High-Stakes Affair

by Gail Barrett

  “We have to go,” Dante said, handing over her bag of disks. “We’re out of time.”

  “But I might not have the right disk.”

  “There was nothing in the bathroom. I looked.” Not waiting for an answer, he headed toward the door.

  But Paloma didn’t move. As anxious as she was to distance herself from Gomez’s body, she still needed to find that blackmail evidence. But if it wasn’t in the bathroom…

  Dante stopped at the door to the suite and frowned back. “What are you doing? We need to go.”

  “I told you. I can’t leave, not until I’m sure I have that disk.”

  “What difference does it make? Gomez is dead. He can’t blackmail you now.”

  “But the evidence still exists. What if someone else finds it? I have to make sure it’s gone for good.”

  “We don’t have time. The power’s about to come back on. If we don’t go now, the cameras are going to catch us inside.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, Princess. Maybe you won’t get arrested if they find us here, but I will. And I’ll be damned if I’ll rot in prison just to cover your royal ass.”

  The bitterness in his low voice shocked her. Not that she expected him to like her. Few people in País Vell did. But his anger seemed deeper, almost personal, as if she’d directly caused him harm.

  Stung, she crossed her arms. “I’m not doing this for myself.”

  His gaze sharpened. “No? Then who are you doing it for?”

  Aware that she’d blundered badly, she rushed to cover the slip. “What I mean is… It’s a bad time for this to come out.”

  That much was true. Three weeks ago, a group of La Brigada separatists had tried to assassinate her family in a bomb blast. Luckily for her, they’d failed. But her father had retaliated hard, imposing a curfew on the separatist region and prohibiting gatherings of any sort. Instead of quelling the rebellion, he’d only angered the separatists further, inciting even more violent protests—which had resulted in several deaths.

  She didn’t agree with her father’s reaction. She’d tried for years to convince him to modernize the monarchy and enact some badly needed reforms—including granting autonomy to Reino Antiguo, which País Vell controlled. But her old-fashioned father refused to change. She had higher hopes for her brother, but Tristan wouldn’t assume the throne for years.

  In the meantime, it was up to her to protect the citizens of País Vell, even if they thought the worst of her.

  “People are already upset with my family,” she explained. “If anything bad comes out, they’re going to protest again. And someone else could get killed.”

  He still didn’t believe her. Cynicism blazed in his coal-black eyes. But she didn’t owe him the truth. They were temporary partners in crime, nothing more.

  “Either way, there’s nothing else here,” he finally said. “It’s pointless to hang around.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Still smarting from his derision, she fished the key from the bag and held it out. “I found this in the safe. There must be another one in the suite somewhere.”

  Dante strode back toward her. He took the key, examined it with the penlight and gave it back. “It doesn’t go to a safe. It’s the key for a safe-deposit box.”

  “You mean in a bank? Are you sure?”

  He lifted a sardonic brow.

  “Right.” Of course a thief would recognize keys. But how could she find Gomez’s bank box? Where would she even look?

  Her panic escalating, she glanced toward the office again. She couldn’t leave here without that footage. She’d never have another opportunity to get in. Once the police realized Gomez had died, they would cordon off the area and confiscate his belongings—eliminating 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 he’d evoked in her from the start.

  Determined to ignore it, she turned her gaze to the blackened forest as they left the grounds of the casino and whizzed down the mountain road. Dante disturbed her, all right. And she never should have enlisted his help. Now he was mired with her in this muddled mess—and it was up to her to get them out.

  He shifted to a lower gear. The car slowed abruptly, jerking her against the seat belt, the engine protesting with a high-pitched shriek. He hit the brakes, slowing them even further, and steered the car off the road. The beams from the headlights bounced across the trees as they bumped over the rocky ground.

  “What are you doing?” She braced her hand against the dashboard as the car lurched through a rocky ditch. “Why did you leave the road?”

  “They’ve set up a roadblock closer to town.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I overheard some people talking in the parking lot.”

  She frowned. “You think they know that Gomez is dead?”

  “No. They’re looking for you. Your bodyguard got a good look at me before the lights went out. When he woke up and couldn’t find you, he probably figured I’d kidnapped you.”

  Oh, God. Dante was right. That was exactly what Carlos would think. She sank back against the seat, fastening her gaze on the passing timber as the implications sank in. Her father would act at once. He’d scour the countryside, mobilizing the military and mounting an all-out search.

  Her forehead suddenly throbbing, she pressed her fingers to her temples and tried to think. “I’ll straighten this out as soon as I get home. I’ll call my father and let him know that I’m all right.”

  “He’s not going to believe you.”

  “Why not?”

  Dante swerved again. “They saw us together in the hall, and we were running away from the guards. How are you going to explain that?”

  “I’ll say I was lost, that you were helping me find my way out. And we ran because…because we didn’t know who they were. We thought the guards were someone else, maybe La Brigada raiding the casino. And you were trying to keep me safe.”

  “It still won’t work.”

  “Of course it will. Once I explain—”

  “I’m a thief, Paloma. I’ve got a criminal record. It won’t matter what you say. They’ll assume that I coerced you and throw me back in jail.”

  “Not without proof, they won’t.”

  “Proof?” He shot her an incredulous look. “What planet do you live on? Since when do they need proof to arrest someone?”

  “That’s awfully cynical. Our laws—”

  He barked out a bitter laugh. “Laws. Right. That’s why they tossed me in jail before—with no lawyer, no contact with the outside world, no chance to fight the charges, whatever the hell they were.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Then you’re either stupid or naive.”

  She frowned at his angry profile, his bitterness bothering her. True, she hadn’t found his arrest papers. And she knew the system wasn’t perfect, that some of the older guards were corrupt. But Dante made the country sound medieval. And while her father might be high-handed, he’d never tolerate abuses like that.

  “I don’t know what happened with your arrest,” she admitted. “So I can’t argue with you about that. But you don’t have to worry about tonight. I’ll make sure my father knows that you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll talk to him in person and prove that I’m all right.”

  Dante slanted her a glance. “There’s still one problem.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The car hit a rut, and she clutched the seat. He didn’t believe she’d stand up for him? “Why not?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I said I would. And my word is good.”

  “Your word?” he scoffed. “You’ve been lying to me from the start. There isn’t a chance in hell Gomez was blackmailing you with the reputation you have.”

  She flushed and crossed her arms, unable to deny the truth. “The reason I need that disk doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters. I’m in this mess as much as you are,
so you damned well owe me the truth. And until I get it, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Princess. You’re stuck with me until I decide we’re through.”

  Outraged, she clamped her jaw. Then she turned her gaze to the side window, where the wind whistled through a crack. Wonderful. She’d thought the night couldn’t get much worse. But she’d been wrong.

  Because now she had to worry about him.

  Chapter 3

  Dante had to hand it to the princess. She’d lived up to her bad reputation and totally screwed up his night.

  Furious over the debacle she’d landed him in, he stopped on a cobblestone street in the heart of the ancient city and parked. Darkness enveloped the car. A dog barked from a nearby house, its sharp, high-pitched yaps adding to his foul mood.

  Paloma had embroiled him in a disaster, all right. The police were hot on his trail. They would assume he’d abducted the princess and would probably shoot him on sight. They’d definitely connect him to that bomb blast—and possibly the casino owner’s bizarre death.

  And until he could extricate himself from this unholy mess, he wasn’t letting her escape. She was the only hope he had to clear his name and keep himself out of jail.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  He turned his head, barely able to make out her features in the predawn light. She hadn’t spoken for the last half hour as they’d worked their way down the forest trail. She’d sat with her arms folded tight, her sultry lips compressed, upset that he didn’t trust her, no doubt. Well, too damned bad. He needed answers. And he intended to get them, even if her feelings got hurt.

  “A property I’m restoring,” he hedged. “No one will find us there. We can talk, make plans.” Figure out what had gone wrong.

  Still seething over his predicament, he climbed out, grabbed his knapsack from the backseat and did a visual check of the car, making sure he hadn’t left incriminating evidence behind. Then he led the way up the cobbled lane into the oldest part of the city, a once-lavish section that bordered the fortified wall.