by Dana Marton
They’d accused him on more than one occasion of passing through the sea of ladies always present at court like a sleepwalker, barely noticing any of them. He was well awake now, conscious and alert. His body responded fully, passionately, his hardness pressing up against her soft core. His hands went to her waist to hold her in place.
Practicing seemed like a brilliant idea all of a sudden. He was looking forward to lots and lots of practice. It was the only path to perfection after all, as his father had been fond of saying.
But she was pulling away already, looking unaffected save for the smirk on her freshly kissed lips. “I think we can both make it look authentic.”
He took a moment to collect himself. If she could walk away from this, then so could he. “How are your stings?” he asked when his breathing was semi-steady.
His had stopped burning, but they still itched.
“If that’s a pitiful attempt to get me out of my pajamas so you can check, it’s not going to work.”
He couldn’t help a grin. “What can I do? You’re too smart for me.”
“And don’t you forget it.” She sauntered to the obscenely large bed and lay right in the middle, then tossed a pillow at him.
“What’s that for?” He knew he was slow on the uptake, but he couldn’t help it. His mind was still addled; all he could think of was joining her on that bed and finishing what they started. That was the last thing he should have wanted under the circumstances, considering who she was and why they were here.
“For you on the couch. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable. You need to be fully rested for tomorrow.” She gave him a cheeky grin.
“YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED at the hotel,” Istvan told her.
They were on their way to see Geoffrey Bellingham, sitting in the back of a limo while his guards rode up front. Bellingham took breakfast appallingly early. Istvan stifled a yawn. He’d barely slept the night before. Lauryn was not easy to ignore when sharing the same suite.
“We’ve covered this. We’ll do the social thing with this guy, but I’m sure I won’t be invited to the negotiating table. While you’re with him, I’ll wander around and see what I can see.”
“The hotel would be safer.” While he’d been lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling, he’d had plenty of time to think about, among other things, the danger he was taking her into.
“You were fine with me coming when Arnie offered to keep me safe in the village.”
He didn’t respond to that.
She watched him closely. And her eyes went wide after a few seconds. “You thought he was an ex-boyfriend, didn’t you?”
Should have known that she would work that out sooner or later. She had an amused look on her face. She clearly enjoyed having fun at his expense. Needling him was quickly becoming a hobby of hers. He couldn’t say he minded it. He rather enjoyed their usual irreverent banter.
He wouldn’t, however, give her the satisfaction of admitting anything. “Of course not.”
“You didn’t want to leave me with him.” She grinned.
“Don’t be preposterous. I’m not jealous of your uncle.”
“You didn’t know he was my uncle.” She watched him with a speculative glint in her eyes.
“I talked to Miklos again earlier while I waited for you at the car.”
“All right.” She shot him a knowing look. “I’ll be a good girl and play along. What did he have to say?”
“The ship’s captain killed himself before he could be interrogated.”
The blood left her face. “Why wasn’t he secured?”
“He was. Looks like he ran full force into the brick wall of his cell and cracked his own skull. It’s the damnedest thing.”
“Whoever he worked for, he had to be pretty frightened of the guy.” She rubbed her temple. “The rest of the crew?”
“Scared stiff and not talking.” A moment of silence passed between them before he continued. “Miklos had information on our Fernando, as well.” Information Arnie must have known, although Istvan couldn’t blame the man for not revealing it. “Apparently, when he gets tired of a mistress, he’s known to leave her behind at a negotiation as a gift to seal the deal.”
She blinked. “You’re making that up.”
He looked her straight in the eye. “Not hardly.”
“If you dare—” She drew a deep breath.
He could see as she gathered steam. But even as she opened her mouth to give him some of her undiluted opinion, the car came to a halt. “We’re at the lion’s den,” he told her. “Time to go in and do the bearding.”
Truth was, he couldn’t picture himself leaving her behind anywhere, not in the near future. He enjoyed her company too much. But at one point, he would have to give her up, he reminded himself. He was a prince. She was an ex-thief.
One of his bodyguards opened the door. Istvan stepped out first, then held a hand out to help Lauryn. She put on her mistress persona without a pause, linked her arm through his, pressing herself against his side as they walked, the thunder on her face seamlessly converting into a coy smile.
And he immediately realized what a huge distraction she would be. Yes, he could use her sneaking-around skills, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that bringing her along might turn out to be a dangerous mistake.
Chapter Nine
Bellingham’s home looked like a perfect English manor house both on the outside and inside, including a mahogany library with a fireplace, which, Lauryn suspected, didn’t see much use given the climate.
The maid poured their tea, then left without raising an eye to anyone present or uttering a single word. Their host didn’t acknowledge her either, certainly didn’t thank her. He’d acted the upper-crust English nobleman from the moment they’d arrived. Probably wanted to make a good impression on the elusive Fernando. She knew Prince Istvan could outclass him in manners and in every other way, but he held back and acted the wealthy South American black market genius with aplomb.
“It’s nice coming here this time of the year. Hot, but not any hotter than at home,” he was saying as he lifted his cup to his mouth.
Bellingham’s movements were more measured as he took in Fernando and his mistress, his gaze lingering on the soft silk dress Lauryn had selected for their breakfast, nearly sheer and snuggled close to the skin to accentuate every curve. She’d long ago learned the power of a good distraction.
She sat close enough to Istvan so their thighs touched, and made a show of paying attention only to him. But while she glanced up at him coyly from under hooded eyelashes and flashed him one bedroom smile after the other, she cataloged the contents of the room with a focus that wasn’t easily won.
Plenty of bookshelves, but save an ornamental antique desk—Louis the Fourteenth, original—she found few signs that the place was Bellingham’s working office. No computer in sight, for one. And she didn’t see any filing cabinets either.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Istvan was saying, faking a South American accent as best he could. “I regret that we haven’t met until now. I’m not one for the social scene.”
“So I’ve heard.” Bellingham chortled. “You have the reputation of a hermit.” His eyes narrowed. “All the more intriguing that you would stop by on a visit.”
Istvan put his left hand on Lauryn’s knee, then lifted it away slightly, hovering an inch or two above before allowing a finger to make contact again and trailing it up her thigh. Her skin heated from his touch, caressed by both his fingertip and the silk. Need snatched her breath away for a second before she could steel herself. He gave her a meaningful smile as he drew his hand back, the kind that would pass between lovers, full of promises.
She rose, acting on his silent message. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business. I saw a garden in the back as we came in. Would you mind if I explored it?” she asked their host, toning down the open heat, but remaining sufficiently flirtatious.
“Make yourself at home.” The man’s gaze dipped to her
cleavage. “You may explore anything you like for as long as you please.
“You’re a lucky man.” She heard him say as she closed the thick wooden door behind herself. She didn’t catch Istvan’s reply if there’d been any.
Istvan’s two guards stood at one end of the hallway, Bellingham’s two men at the other. They looked her over, but didn’t interfere as she walked toward the French doors that led to the courtyard in the back. She could still feel the prince’s touch and cursed her attraction to the man.
Given her past, men in her life had been few and far between. She could never fully trust any, could never take anyone home to meet Daddy. She could never be sure if someone pursued her because he was an up-and-coming rival and wanted her secrets or an undercover cop trying to gain her confidence to collect evidence against her.
Both had happened.
She learned and never allowed more than a couple of dates, always stopped short of a true relationship where she would have had to share things that were personal.
Her dating habits left her lonely and frustrated, but she told herself she didn’t have time for a man in her life anyway. First because her father had made sure her schedule was always full, and now because it took a hundred and ten percent of her energy to establish some kind of normal, legal career.
The last thing she needed was this unrequited attraction to the prince who’d just as soon see her tossed in jail than accept her help. She was walking the tightrope with him. She had to remember that. And the fact that his affection for her, so openly displayed in front of Bellingham, was all pretense. Okay, not all pretense. He’d seemed plenty interested in her on multiple occasions when they’d been behind closed doors and not performing for anyone’s benefit. His kisses… Anyway. Whatever attraction there was was none too deep. Most likely, he sought only to satisfy his baser urges.
She drew her lungs full of fresh air, pushing the prince and the way he made her feel out of her mind. She was famous for her razor-sharp focus. She called on that as she continued walking.
The garden walls threw enough shade in the morning to make the walk pleasant, so she followed the brick path that wound its way around palm trees and giant prickly pears, enormous bushes of flowering rosemary that had the bees buzzing. A marble fountain sprayed water in the center, the mist further cooling the air. She ignored the fountain and walked the perimeter instead, pretending to admire the plants while surreptitiously looking in every window.
She found the kitchen, a formal reception room, storage rooms, bathrooms and, finally, the office. Little red dots indicated the cameras in the corner. The security system was on. No surprise there.
She didn’t linger much longer, not knowing how long the prince’s negotiations with Bellingham would take. She headed inside, right past the man’s guards.
“I need to use the little girls’ room.” She smiled coyly, bending forward enough to let the neck of her dress gape. She drew the back of her index finger down her skin, toward the spot that grabbed the guards’ attention. “It’s getting hot out there. Would be nice to splash some water on my face.”
One of the men gestured toward the end of the hallway, and she headed that way with a thankful smile. They didn’t follow. They wouldn’t move from the library door while their boss was in there with a stranger, she suspected. And they didn’t have to follow her in any case. The hallway had its share of security cameras, giving a view of her activities to whoever was watching the monitors.
She walked into the bathroom as if she had no cares in the world, scanned it and was relieved that at least here privacy had been preserved. No cameras anywhere.
Which did seem kind of lax, considering that she’d seen them everywhere else in the house so far. She took a fresh towel and wet it, dabbed the cool cloth down her neck as she looked around, slower this time, pretending to enjoy freshening up a little.
She caught a suspicious dark spot in the painting that hung overlapping the mirrored back wall. She let her gaze glide right by as if she hadn’t noticed. Then she wadded up the towel and placed it on the glass shelf below the picture, making sure it blocked the hidden camera’s lens. She did one more sweep of the place, but couldn’t find anything else.
The window was connected to a motion detector, but that was switched off, probably so the bathroom could be aired out if needed. She imagined they only turned the sensors on at night when they secured the premises. She looked out at the garden. The office she’d seen was right next door. If the window sensors were turned off during the day, she could climb out here and climb in there.
The garden stood empty, just as when she’d left it. The main danger came from being spotted through one of the other windows if anyone was watching. She made sure she checked every window she could see, but detected no shadows or movement behind any of them. The library was on the opposite side of the garden with Bellingham and Istvan, but Bellingham had been sitting with his back to the window when she’d left them.
In any case, this was her only chance, and the risks, such as they were, would have to be taken.
She opened the window, careful not to make a sound, and leaned out. She still couldn’t see signs of anyone else. She vaulted out in one quick move, making sure she didn’t tear her dress. Nobody shouted at her to ask what she was doing. She pulled the bathroom window closed.
A quick swipe at her bra produced a pick that helped to open the office window. Then she was inside and closed this window behind her, too. Nothing should look amiss from the outside. The camera sensed motion and its red light blinked. She knew this model. Took about three blinks before recording started.
She dived forward and grabbed a handy little gadget from the other cup of her bra, held it up to the keypad and pushed a button. It temporarily overrode the circuits, tricking the sensors into believing that all was well in there. The red light on the camera stopped blinking.
She went to work immediately. Her gadget would work for only five minutes before the slight magnetic charge wore off. To use it a second time would risk permanently damaging the circuitry, which would be discovered once they left. She preferred not to blow their cover. They might need it again.
She went straight to the laptop on the desk, working in order of priority. She pulled a sticker from her bra with one hand as she turned the laptop over with the other. She pulled off the original barcode, stashed it and replaced it with her own. How many people ever checked the old factory stickers on the backs of their computers? Her sticker concealed a transmitter chip, a cloner. With the corresponding receptor, they’d be able to see everything Bellingham did on this laptop, now and forever.
Done with that, she tried the desk drawers. Locked. No match for her picking skills, however. She did a quick look-through, hoping to find a small artifact from the treasury, something Bellingham was possibly prepping for shipment or still evaluating. But there was nothing there.
The filing cabinets came next, yielding nothing relevant. Then she looked for the safe and found it cemented to the floor. There’d been a time when those floor vaults were very fashionable. She knew what to do, although this type wasn’t one of her strengths. She ended up wasting precious seconds and found nothing but cash in several currencies and a half-dozen passports with Bellingham’s picture but different names. She made sure to memorize them.
She was almost done when she heard footsteps outside the door. She glanced around with desperation for a hiding place as her heart rate tripled.
“WOULD IT BE FOR YOUR private collection or for a client?” Bellingham asked in response to Istvan’s hints that he was looking for something extraordinary, one-of-a-kind pieces that might be floating out there.
“A client.” He tried to look calm while his blood pressure inched up. He’d seen Lauryn climb in a window, but she hadn’t come out. “An old client had come into some money recently and he heard rumors of certain items that don’t usually come onto the market.”
“Items like that are retrieved for specific clients
, on order. More often than not,” Bellingham added, his attitude remaining nonchalant.
“But if another buyer surfaced? I’ve yet to see a bidding war that was bad for us agents.” He gave a short, conspiratorial laugh.
Bellingham nodded, his lips tugging up at the corners. “What sort of artifacts would your client be interested in exactly?”
Istvan dragged out the moment as if reluctant to reveal even that much. “He fancies himself the king of the underworld. Don’t they all?” He chuckled again.
Bellingham’s eyes narrowed. “And what brought you to my door?”
“Your reputation for one. If there’s anything out there, I thought you might have heard of it. But I’ll be making the rounds elsewhere, as well. I’ve heard a rumor that something somewhere might have disappeared. Some body has to know where it went.”
“Let me see what I can find out.” Bellingham stood.
“I hear you’re a fan of Cubist art. I have a collection upstairs if you care to view it.”
Istvan’s heart about stopped. Lauryn was finally climbing back out the window. And Bellingham could turn any second.
“A wonderful library you have,” Istvan said quickly, pointing at the shelves opposite from the window to draw the man’s attention elsewhere. “I have lately grown to appreciate rare volumes myself. Another vehicle for investment.”
“Feel free to look around,” Bellingham said with pride in his voice.
Agents also being collectors wasn’t that unusual.
They started with lots they couldn’t sell, then invested in better pieces over the years, as well. Having inventory on hand didn’t hurt when they had clients with predictable tastes. Orders could be filled that much quicker.
“Look all you want.” He indicated the room with an outstretched hand, turning in a circle, just missing Lauryn as she closed the second window behind her.
“I ALMOST GOT CAUGHT at the end. Somebody was coming into the office, but I skipped out the window while they fiddled with the lock. I’ve never been so grateful for a stuck key. What do we have so far?” Lauryn asked from behind Istvan.
