried to arrest me, just like you said—but then Paco drew his gun.”

His hands jerked. “The bodyguard was there?” How could she have put herself in danger like that?

“I didn’t see him at first. I thought it was don Fernando. But then he pulled out his gun, and I ran. That’s when I got shot.”

She shivered, her eyes vulnerable again, and he pulled his gaze away. For a moment, neither spoke. “Do you really think you’re being framed?” she finally asked.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Here, hold this.” While she held the end of the cloth in place, he picked up another piece and wrapped it on top. “Look, you said Antonio hired you to make that replica.”

“So?”

“So if he only wanted to steal the necklace, why go to all this trouble? Why didn’t he just swap the replica for the original? I never would have known.”

Because no matter what he thought about Sofia, he couldn’t deny her talent. She was the foremost restorer of ancient amber, the best in the world. Her passion, her nearly magical ability to understand the living stone had brought her worldwide acclaim.

And she made flawless reproductions, copies nearly as priceless as the originals and coveted by celebrities, museums…Hell, with her skill, even other experts wouldn’t have known that necklace was fake—at least not without running tests.

“I would have known what he’d done,” she pointed out.

“Not necessarily. You would have assumed that after the ceremony he’d switched the original back. And once the necklace went to Romanistan, you never would have seen it again.”

“Maybe.” She frowned. “But why would Paco kill Antonio if they were partners?”

He reached for the last strip of cloth. “To eliminate a witness, probably. They want everyone to think I’m guilty. So they can’t risk letting someone who knows the truth live.”

Even in the dim light, he saw her face pale. “You mean like me?”

“Like both of us, querida. We both know the truth.” Their gazes held. She raised her hand to her throat.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

Oh, God was right. They were in a hell of a mess.

He pulled his attention back to the bandage, tied a knot to secure it, then rested back on his heels.

She inhaled, a shaky, feeble sound that told him how rattled she really was. “But…the royal family. Who murdered them?”

Good question. “Hard to say. It might have been unrelated. Terrorists maybe.”

She frowned. “Because they wanted the necklace?”

“Maybe. Or they wanted to get rid of the king.” When the controversial necklace had surfaced in the Spanish bank vault, Spain decided to donate it to Romanistan, the reputed homeland of the Gypsy people. It was a brilliant move, not only lending support to Romanistan’s moderate leader and helping stabilize the volatile region, but gaining Spain access to Romanistan’s vast reserves of oil.

“A lot of people don’t want Romanistan stable,” he added.

“And eliminating the king could lead to war.” Even nuclear war. Which meant there would be a worldwide hunt to get that necklace back.

“I guess it’s possible they’re unrelated,” she said, her voice doubtful. “It would be an awful coincidence, though.”

“Yeah.” He grimaced, then shook his head. “My gut tells me there’s a connection between those murders and the theft. Something more than a simple distraction.”

Plus he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow personal. A vendetta. But why would don Fernando want to ruin him? Luke had never met the man before working at his estate. So what did he have against him?

He rubbed the dull ache between his brows and fought off a wave of fatigue. He couldn’t worry about that now. He had to get them to safety first.

He rose while Sofia pulled on her shoes. He held out his hand, and she grabbed it, and he tugged her to her feet. “How does that feel?”

She put weight on her leg and gasped. “Better.”

“Right.” He knew better than that. He bent to pick up his jacket. But then a soft clank in the distance broke the stillness.

His pulse skipped, and he slowly straightened. That sound had come from down the tunnel. Someone was at the other end.

“Luke,” Sofia whispered.

He motioned with his hand to cut her off. The police had beaten them to the exit. Now what were they going to do?

He searched his memory of the bolt-hole, but there were no side passages branching off, no more secret doors.

They were trapped.

“Through the garderobe—the old plumbing chute,” he decided. There wasn’t another way out. “Give me the flashlight.”

She handed it over, and he knelt and aimed the light down the chute. It was a fifteen foot drop to the ground, barely wide enough to squeeze through. But they didn’t have a choice.

“You go first. Sit over here on the edge.” Despite everything, he wished he could spare her this. “Hold on to the sleeve of my jacket. I’ll lower you down as far as I can. You’ll have to drop the rest of the way, though.” And land on her injured leg.

She perched on the edge of the chute and chewed her lip. “What’s down there?”

“Just dirt.”

“Okay.” Their eyes held and, despite her fears, he knew she’d try.

He handed her the sleeve of his jacket, set the penlight down and adjusted his position, bracing himself to offset her weight. “Get a good grip, then push off.”

Footsteps pounded in the tunnel now. Sofia grabbed the jacket’s sleeve and slid off the edge.

He lowered her down the chute, inching the jacket through his burning palms to control her descent, trying to keep her from bumping the walls. His biceps throbbed. The muscles along his back wrenched. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he blinked away the sting.

Then the jacket played out. “That’s it,” he said softly. “I can’t go any lower. As soon as you hit the ground, move out of the way.”

“All right.” Her voice quavered in the darkness below him. And then suddenly she let go. The pressure on the jacket eased. He rocked back, and she shrieked.

The sharp cry echoed up the shaft, and his gut clenched. Damn, that must have hurt.

The footsteps behind him grew louder now, drumming toward him with increasing speed. Adrenaline hammered his veins. He couldn’t wait any longer. He just hoped she’d rolled out of the way.

He dropped his jacket down the chute and lowered himself over the edge. He balanced on his forearms for a moment, braced his thighs against the sides. Then he grabbed hold of the ledge and began to work his way down. The rough stone grated his palms, shredded his clothes. His shoulders shook with fatigue.

Then footsteps pounded above him and a bright light flashed on his face.

“Policía,” a man yelled. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

Damn. Maybe that necklace really was cursed.

He sucked in his breath and let go.