Shea hesitated. A quick flip of the necklace as a distraction and maybe…
There was a loud pop, and searing heat tore through his midsection and weakened his knees, but he fought to stay upright. A second shot tore through his side.
He fell to his knees, unable to believe it would end like this. He dropped to the ground, pain stealing his every breath.
Looking up, the sight of the timer counting down packed his mind with panic, but then the prince’s face filled his vision.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Smith. You won’t expire before the blast. I figure you deserve to see the fireworks firsthand for all the good work you’ve done.”
“Why?” he repeated. It came out barely a whisper as he struggled for breath. A deep chill began in his center.
“It wasn’t just about the jewels they stole from me,” the prince ground out angrily. “It was about their attitude. Their disrespect, Mr. Smith. Yours, too. I could see your contempt for me,” he said, spittle forming at the edges of his mouth as he ranted.
“Don’t do this, Prince Sergei. Innocents—”
“I was an innocent,” Sergei almost screamed before he controlled himself. He reached down and searched Shea to find the necklace. He snared it from the jacket pocket and stuffed it hastily into his own.
“Goodbye, Mr. Smith. Or should I say Thief of Hearts. What a shame your reputation will be tarnished with a brutal act like this.”
Before Shea could reply, the prince spun and ran from the storeroom and out of the shop.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shea pressed a hand to his side and another to his midsection. He was losing blood quickly, but he’d be alive when the bomb went off. The prince had placed his shots more to cause pain than to kill as he had Mouse.
Mouse, a betrayer after all the time they had worked together. But that gave Shea one advantage: he knew how Mouse worked. He knew how he’d wire the bomb, and how to defuse it.
If he could only reach it.
Pushing up on one arm, he gritted his teeth against the pain and slowly crawled toward the ladder. Each movement drained him of strength. Each second that clicked away on the timer reminded him that his time was short.
And that those above him would also be killed by the blast.
No way. He couldn’t let that happen.
Chapter 24
Peter couldn’t wait for the elevator. He was too impatient. He raced to the stairs to the lower level and took the stairs two at a time. At the landing for the shop level, he glanced at his smartphone. And saw Prince Sergei rush through the lobby.
He stopped short. What the hell was the prince doing back in the hotel? Panic slammed into him from the nasty smile on the prince’s face. He was clearly up to something.
Peter called Tony and waited impatiently for him to pick up. Ring after ring came, until the voicemail finally kicked in.
“Prince Sergei is back in the lobby,” he said quickly. “Please see why he’s returned and what we can do for him.”
Peter pushed ahead, looking around the shops in the lower level. Peering in through the closed doors to see if he detected anything out of the ordinary. When he reached the clothing shop where he had purchased his suits earlier that week, the door gave and opened when he leaned on it to look inside.
Damn.
He pulled his gun and entered, glancing all around the space, but it was clear. He was about to leave, when a glimmer of light from the storeroom and the sound of something scraping along the ground caught his attention.
He ran to the door, stood to one side, and carefully pushed it open with one hand, ready with his gun in the other, in case someone came at him.
But no one did.
He slipped in, gun drawn, and the sight before him chilled his gut.
One dead man, and another sitting by a ladder, blood soaking his shirtfront. His face was deathly pale.
A familiar face, Peter realized. Even with the beanie, he recognized the features.
He had ID’d this man just hours earlier, even spoken to him, but now the facial tattoo was gone. He suspected if he removed the beanie, the blue Mohawk had disappeared also.
The Thief of Hearts. He was sure of it.
The dead man was probably one of his team members. Something had clearly gone wrong with the heist.
Peter trained his gun on the man and hurried forward, but the man held up one hand weakly and said, “Trying to help. Sergei has the place rigged to blow.”
Mohawk Man pointed at the ceiling. Peter saw the explosives and timer. Shit.
Just over eight minutes to go.
He phoned Tony again, but the line was still busy. He dialed Tatiana, hoping she’d hear the ring or buzz over the noise of the music from the show.
He breathed a sigh of relief as she answered.
“Tatiana, please listen, and listen carefully.”
“What is it, Peter?”
He shot a look at the timer. “Prince Sergei has rigged a bomb directly beneath the amphitheater. You have only eight minutes to clear the area. Do you understand?”
“Oh, my God. Yes, I understand,” she answered, strength and calm in her voice.
“Tatiana, I love you,” he said, because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see her again.
“Peter, please don’t do anything stupid,” she pleaded.
“Please, just get everyone out of there. Get yourself out of there. Now.”
“I will. I love you,” she said, and he ended the call.
He returned his attention to the Thief of Hearts, and with one glance at his face, realized why he was by the ladder. “You think you can defuse the bomb?”
The man nodded and said, “Too weak. Can’t get up there.”
Peter nodded and holstered his gun. “But I’m not. Will you help me?”
“Yeah. But hurry.”
…
Tatiana turned to her parents. “We need to empty the theater. Calmly. Please get out of the hotel now and don’t argue,” she said firmly when her father began to protest.
She jumped out of her chair and dialed Tony. When he answered, she said, “Did Peter call you?”
“Not sure. I’ve been—”
“There’s a bomb, Tony,” she cut him off. “Hit the fire alarms and clear all the buildings. Move everyone away from the property. We have less than three minutes to get everyone to safety. If you see Prince Sergei, arrest the bastard. Shoot him if necessary.”
She surged onto the stage and ran to the podium just as the fire alarms started ringing and the emergency strobes went off.
The emcee glanced around in surprise. Tatiana snagged the mike from his hand.
“Please stay calm and exit the theater quickly,” she announced loudly. “Please keep walking until you are well away from the property. This is not a test. We have a dangerous condition in the building. But please do not panic,” she urged, and relief flooded through her as the patrons started a fairly orderly exodus from the room.
She turned to the emcee and the models, and others who had emerged from backstage. “There are emergency exits toward the rear left of the stage. Use them and move far away from the building.”
As they all raced off, she hurried backstage, and met the stunned faces of her security guards. She knew as professionals they’d stay calm if told the truth.
“There is a bomb under the theater. We have only a couple of minutes to get out of here.”
They looked toward the jewels and she understood. Not enough time to unlock and remove them and get away safely.
“Leave them. We’ll deal with the consequences if they’re taken.”
They all stepped forward and her second-in-command said, “We’ll go around and make sure the building is empty, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Reese. I’ll go with you.” They hurried toward the lobby, and she tried to dial Peter.
No answer.
Oh, God. She hoped he wasn’t doing something crazy and heroic.
…
“What do you
need to defuse this thing?” the detective asked.
Shea looked at the explosives, but his eyesight wavered as blood loss weakened him. “Need to get closer,” he panted.
The detective slipped his shoulder beneath his arm and wrapped a supporting arm around him. Shea grabbed hold and together they took an awkward step onto the ladder, which creaked and groaned with their combined weight. Fire burned through his side and midsection with the movement, threatening to pull him to unconsciousness, but he battled it.
After another step, he forced his eyes open and could see the bomb and the detonator. They had just over six minutes now. A wave of fuzziness passed over his eyes, but he focused on the timer and the wires running from it to the C4 bricks taped to the joists. Mouse had likely not been expecting anyone to discover the device, so he doubted there were any fail-safes to trip the bomb immediately, like a tilt wire if someone moved the device to defuse it.
“What do we do?” the detective asked.
“Mouse…predictable,” Shea said, and was surprised at the effort it took to get out the words.
As the detective glanced at him and down at his bleeding body, Shea understood. He was likely dying, but if he was, he had no plans to go out with a bang. Literally.
“Move timer away,” he said, choosing his words carefully to conserve his energy.
The ladder swayed and nearly toppled as the detective reached up with his right hand and carefully untaped the detonator. Only two wires, one red and one black, led from the timer panel to a battery pack, which in turn was connected to the detonators inserted into each brick of C4.
“Silver things in the bricks are the detonators. Take them out carefully,” he instructed, and held his breath. The other man did so gingerly, pulling out the detonators, and letting them drop down to hang from the battery pack.
There was tension and strain in the detective’s body as the man struggled to complete the task while holding Shea upright. He was breathing heavily from his exertions, but there was one more thing to do to be sure. Although Shea couldn’t see any more wires as his vision wavered, it was possible Mouse had rigged a set of back-up wires directly to the C4. They wouldn’t be nearly as effective since C4 was very stable and required a charge to really ignite, but he couldn’t take the chance.
“Have to cut wires from timer to battery pack and any other wires coming out of the C4,” he rasped out. “Hurry!”
…
Peter glanced at the battery pack and the timer.
Three minutes left.
He wouldn’t panic. He would not.
“Can’t do it holding you,” he told the thief, and swiftly hoisted the man down the few steps and laid him on the floor.
Just a few feet away on the worktable was a pair of scissors. He snatched them up and sprinted up the ladder. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself, said a prayer, and snipped the two wires leading from the timer to the battery pack.
Nothing happened.
Hell.
Two minutes.
He snipped a quartet of wires running directly along the joists from the battery pack into the explosives.
Nothing happened.
Thank God.
One minute thirty seconds.
He rushed down the ladder, bent, and hefted the injured man in a fireman’s carry. He hurried from the storeroom, mumbling a fervent prayer with every step that he had succeeded in diffusing the bomb, and that Tatiana was clear of the building.
He dashed through the clothing shop door and sprinted to the stairs, the wail of the fire alarms screaming in his ears. His heart pounded even louder from fear and the burden over his shoulder.
The strobe lights flashed eerily, but with all that, relief filled him. At least a minute must have passed by now, and nothing happened.
Nothing happened.
He hurried up the stairs to the lobby where Tony was still urging people from the area. The time on the bomb had to have elapsed and they were all in one piece. They had actually managed to defuse the bomb.
The security chief rushed over to him. “Your Highness! What—”
Peter cut him off. “Call an ambulance.”
…
Tatiana stood at the base of the steps leading into the hotel, searching frantically for any sign of Peter. Praying he wouldn’t be stupid enough to stay behind and be a hero.
Knowing in her heart that’s exactly what he’d do.
No sign of him, but her parents stood at the end of the drive, herding people even farther away from the buildings. In the distance, the blare of sirens was growing closer. Bright blue lights exploded from a side street as half a dozen police cars and an ambulance streamed onto the avenue beside the hotel.
She was about to hurry back inside to look for Peter when she caught sight of Prince Sergei sneaking out a side door. Peter’s words exploded in her brain.
Prince Sergei has rigged a bomb directly beneath the theater.
She was not about to let him get away.
Kicking off her heels, she raised the front of her gown and raced after him, losing sight of him for a minute, but then zeroing in on him again. He was strolling away nonchalantly. Trying not to call attention to himself.
Too late for that. She tore open her purse and grabbed the pistol Peter had given her.
“Prince Sergei! Stop! Do not take another step.”
He hesitated mid-stride at her shouts, then stopped and turned.
“Put your hands up,” she ordered.
To her surprise, he chuckled, and shook his head. “That is so…pedestrian, Princess Tatiana. Besides, I don’t believe for a minute that you’ll shoot.”
“Don’t bet on that,” she said, but to her shock, he whirled around and started walking away again.
The little shit. She didn’t hesitate. She fired a shot in the ground just a few inches in front of him. “I meant what I said, Prince Sergei.”
He started to turn toward her again, but she suddenly found herself flying forward. The unexpected motion jostled her finger on the trigger and she fired wildly. But a high-pitched scream from Prince Sergei told her she hadn’t missed.
The weight of the body forcing her to the ground drove the air from her lungs. Powerful hands ripped the weapon from her and pinned her down.
“What are you doing? You have to arrest Prince Sergei!” she cried and struggled to see what was going on.
“Get off her! That’s Princess Tatiana,” someone called to the man who’d tackled her.
“What? So sorry, Your Highness,” he said as someone else helped her to her feet.
A third man chased after Prince Sergei.
“Go after the prince. I can take care of myself,” she ordered, and dusted dirt off her gown after they both took off running.
She looked anxiously toward the building where EMTs were carrying a gurney down the steps toward the ambulance.
Peter?
Fear gripped her and she rushed toward them, but then a familiar voice called out her name.
She stopped and searched the steps. “Peter!” Relief surged through her.
She ran to him, but stopped short at the sight of the bloodstains soaking his shirtfront and suit jacket. “Oh, my God! You’re hurt!”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “Not my blood. I’m fine. We disarmed the bomb.”
She pulled away a little, in confusion. “We?”
He tipped his head at the ambulance as it pulled away. “The man they just took away helped me. Prince Sergei shot him, and killed one of his team members.”
“Team members?” she asked, even more confused for a moment. Suddenly, realization hit her. “The Thief of Hearts?” she whispered.
Peter nodded. “I have to go to the hospital. See what’s happening with him. He was in tough shape.”
“I—” She didn’t quite know what to make of that. “I should stay to make sure everything is under control here.”
A police officer approached them. “Princess Tatiana?�
��
She left Peter’s arms and glanced at the officer. She recognized him as the man who had tackled her earlier. “Were you able to apprehend Prince Sergei?”
An embarrassed flush spilled across the man’s face. “I’m sorry, Princess. We gave chase, but he had a car waiting for him nearby. We’ve called headquarters and they’re alerting Interpol and the neighboring police forces to be on the lookout for the vehicle and Prince Sergei. It looks like you wounded him, however. He may be seeking medical attention so we’ll keep an eye on area hospitals.”
She nodded. “Thank you, officer.”
She turned back to Peter as the policeman walked away. “Why would Prince Sergei want to do this? Did he really think hurting so many innocent people was revenge for being disliked?”
“I’m hoping the Thief of Hearts will have more answers for us, although I got the sense he didn’t have a clue about the bomb.” He dipped his head and kissed her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she said, and watched him stride away to the row of police cars positioned along the avenue. He spoke to one of the officers, and in a flash he was in one of the cars and pulling away.
Thank God. Peter was safe. Her parents were also unharmed, together with the hundreds of others attending the fashion show. The Jewel of Russia was unscathed, and she suspected the jewels were likewise untouched.
She should have felt relief.
But something in her gut told her that so long as Prince Sergei wasn’t apprehended, they were all still in danger. The man was unbalanced.
There was no telling what he’d do next.
Chapter 25
Peter sat by the Thief of Heart’s bedside, fatigue biting into him from the long day and the events of the last few hours. Even now his gut clenched with the thought that he could have lost Tatiana if the madman pretend-prince’s plan had actually worked.
And it might have worked, except for the man lying in the hospital bed beside him. It had taken almost two hours for the doctors to repair the damage done by the gunshot wounds, but the steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor, and the doctor’s prognosis, made it likely the Thief of Hearts would live to steal again. Anger filled Peter at the thought.
To Catch a Princess (Entangled Ignite) Page 20
