Heart of a Thief

She inhaled, a shaky, feeble sound that told him how rattled she really was. “But…the royal family. Who murdered them?”

Good question. “Hard to say. It might have been unrelated. Terrorists maybe.”

She frowned. “Because they wanted the necklace?”

“Maybe. Or they wanted to get rid of the king.” When the controversial necklace had surfaced in the Spanish bank vault, Spain decided to donate it to Romanistan, the reputed homeland of the Gypsy people. It was a brilliant move, not only lending support to Romanistan’s moderate leader and helping stabilize the volatile region, but gaining Spain access to Romanistan’s vast reserves of oil.

“A lot of people don’t want Romanistan stable,” he added.

“And eliminating the king could lead to war.” Even nuclear war. Which meant there would be a worldwide hunt to get that necklace back.

“I guess it’s possible they’re unrelated,” she said, her voice doubtful. “It would be an awful coincidence, though.”

“Yeah.” He grimaced, then shook his head. “My gut tells me there’s a connection between those murders and the theft. Something more than a simple distraction.”

Plus he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow personal. A vendetta. But why would don Fernando want to ruin him? Luke had never met the man before working at his estate. So what did he have against him?

He rubbed the dull ache between his brows and fought off a wave of fatigue. He couldn’t worry about that now. He had to get them to safety first.

He rose while Sofia pulled on her shoes. He held out his hand, and she grabbed it, and he tugged her to her feet. “How does that feel?”

She put weight on her leg and gasped. “Better.”

“Right.” He knew better than that. He bent to pick up his jacket. But then a soft clank in the distance broke the stillness.

His pulse skipped, and he slowly straightened. That sound had come from down the tunnel. Someone was at the other end.

“Luke,” Sofia whispered.

He motioned with his hand to cut her off. The police had beaten them to the exit. Now what were they going to do?

He searched his memory of the bolt-hole, but there were no side passages branching off, no more secret doors.

They were trapped.

“Through the garderobe—the old plumbing chute,” he decided. There wasn’t another way out. “Give me the flashlight.”

She handed it over, and he knelt and aimed the light down the chute. It was a fifteen foot drop to the ground, barely wide enough to squeeze through. But they didn’t have a choice.

“You go first. Sit over here on the edge.” Despite everything, he wished he could spare her this. “Hold on to the sleeve of my jacket. I’ll lower you down as far as I can. You’ll have to drop the rest of the way, though.” And land on her injured leg.

She perched on the edge of the chute and chewed her lip. “What’s down there?”

“Just dirt.”

“Okay.” Their eyes held and, despite her fears, he knew she’d try.

He handed her the sleeve of his jacket, set the penlight down and adjusted his position, bracing himself to offset her weight. “Get a good grip, then push off.”

Footsteps pounded in the tunnel now. Sofia grabbed the jacket’s sleeve and slid off the edge.

He lowered her down the chute, inching the jacket through his burning palms to control her descent, trying to keep her from bumping the walls. His biceps throbbed. The muscles along his back wrenched. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he blinked away the sting.

Then the jacket played out. “That’s it,” he said softly. “I can’t go any lower. As soon as you hit the ground, move out of the way.”

“All right.” Her voice quavered in the darkness below him. And then suddenly she let go. The pressure on the jacket eased. He rocked back, and she shrieked.

The sharp cry echoed up the shaft, and his gut clenched. Damn, that must have hurt.

The footsteps behind him grew louder now, drumming toward him with increasing speed. Adrenaline hammered his veins. He couldn’t wait any longer. He just hoped she’d rolled out of the way.

He dropped his jacket down the chute and lowered himself over the edge. He balanced on his forearms for a moment, braced his thighs against the sides. Then he grabbed hold of the ledge and began to work his way down. The rough stone grated his palms, shredded his clothes. His shoulders shook with fatigue.

Then footsteps pounded above him and a bright light flashed on his face.

“Policía,” a man yelled. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

Damn. Maybe that necklace really was cursed.

He sucked in his breath and let go.

Chapter 4

The gunshot ricocheted down the garderobe, thundering off the rock walls, echoing through Luke’s skull as he plunged toward earth. He crashed into the ground, then rolled, ignoring the spasm jolting his legs from the brutal impact. Rocks gouged his shoulders, his back, but he forced himself to keep rolling to get out of the line of fire.

Sofia’s body stopped him.

His heart fisted, then dove, and he shoved himself to his knees. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she hurt? “Sofia. Sofia!”

He shook her shoulder, but she didn’t respond. He shook it again, harder, and his pulse raced into his throat. “Sofia. Di algo. Are you okay?”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and he hissed out air. Thank God, she was alive. Because for a moment there…

“I’m fine. I—” She winced, then moaned. “My leg.”

He could imagine. That jackknife landing would have been agony on her gunshot wound. But they couldn’t linger here and assess the damage. The police would arrive at any time.

Swearing softly, he speared his hand through his hair. “We’ve got to keep going. Can you stand?”

“Just give me a second.” She rolled forward and struggled to her knees.

“Here. Hold on to me.” He crouched and put his arm around her waist to lift her. His hand touched bare flesh, and she flinched.

He jerked. “What?”

“I…I just scraped my side, that’s all.”

He didn’t doubt it. The stones had shredded her elegant dress, peeling it into strips. He could imagine the damage to her skin.