Heart of a Thief

“What?” she whispered. Her pulse notched up. Her heart shifted into her throat.

“Shh,” he hissed, and she heard a voice in the hallway ahead.

A familiar voice. Her breath rushed out. She sagged and pressed her hand to her chest. “It’s don Fernando.” Thank goodness she’d found him. Now she could tell him what Paco had done.

But Luke grabbed her arm. “This way. Hurry up.”

“Wait.” She pulled her arm free, and he stopped. “I need to talk to him.”

His eyes filled with disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“No, listen.” She stretched out her hand, but a flush climbed up his dark cheeks. And then he moved farther away.

“Luke, please,” she said, but he took another step back. Her stomach plunged. He didn’t understand. He probably thought she was going to betray him. And she didn’t have time to explain.

She glanced up the hall, and a sick flutter formed in her throat. She needed to leave with Luke. She understood that.

But she couldn’t abandon don Fernando. She owed her patron everything, more than Luke could know—her education, her career. He’d given her the opportunity to follow her dream, acceptance into the antiquities world, the only home she’d ever known.

“I just need a second,” she said. “I just have to tell him…”

But Luke only turned and stalked off.

She watched him disappear into a side room, torn by the overwhelming urge to race after him, to shelter herself in his strength. To beg him to listen, to trust her, to let her explain.

But she couldn’t turn her back on the man who’d helped her, the man who’d been like a father to her. She forced her gaze back to the hall where she’d heard her patron. She only needed to warn him, just whisper a word and then go.

She swallowed, slipped off her shoes to lessen the noise, then inched forward and peeked around the corner. A policeman, a guardia civil in a khaki green uniform stood several yards away, talking to another man. Don Fernando? She couldn’t tell from this angle; the guardia blocked her view. But hadn’t she just heard her patron’s voice?

She hesitated, even more uncertain now. After what Luke said, she didn’t dare involve the police. But she still had to warn don Fernando.

But then the guardia wheeled around and pulled out his gun. “Pare. No se mueva,” he commanded.

Don’t move? Her heart faltered, and she froze. What was he doing? Why did he have his weapon trained on her?

Feeling surreal, as if her world had just spun loose, she gaped at the guardia civil. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she protested. “No hice nada.”

But then Paco sauntered forward, and her throat closed. Her heart nearly popped from her chest.

The killer. Oh, God. He was here.

And where was don Fernando?

Paco stopped beside the policeman, and his black eyes settled on hers. Her palms turned moist. Fear coursed through her, flooding her cells, blanking her mind.

For an eternity, his eyes stayed on hers—brittle, cold, deadly. Then recognition flared.

He knew.

Her stomach pitched. The walls pushed down. A dull ringing clanged in her skull.

He drew his gun. The gun he’d used to kill Antonio. Her mind flashed to Antonio’s terrified eyes, the blood oozing from his flesh.

The bodyguard raised his gun, squinted one eye. And she knew he was going to shoot.

Her nerves zapped; adrenaline blazed through her blood. She whirled, raced around the corner toward the room where Luke had gone. “Alto!” the guardia shouted, and her panic surged.

A gun went off. Fierce fire scorched through her calf. She gasped, staggered, nearly fell. She’d been shot!

Her leg buckled and burned. She cried out at the vicious pain. But footsteps hammered behind her, and she forced herself to rush on.

Mercifully, the door Luke had gone through hung open, and she dashed inside. She glanced around frantically, but he wasn’t there. A wild sob formed in her throat. “Luke! Luke!” Where on earth had he gone?

Panicking, she raced through the room to the opposite door, then tore down another long hall. Her lungs seared. Her heart went wild. The agony in her leg blurred her sight. And she knew she couldn’t last. They were going to catch her. She was going to die.

Then a man stepped out from a doorway, and she shrieked. Luke. He grabbed her arm, jerked her into the room, then slammed and locked the door.

His face looked dangerous, the angles more rigid than she’d ever seen. He didn’t pause. He yanked her along, crossing to the far wall, muttering a stream of obscenities in Spanish.

At the wall, he released her arm. She heaved in air. Her body shook. Blazing heat flamed through her calf.

He pulled back an ancient tapestry and shoved it toward her. “Hold this out of the way.” It wasn’t a request.

Her heart still ramming against her rib cage, she grabbed the tapestry and pulled it back. He ran his hands over the wooden panels on the wall, searching, glowering.

She heard a sound in the hall and glanced back. The doorknob rattled. Someone banged on the wood. Fear plucked at her nerves, constricted her throat. They had to get out of here—fast.

Luke pulled one of the panels, and her gaze swung back. A small door opened, exposing a dark passage carved through the stone. The ancient bolt-hole. Cold, musty air wafted out.

“Get in,” he said.

Knowing she had no choice, she ducked and stepped inside. The freezing stones were a shock on her bare feet, and she realized she still clutched her shoes. But the shoes would have to wait; there was no room to maneuver inside the passage, barely enough to creep through. The dank, clammy space had obviously been chiseled from the stone for a desperate escape if disaster loomed.

She shuddered. This night had been a disaster, all right. She’d been chased. Nearly arrested. Shot.

Luke crouched and followed her into the passage. His broad shoulders brushed against the walls. He dug a penlight out of his pocket and held it out. “Hold this.”

She took it, and he closed the door.

They were instantly plunged into darkness. She twisted the pen, and the narrow light came on, gleaming off the uneven stones.

Still shivering, she looked at Luke. He loomed close in the too-small space. The heat from his powerful body radiated to hers. In the faint light, the shadows blackened the hollows of his cheeks, turning the grim planes stark.

Her gaze met his, and her breath shriveled up. Her heart made a feeble throb.

She’d never seen him so enraged.

Could this night get any worse?