The Royal Affair

by Barrett, Gail

  Except that Internet chatter was heating up. Singh had started traveling more. And rumor had it he was planning something big, something deadly, something so catastrophic it had Interpol running scared.

  Interpol was depending on Deven to find out what. The stability of the region, even the world, could be at stake—as well as his private plans for revenge.

  Especially if, as Interpol feared, Singh had ties to the Order of the Black Crescent Moon—a fanatical terrorist organization intent on wiping out the Roma worldwide. Interpol suspected the group was plotting to overthrow Romanistan, the Roman’s ancient homeland, which could spark a global war.

  But Deven hadn’t found proof of that. He’d hardly learned a thing in the past few months. Frustrated, he turned and met Maya’s gaze. “I need to talk to the girl.”

  “Not until you tell me what you’re doing with Singh.”

  “I can’t. It’s safer if you don’t get involved,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest.

  “I’m already involved. He’s targeting the women I’ve promised to protect.”

  And now she’d further defied Singh to rescue the girl—an act of rebellion the man would crush hard.

  “Look,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “We don’t have time to argue. I need to talk to the girl and find out what she knows. And you need to get out of here before Singh shows up. I don’t think we were followed, but I can’t be sure.”

  Her face paled. Fear moved into her eyes. “You’re right. The girls…” She leaped up, ran into the kitchen. “Ruchi,” she called. “Get the girls out fast.”

  He followed more slowly, then leaned against the doorjamb to watch. Maya rushed to the woman standing at an ancient stove and spoke in low, urgent tones. The woman’s gaze flew to his and then she raced off.

  Maya turned to the table where the kidnapped girl sat shivering in a pile of blankets. The kid’s hair was wet, her thin face flushed. She looked scrawny, fragile and so damned young it made his gut roil.

  One more reason to see Singh dead.

  “Oh, Gina,” Maya murmured. She dropped to her knees, enveloped the feverish kid in a hug.

  The girl shot him a nervous look, so he averted his eyes, scanning the drab, industrial-sized kitchen instead. Dented pots steamed on the stove. Cracked dishes were piled high beside a tub. But a riot of red and purple flowers fractured the drabness—big bunches of them spilling from vases and jars along the counter, like defiant beacons of warmth and hope.

  And despite the danger, despite the intense pain slashing his arm, the corner of his mouth ticked up. This place was exactly what Maya had always dreamed of. She was a born crusader, a one-person army against the world.

  His gaze traced the slope of her back as she comforted the girl, the seductive flare of her hips. It wasn’t just her beauty that had ensnared him back then, although her lush curves and fiery passion had kept him enthralled. But it was her zeal for justice, the relentless way she battled for the underdogs, that had thoroughly captured his heart.

  She’d been his perfect match.

  He released a sigh. But that was a lifetime ago—before Singh had caught up, before his mother had died.

  Before he’d had to leave the woman he loved.

  He pushed away from the wall and strode to the spigot, noting the first aid supplies nearby. “Mind if I use some gauze?”

  “Go ahead. Do you need help?”

  “No.” He ran the tap, splashed water on his torn skin. It was only a graze, still bleeding, but nothing he couldn’t survive. He grabbed a dishrag, blotted his skin dry, and turned back to the kidnapped girl. “But I do need information. What did you hear while you were at Singh’s?”

  The girl jumped at the sound of his voice, then shrank behind Maya to hide. “He’s all right. He won’t hurt you,” Maya said, her tone soothing. But the girl cowered and shook her head.

  Deven tamped down his impatience with effort. He understood the kid’s fear. He’d grown up on the run as well, always wary, always careful to protect himself. But he didn’t have time to coax her to talk.

  He wrapped his arm with the gauze, then retreated to the doorway, hoping the space would help her relax.

  “He wanted you,” the girl said to Maya, her voice so weak Deven had to strain to hear. “Your good luck charm…He said…to get it.”

  Maya tossed him a glance. “It’s how my people identify me.”

  Deven nodded. The guard had mentioned her medallion. And it made sense that Singh would want it; he could use it to reel in Maya’s people and destroy the network that had plagued him for years.

  But why now? Why bother taking down Maya’s organization when he had something more sinister planned? The timing of this felt all wrong.

  Deven shifted, a restless feeling churning inside—the feeling that he was missing something. Something important.

  He straightened and strode back to the counter, his disquiet building with every step. He’d spent months hunting for clues—searching Singh’s palace, conducting surveillance, discreetly questioning guards. He’d even managed to hack into Singh’s computer. But examining his files had yielded little new information, except for Singh’s offbeat interest in Himalayan history and language.

  Certainly nothing related to Maya’s medallion.

  Unless…He stopped, turned. His gaze sharpened on the charm nestled against her chest. And suddenly, a memory bubbled up, an image he’d suppressed for years—a hot, sweltering night, insects buzzing in the darkness, the musky scent of sex in the air. Maya lying in his arms, surrounded by candles, the low light making the heavy, silver medallion she wore around her neck gleam.

  The medallion with a Hindu goddess on one side, a strange inscription on the back—astrological symbols, exotic writing.

  Ancient writing?

  His pulse picked up. His gaze narrowed on the medallion still glinting against her smooth skin. And a sudden thought occurred to him. What if Singh was searching for the Roma crown, the last of the three medieval treasures? What if that medallion was some sort of clue? It would explain Singh’s interest and provide a link to the Order of the Black Crescent Moon, which believed the Roma stole the treasures from them.

  Of course, he could be jumping to conclusions. Singh’s interest was hardly unique; ever since the first of those treasures had surfaced in Spain several months back, every historian, antiquity collector and treasure seeker the world over had begun hunting for the other two.

  Or Singh might only want the medallion for the obvious reason—to flush out Maya’s group. The inscription could be meaningless—a tradesman’s mark, a forgotten prayer—nothing of interest to Singh.

  But Deven didn’t believe in coincidence. And he never ignored his instincts.

  And right now his instincts told him that whatever Singh had planned, that medallion was involved.

  Maya’s eyes narrowed on his. Her hand closed around the medallion’s chain, as if she could read his mind. “Gina, go get dressed,” she told the girl, but her eyes didn’t waver from his. “We need to leave fast.” The girl staggered to her feet and scurried away.

  He kept his tone casual. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got places.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Forget it. I don’t need your help.”

  She never had—or so she’d thought. But he wasn’t letting her—or that medallion—out of his sight.

  “You can tell me more about Singh as we go,” he said.

  She shook her head, and her long braid swept her hips. “I’ve already told you what I know. There’s no point hanging around. Now I need to go.” She turned, headed toward the same door the rescued girl had used.

  But he crossed the kitchen in a few long strides, beating her to the door, then slapped his palm on the frame to keep it closed.

  She wheeled around and raised her brows. “Do you mind? You said there isn’t much time.”

  “I also said I’m going with you.” Still bloc
king the door, he leaned close—close enough to see the deep flush darken her face, the sudden anger spark in her eyes.

  Close enough to feel the seductive warmth of her skin. His pulse picked up speed. He lowered his gaze to her lips—her smooth, moist lips—then over the graceful slope of her neck. And he was intensely, vibrantly aware of how close she was, that with one small move he could taste her mouth, her heat, and relive the pleasure he’d denied himself for years.

  But he had no business touching Maya. She could never be his. He forced his gaze back up. “Just until you’re safe,” he added. And he got that medallion from her.

  Her delicate nostrils flared. Skepticism mingled with the anger in her eyes. She didn’t trust him.

  Smart woman.

  But then she shrugged. “Fine. Do whatever you want. I’ll be right back.”

  He wasn’t fooled. “You’ve got three minutes. Then I’m coming in.”

  He held her gaze a heartbeat longer, then stepped back to let her pass. She jerked the door open, marched from the kitchen into the hall. The door slammed shut behind her.

  And the irony struck him. He’d spent twelve years trying to forget this woman. Twelve years yearning for her, aching for her, suffering for her. But for her safety, he’d had to stay as far from her as he could.

  Now for the same reason, he couldn’t let her out of his sight.

  And he didn’t know which was worse.

  Chapter 3

  As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Maya bolted down the deserted hallway past the shelter’s bedrooms—their bunk beds empty, their doors now hanging ajar. She skidded into her own room and kicked off her sandals, filled with the urgent need to flee.

  She had to get rid of Deven. She knew that he planned to stick with her; she’d recognized the obstinate set of his mouth. But she’d spent her entire life on her own and refused to depend on him now.

  She also didn’t trust him—and not only because of their past. He’d evaded her questions, never explained why he was with Singh. And she had too much at risk to take a chance.

  Working quickly, she snatched a T-shirt from her closet, then pulled her jeans from her dresser drawer just as Ruchi popped into her room. “Everyone’s gone,” Ruchi told her. “I sent them to Leena.”

  “Good.” Leena ran another station on their underground network, and Maya could trust her to keep the girls safe. She glanced at the door to make sure Deven hadn’t followed, then peeled off the rest of her clothes. “What about Gina?”

  “I told Leena how sick she is. She’s calling a doctor now.”

  “Thanks.” She just hoped help didn’t come too late. “You’d better go,” she added.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll catch up.” She tugged on her jeans, yanked the T-shirt over her head and pulled on her canvas shoes. There was no time to bother with socks.

  She glanced at Ruchi, who hadn’t moved, and her feeling of urgency grew. Ruchi was the first woman Maya had rescued and her best friend. But no matter how close they were, she couldn’t endanger her, too.

  “Go on,” she told her. “I’ll meet you later. It’s safer if we split up.”

  “I guess.” Ruchi hesitated and gnawed her lip. “But what about the man in the kitchen?”

  Excellent question. Grimacing, Maya grabbed a small day pack from her desk and stuffed in some extra clothes. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll explain it all later, okay? Just go.”

  “All right.” Ruchi moved to the door and looked back. “But be careful.” She turned and hurried away.

  Knowing Deven wouldn’t stay put long, Maya hauled a straight-backed chair to the window and climbed onto the sill. Then she swung her legs out the window and jumped.

  She landed in the mud with a muffled thump. Her heart racing, she moved away from the light pooling from her bedroom, her feet crunching on broken glass. Then she paused by the edge of the building, slung the backpack over her shoulder, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the night.

  The cool, dark air prickled the skin on her forearms. The scent of moist earth teased her lungs. Trying not to think about the man she’d left prowling around her kitchen, she sucked in a deep, slow breath to steady her nerves.

  But the alley behind the shelter was quiet—too quiet. No stray dogs howled. No people stirred. Not even a cricket chirped.

  She stood motionless, her senses alert, her nerves stretched tight at the lack of sound. The night air pulsed with the deepening hush, filling her with a sudden unease.

  Something was wrong.

  Then a shadow in her peripheral vision moved. A slight crunch exploded near her ear. She wheeled around, then went dead still as the barrel of a gun pressed under her chin.

  “That’s right. Don’t move,” a man’s harsh voice grated in her ear.

  Her throat closed up. Cold sweat trickled down her scalp. He stepped closer, thrusting his dark face inches from hers. The stench of unwashed flesh made her stomach rebel.

  “Now hand it over,” he demanded. “Nice and slow. No fast moves or I’ll shoot.”

  The gun dug deeper into her neck. A wild sound stuck in her throat. She fisted her trembling hands, refusing to let her voice shake, forcing the words from her mouth. “Hand over what?”

  “Don’t play dumb. The medallion. Now give it to me fast.”

  The medallion? She blinked, trying to make sense of the weird demand. Singh must have sent him. He must want to use the medallion to find—and kill—her helpers. She darted her gaze over the shadows, knowing she had to protect them at any cost.

  “All right,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the chain around her neck. “I’ll get it. It’s in my pack. I just need a little space.”

  Moving slowly, warily, she reached for the strap on her backpack. The man eased back his weapon, just as she’d hoped. She hauled in a breath for courage, prepared to fling the pack at his face.

  But a huge form lunged from the shadows. She dove, hit the mud, rolled frantically to get out of the line of fire. A gunshot blasted the air.

  He’d missed. She regained her feet in a burst of adrenaline, her ears ringing from the deafening roar. Knowing every second counted, she seized her bag and ran.

  Her feet pounded the mud as she raced down the alley. Dark buildings flew past in a blur. She turned the corner, her breath sawing, then fled down another dirt road.

  She picked up speed and skirted a trash pile. Sheer urgency screeched through her nerves. She had to get away, hide. She couldn’t let the gunman catch up.

  But someone grabbed her arm, whipped her around.

  Deven. She stumbled back, stunned by his lethal speed. But he didn’t give her time to catch her breath. He caught her arm again, yanked her into motion and hauled her down the street.

  She tripped, but he pulled her upright. She jerked back, but he didn’t slow. Incensed at his high-handed manner, she tried to wrench her arm free, but he just towed her down the alley, his footsteps slamming the ground. She had to jog to keep up with his strides.

  He turned at the end of a building. His fingers bit into her arm. Fed up with being shoved around, she pulled back and dug in her heels. He stopped and spun her around.

  Even in the dim light she could see his eyes burn. His scar formed an angry slash. And fury vibrated off him in waves, sparking the air like an electric charge.

  Realizing he’d reached the flash point, she backed up, bumped into the building’s wall.

  “Are you out of your bloody mind?” he raged, stepping toward her. “Don’t you ever do that again. Ever. Do you hear me?” He grabbed her shoulders, holding her captive. She grunted and clenched her teeth.

  “Let me go,” she gritted out. She tried to shake his hands off, but he tightened his grip even more.

  “Do you have any idea how close that was?” His deep voice trembled with outrage. His dark eyes drilled into hers. “You nearly died back there.”

  �
�I know that.” She shoved his chest, but he didn’t move. His furious face glowered at hers.

  “The hell you do. You have no idea what you’re up against. Do you think this is some kind of game?”

  “Game?” Her face grew hot at the accusation, and her indignation soared. “Who are you to barge in after all these years and accuse me of playing games? I know exactly what I’m up against. I’ve seen the girls Singh’s kidnapped and locked in cages, the despicable acts he’s forced them to do. Children—poor, innocent children—whose only crime was walking to the market, or trusting the wrong adult.”

  And now she’d failed them, too.

  Guilt shuddered through her, halting her tirade—guilt that she’d let them down. Guilt that she’d caused them more fear. Guilt that she’d brought danger back into their lives, terrible danger, after she’d promised them they’d be safe.

  But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She had troubles of her own to solve, including escaping this furious man.

  She wrenched herself loose from Deven’s grasp and lifted her chin. “So don’t tell me about Singh. I know more about him than you do.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  The stark tone of his voice knocked her off stride. She paused, her temper abruptly deflated, struck by the bleakness she heard. But before she could question what it meant, he shifted away.

  “Look, Maya.” He gripped the back of his neck, and the white gauze around his biceps gleamed. “I’m not kidding about the danger. You defied Singh and hurt his business. You broke into his palace and took that girl. He’s not going to let that go.”

  “I know.” She had to run, far from the girls she was trying to help, far from anyone and any place she knew. Because Deven was right. Singh wouldn’t give up. He’d stop at nothing to get her—or her medallion, it seemed.

  Swallowing hard to quell her fear, she thought back on the gunman’s words. “Why is Singh so obsessed with my medallion?”

  “Interesting question.” His gaze sharpened. “What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing. It’s just a good luck charm.” One of thousands like it sold in tourist shops throughout the Himalayas. On the front was the Hindu goddess Parvati, consort of Shiva. On the back were some astrological symbols and a worn-out inscription she couldn’t read. It was old, possibly an antique, but hardly valuable.