Читать книгу Heart of a Thief - Gail Barrett - Страница 13

The gunshot ricocheted down the garderobe, thundering off the rock walls, echoing through Luke’s skull as he plunged toward earth. He crashed into the ground, then rolled, ignoring the spasm jolting his legs from the brutal impact. Rocks gouged his shoulders, his back, but he forced himself to keep rolling to get out of the line of fire.

Sofia’s body stopped him.

His heart fisted, then dove, and he shoved himself to his knees. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she hurt? “Sofia. Sofia!”

He shook her shoulder, but she didn’t respond. He shook it again, harder, and his pulse raced into his throat. “Sofia. Di algo. Are you okay?”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and he hissed out air. Thank God, she was alive. Because for a moment there…

“I’m fine. I—” She winced, then moaned. “My leg.”

He could imagine. That jackknife landing would have been agony on her gunshot wound. But they couldn’t linger here and assess the damage. The police would arrive at any time.

Swearing softly, he speared his hand through his hair. “We’ve got to keep going. Can you stand?”

“Just give me a second.” She rolled forward and struggled to her knees.

“Here. Hold on to me.” He crouched and put his arm around her waist to lift her. His hand touched bare flesh, and she flinched.

He jerked. “What?”

“I…I just scraped my side, that’s all.”

He didn’t doubt it. The stones had shredded her elegant dress, peeling it into strips. He could imagine the damage to her skin.

More gently now, he adjusted his hold on her waist and tugged her to her feet. She leaned against him, panting, one hand clutching his shirt, her soft breath caressing his ear. Strands of loose hair fell around her face, tumbling from the lopsided twist.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes, I’m—” she stepped forward, gasped, and he grabbed her again, afraid that she would pass out “—fine.” She sucked in her breath. “Really. I’m okay.”

She was lying. Pain tightened the corners of her eyes and etched lines around her mouth. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that now. He dropped his hands and stepped back.

“Which way now?” she asked.

Good question. He glanced around. They’d landed where the garderobe drained, outside the palace on a rocky slope. In fact, considering how steep the hill was, they were lucky they hadn’t rolled down.

Then again, it might have been better if they had.

As it was, they stood highlighted against the wall, trapped by the spotlights that ringed the palace, as visible as actors on a brightly lit stage. But if they moved away from the wall to escape the spotlights, they’d be seen by the guards on the roof. Guards he had put in place.

“The easiest way out is toward the front,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But the entrance will be crawling with police.”

“Down the hill then?”

He glanced at the shallow trench leading into the darkness.

“Too obvious. This is the first place they’ll look. We need to do something they won’t expect.”

Like climb down the other side. His mind flashed to the sheer slope that backed the palace. Could Sofia make it? Could he? Did they have a choice?

“Back here. Come on.” His sense of urgency rising, he scooped his tuxedo jacket from the ground and slipped it on. The dark color would help him blend with the night. “Stay close to the wall.”

“But shouldn’t we get out of the light?”

“Not yet. The guards on the roof could pick us off.”

Ignoring her quick intake of breath, he turned and led the way over the slanted ground toward the back of the palace. In the distance, a siren wailed. A second later another joined it, their off-key notes dueling in the summer night.

The hunt was on.

And that’s exactly what this was, a manhunt. Anger knifed through him, like talons clawing his gut. They’d set him up tonight. Chosen him. Baited and trapped him like some weak, defenseless prey.

And now they intended to kill him.

They could think again.

He curled his hands, thinned his lips, felt the muscles bunch in his jaw. They’d played him for a fool, flayed his pride. But he was a survivor. He’d battled his way out of the ghetto, scrapped for every crumb he’d had.

And he would fight this war to win.

His stride lengthening, he closed the distance to the end of the palace, turned the corner and stopped. The light hazed over the rock-strewn ground to the point where the slope dropped off. If they made it past the edge, no one would see them. But then they’d still have to climb down the cliff.

Sofia limped up beside him and stopped. “You want to go down this?” Her voice rose. “Is there even a path?”

His gaze met hers, and he shook his head. “It’s not as steep as it looks. We’ll stay to the side where the bushes are.”

She gnawed her lip. Her eyes stayed frozen on his. Then she jerked her gaze to the cliff.

“They’ll have the other routes blocked. There isn’t another way.”

“I know.”

He knew she was scared. He didn’t blame her. The descent would be tough in the dark.

But then she lifted her eyes to his. “So who goes first?”

And without warning, a sliver of warmth stole into his chest. She’d been shot, chased, injured, scraped—but she was still willing to climb down that cliff.

Oh, hell. He yanked his gaze away. He didn’t want to admire her. He didn’t even want to like her. And he sure didn’t want to feel that connection to her again, that link.

The physical attraction was bad enough. But he could handle that. He could keep those feelings cornered, contained, battened safely in a distant place.

But that fusing of minds, that need…Never again. No way.

Furious at himself, he wrenched his mind back to the cliff. “I’ll go first.” The words came out harsh, and she blinked. “Wait until I’ve started down, then run to get past the light. And try not to make any noise. We don’t want to attract the guards.”

Someone shouted from the rooftop then. The sirens grew closer, then cut off abruptly. His body tensed. They had to do this now. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.” His adrenaline surging, he crouched and sprinted to the edge of the cliff. Then he slowed, grabbed a bush for balance, picked out a path, and stepped off. Stones slid beneath his feet, but he kept moving, dropping from one foothold to the next, lowering himself away from the edge. When he’d passed safely beyond the light, he stopped.

His breath sawed the air. His pulse drummed a ragged beat. He’d made it. Now it was Sofia’s turn.

He watched her as she hurried toward him, doubled over and limping badly, anxiety and pain carved on her face. She slowed and gripped the same bush he had, pivoted to start down. But then her injured leg buckled. She stumbled toward him and gasped. His heart thudding, he leaned forward to block her fall.

“Easy,” he murmured as she thumped against him. Pebbles slid loose and bounced around them, and he struggled to keep them from plunging down.

“I’m all right,” she whispered when she’d found her balance. But her back was rigid, and she was pulling out the roots on that bush.

And that sliver of admiration, that traitorous warmth around his heart, increased.

He eased his hands from the cliff, keeping his motions slow to calm her. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going down now. Watch me and step where I do.”

“But I can’t see.”

“Don’t look at the lights. Let your eyes get used to the darkness.” A trick he’d learned as a kid, stealing through the night. “Better?”

“Yes,” she whispered, but her breath hitched.

“Good. Now follow me. Take your time. Don’t rush, even if you hear any noise.”

Hoping she wouldn’t hurry and fall—especially if those guards gave chase—he reached for another branch. He tugged it to make sure it would hold his weight and scooted down the hill a few more steps. He glanced back, relieved to see that she’d followed, then returned his attention to the cliff.

He stuck to the safest route, choosing caution over speed for Sofia’s sake. But while his progress down the hill was slow, questions about the night careened through his mind. Who shot the royal Roma couple? Were the killings related to the theft? And why steal the necklace tonight when the entire world was watching?

The news would create a media frenzy, no doubt—royals murdered, priceless treasure stolen, Romanistan pushed to the brink of war. And as if that weren’t sensational enough, there was the curse.

He grimaced, skirted a boulder and grappled for another handhold. Of course, the curse was nonsense.

But there was one fact he couldn’t deny—he’d been involved in this mess for a reason. What that reason was, he didn’t know. He’d have to unravel that once they were safe.

He inched around another section of rock, then realized he could make out shadows beneath him. They’d nearly reached the bottom. Now they just had to get up the opposite hill and they’d be on the open road.

He turned back, intending to tell Sofia, but a small stone bounced past his face. He glanced up, blinked as dirt rained onto his head. Sofia let out a muffled cry.

She hurtled toward him, and his lungs froze. He reached out to try to block her, but her momentum knocked him back. He grunted, fell—Sofia with him—into the empty space.

He flailed, unable to latch onto anything, then slammed to the rocky earth. His shoulder and back took the impact, but he didn’t slow. Instead, he skidded downward, crashing through bushes, knocking more stones loose, grabbing at anything he could.

He finally smacked against a boulder and stopped. Sofia rammed into him a moment after, knocking the wind from his lungs. He wheezed and bit off a groan.

For several heartbeats, neither moved. Sofia moaned and clutched her head. “Luke, are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Although his back ached, and his shoulder burned. He blinked the dirt from his eyes and rolled to his knees. A wave of dizziness made him suck in his breath.

Still dragging at air, he stumbled to his feet and rotated his bruised shoulder to test it. Then he reached down to help Sofia up.

But then a bright light slashed the sky, and his breath stopped. Searchlights. Oh, hell. Just what they didn’t need.

“Come on,” he urged her. “¡Rápido!” His pain forgotten, he grabbed Sofia’s hand and yanked her to her feet. Then he hauled her up the short, steep hill, dragging her, not giving her time to slow down. “Faster. Faster!” The guards would see them at any time.

Shouts came from the palace behind them. The searchlight skipped past, barely missing them as it swept the ravine.

Knowing every second counted, Luke ran flat-out, pulling Sofia harder. His thighs burned. His lungs heaved. But they were exposed now, out in the open. They had to take cover fast.

They crested the hill, and he glanced around wildly, searching for a safe place to hide. But then a deep thrumming sound filled his ears. Vibrations drummed the ground beneath him, and he jerked his gaze to the sky.

His heart stopped. A police helicopter. Could their luck get any worse?

Still towing Sofia, he sprinted across the road toward some bushes while his desperation surged. The rotors pulsed louder, closer. The air around them throbbed.

“In here,” he shouted to Sofia, but the deafening noise swallowed his voice. He dropped her arm and shoved through the dense, prickly branches. Thorns snagged his sleeves, clawed his face, but he lunged past them, battling them out of the way to help her crawl inside.

Then he dragged her to the ground. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, ignoring the sharp twigs poking his back.

“My hair,” she said, and he saw the problem—her blond hair wouldn’t blend in. But she tugged the hem of her gown from beneath her legs, and he helped drape it over her head.

Then suddenly, a bright light flashed. And the helicopter thundered above them like an airborne train, its roar deafening, its searchlight probing. The earth around him shook, jarring his bones, vibrating his teeth.

He huddled against Sofia, sheltering her as the downdraft spun the dirt loose, dislodging stones and leaves. The branches around them swayed, and he couldn’t breathe, afraid the bushes would part and reveal them. The intense light lingered, skipped past, flared again.

And then, mercifully, it headed away.

“Don’t move yet,” he said into Sofia’s ear.

Still curled against him, her face buried in his chest, she shook her head. She clung to him, trembling wildly, her soft body plastered to his. His own stomach churning, he held her, absorbing her fear, listening as the thump of the rotors receded, replaced by sirens again.

He finally blew out his breath and slumped back. That had been close. Too close. Sofia eased her hold on his jacket and lifted her head.

“Oh, God, Luke. I’m so sorry. That was all my fault. My leg gave way and I slipped and the stones made noise and—”

“Shh.” He put his fingers to her lips. Her eyes were huge in the darkness. Her soft mouth quivered against his hand. Tears streaked her face, forging a trail through the grime to her chin.

She looked exhausted. Dazed. And so beautiful she made his lungs hurt.

He slid his hand up her back to her neck and rested his forehead on hers. Her warm breath hitched and brushed his face. “Luke,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Hold on. Just a little longer. Just until we get somewhere safe.”

He ran his thumb along her jaw and stroked her neck. He pressed his other hand to her back, feeling the heat of her skin, the violent shivers still jerking through her.

A few heartbeats later, she lifted her chin. Her lips were inches from his, whipping his nerves into sudden awareness. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to slide his mouth down that skin, taste the heat of her flesh, lose himself in that hot rush of lust.

But he couldn’t go there. She needed comfort, not sex. She was injured, shocked, rattled by the harrowing night.

He forced his hands to her shoulders and inched back, increasing the distance between them. Her gaze stayed on his, trapping him, reeling him in, while the blood rocked hard in his ears.

“What are we going to do now?” she whispered.

Get away from temptation, first off. He let go of her shoulders, grabbed a branch above him, and rose. “Get out of here before that helicopter comes back. Find a place to rest.” Somewhere they could make plans, get medical help for her leg.

Somewhere the police wouldn’t find them.

A sense of inevitability swept through him. He knew only one place that fit that description—aside from the slums where he’d grown up.

El Aro. The Gypsy enclave in downtown Madrid where his aunt Carmen lived.

Grim now, galled at having to ask his relatives for help but knowing he didn’t have much choice, he shoved his way out of the shrub. “Come on.” He turned back and pulled her out. “We need to find a car.”

“Where’s yours?”

“Back at the palace.” Surrounded by police, no doubt.

Still scanning the area, alert in case the helicopter swung back, he headed toward the parked cars lining the road. Sofia hobbled behind him, not even protesting his intentions, and he wondered if she had grown numb.

He finally spotted an ancient Seat, a car he could quickly hot-wire. He stopped, glanced around to make sure the road was still deserted, and expertly shimmied the lock.

“Get in,” he told her.

While she limped around the battered car, he rummaged under the dashboard. He found the ignition wire, isolated the starter, made a few twists and slid inside. A quick touch of the starter wire fired up the engine. Sofia shut her door, and he eased out the clutch and drove off.

The irony of his actions struck him hard. He’d gone full circle in the past few hours, from being poised on the edge of triumph to reverting to a life of crime.

Breaking the vow he’d kept for fifteen years.

He blew out his breath. Fatigue from the long night rocked through him, and he rubbed the ache at the base of his skull. He hadn’t asked for this trouble. He’d been set up, sucked in—and now he couldn’t escape. He had to find that necklace, clear his name and protect Sofia from Antonio’s killer, whether she was involved in this plot or not.

So while he hadn’t chosen this war, he couldn’t shirk it. He had to fight it with everything he had.

He glanced at Sofia. Her eyes were closed, her breathing rough. Her hair was wrecked, her soft cheeks streaked with grime, her once-elegant gown destroyed. And before he could stop it, something shifted inside him, something long-buried flickered to life.

Maybe it was the weariness, the ordeal of the past hours creeping in, blunting the bitterness he’d harbored for years. Making him remember the good parts—her gentleness, her passion, the sex.

Too dangerous. He yanked his gaze back to the road. This woman had betrayed him. He didn’t dare trust her, no matter how innocent she looked right now. Plus he had police on his tail, a killer stalking his heels. He couldn’t let down his guard.

Because if he wasn’t careful, he’d fall for Sofia again. And that would be the biggest danger of all.