He wasn’t supposed to be framed for murder.

And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be embroiled in an espionage case involving his former lover—a woman he couldn’t trust.

“I want to see that message you intercepted.”

She blinked. “You still don’t believe me?”

“After everything you’ve done to me?”

Not bothering to answer, she headed toward the door. But he blocked her path. “I’ll only say this once,” he said. “I’m in charge here. From here on out, you do what I say.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“You do now.”

Temper flashed in her eyes. Then she pushed past him and stalked outside the hut.

She’d devastated him before, crushing any illusions he had.

And he’d be damned if she’d make a fool of him twice.

Dear Reader,

We all love to read about soldiers, those courageous, romantic warriors who charge into danger with their guns blazing, risking their lives to slay our enemies and keep us safe. But there are quieter heroes around us, too, people who use their covert skills for the greater good, usually without the fanfare or recognition they deserve. Those are the people I decided to highlight in this new series, the STEALTH KNIGHTS operating on the periphery of our awareness—semi-reformed thieves and spies, bad-boy heroes who defeat the evil in our world even as they steal our hearts.

I’m so excited to bring you the first of the STEALTH KNIGHTS stories, and am especially thrilled to set it in one of my favorite places on earth, the Pyrenees Mountains, a land of lush green valleys, medieval villages, and craggy peaks—the perfect setting for heart-stopping romance and high intrigue.

I hope you enjoy the adventure!

Gail Barrett

About the Author

GAIL BARRETT always knew she’d be a writer. Who else would spend her childhood grinding sparkling rocks into fairy dust and convincing her friends it was real? Or daydream her way through elementary school, spend high school reading philosophy and playing the bagpipes, and then head off to Spain during college to live the writer’s life? After four years she straggled back home—broke, but fluent in Spanish. She became a teacher, earned a master’s degree in linguistics, married a coast guard officer and had two sons.

But she never lost the desire to write. Her books have won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart.

She currently lives in western Maryland. Readers can contact her through her website, www.gailbarrett.com.

High-Risk
Reunion
Gail Barrett

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my fabulous editor, Susan Litman.

Thank you for believing in me!

Acknowledgments:

I’d like to thank the following people for their help with this book: Elle Kennedy, Judith Sandbrook, and Mary Jo Archer for their invaluable critiques; Kathy Lauten for her information about flash drives; and Joe Barrett for his expert computer help. Any mistakes are definitely my own.

Chapter 1

País Vell, the Pyrenees Mountains, 11:37 p.m.

Rafael Navarro dangled from the wall of the medieval castle, the murmur of approaching voices drifting down to him in the inky, moonless night. He went dead still, slid his gaze to the void plunging forty feet below him, and wondered what had gone wrong with his plan. Those guards weren’t supposed to arrive yet. He’d spent weeks studying their rotation for the G-6 summit, counting off the intervals of the passing searchlight, calculating the exact time and place to break into the American diplomat’s room. And he should have had three more minutes to scale this wall.

Cold sweat beaded his forehead. His back and shoulders throbbed as he clung to the nylon rope. But he schooled himself to absolute stillness, knowing even the slightest shift could move a prong on the grappling hook, drawing the royal guards’ attention to him. Behind him, a cool breeze swept down the slopes of the Pyrenees Mountains, the slow, rhythmic clanking of cowbells tightening his nerves.

“You’re not seriously going to smoke that.” The man’s voice came from the wall walk above.

“Why not?” a second man asked. His voice had a belligerent edge. “It’s not going to kill anyone.”

Except Rafe.

“The hell it won’t,” the first guard said. “You heard the boss. Anyone who screws up tonight gets fired.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Rafe’s heart galloped against his rib cage. He’d be dead if he didn’t move. Now. In a few precious seconds, the searchlight would pass, illuminating him like a dark bug splayed on a silver wall.

But cigarette smoke wisped past. More crucial seconds ticked down. Rafe gritted his teeth, his biceps trembling, every survival instinct screaming at him to go. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t even change positions to relieve the pressure on his now-numb hands.

“Hombre. Would you come on?” the first guard said, echoing Rafe’s thoughts. “The next rotation’s about to catch up.”

“Fine.” Disgust tinged the smoker’s voice. A glowing cigarette butt streaked over the wall, barely missing Rafe’s head. The guards finally pushed away from the ledge, the thud of their receding footsteps fading into the night.

Rafe eased out a breath, but forced himself to wait, counting off several vital heartbeats in case they circled back. Then he powered up the rope in a surge of adrenaline, glad he’d kept up the brutal workouts that enabled him to make this climb even though he’d retired from a life of crime.

Until now.

He reached the medieval battlement and paused again. Still clear. His arms aching, the desperate need to hurry flogging his brain, he hoisted himself over the edge. Then he yanked up the rope, pulled the grappling hook from the wall, and ducked—just as the searchlight skimmed overhead.

Too damned close.

His heart pounding, that addictive rush of danger streaming through his veins, he crawled to the ancient watchtower, careful to keep his head under the light’s wide range. Then he coiled the rope and tucked it against the wall for his descent. The high-powered beam swept back over the cylindrical tower, past a planked oak door dotted with iron studs.

Now. He leaped up and sprinted to the door. Skidding to a stop, he whipped the lock-pick gun from his back pocket, inserted a tension wrench into the lock and applied the gun. A series of sharp, rapid clicks rent the air.

The lock gave way.

Rafe squeezed through the door, careful not to let the hinges creak, into the darkened alcove that adjoined the diplomat’s room. At this height he didn’t worry about triggering an alarm. No one got past the armed guards, surveillance cameras and intrusion detection devices on the castle’s lower floors—except a third-generation master thief like him.

But he wasn’t out of danger yet. He had to find the historic signet ring and get back down that wall— before the reception ended and the American returned to his room.

Flicking on his penlight, he padded across the antique rug to the Baroque-style bureau. He checked the drawers, peeked behind the huge gilded paintings on the medieval wall. No ring. No hidden safe. He turned toward the bedroom.

A soft, feminine laugh stopped him cold.

His pulse drummed hard. He snapped his gaze to the closed velvet drapes dividing the two rooms. The diplomat had come back early—and he wasn’t alone.

Rafe frowned, debating his options, but he didn’t have a choice. He had to get that ring tonight. The diplomat was scheduled to present it to País Vell’s king in the morning. And if that happened, Rafe’s bargain with the police chief would be void.

His nerves ratcheting higher, every sense hyperalert, he crept to the floor-length drapes and nudged the edge aside. The cool, musty room was shrouded in darkness—only the faint, golden haze from a bedside lamp penetrated the gloom. Rafe zeroed in on the couple standing across from him on the opposite side of the bed. The woman had her back to him, and the mellow light gilded her naked curves.

No, not naked, he amended, his mouth quirking up in regret. But her back was bare, her gown plunging so low on her hips he could easily imagine the rest.

He allowed his gaze to linger, taking a long, leisurely slide down the sensuous sweep of her spine to the riveting contours of her hips. He couldn’t fault the diplomat’s taste—or haste. The woman was flawless, at least from the rear. She had sleek, honeyed skin, and centerfold-worthy curves. She wore her dark hair up, exposing the tempting nape of her neck. Loose tendrils danced in the light.

And given the rapt expression on the balding diplomat’s face, her front side was better yet.

But Rafe didn’t have time to ogle the diplomat’s escort. Dragging his attention back to the room, he scanned the wingback chairs hulking in the shadows, the imposing Louis XIV armoire with its carved doors hanging ajar. That ring had to be within reach. But how could he get past the bed to search?

The diplomat tugged off his shirt and tossed it aside, then struggled to pull off a sock. He staggered and lost his balance, lurching against the woman. She steadied them both and laughed.

Rafe stilled, the low, throaty sound jarring something inside him, a memory he’d fought to erase. He whipped his gaze to her smooth velvet skin, the dip of her slender waist, and gave his head a swift shake. It couldn’t be her. There was no damned way.

Gabrielle Ferrer hadn’t set foot in País Vell in years.

“Come on, honey,” the diplomat said, enunciating his words too carefully, drawing Rafe’s eyes to the wine glasses beside the bed. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

He spun her around in a move probably meant to be debonair. Instead he tripped and sprawled back over the bed. The woman fell atop him and laughed again. “Easy there.” She pushed herself up to her elbows, bringing her face more fully into the halo of light, and Rafe’s heart slammed to a halt. So he hadn’t hallucinated that voice. It really was Gabrielle.

Hell of a place to find his ex-fiancée.

He ran his eyes down the elegant swell of her cheekbones, the seductive tilt of her lips. She hadn’t changed in the past three years. She still had those hot, sultry eyes, that X-rated mouth.

A body that still fueled his erotic dreams.

The diplomat pawed at her dress, pulling her shoulder strap down her arm, revealing the curves of her ample breasts. Curves Rafe had tasted and teased and touched.

He clenched his jaw. Resentment scorched deep in his gut. She was good, he’d give her that much. The sensual laugh, the come-hither way she tossed her head, baring the tempting skin of her throat. She was every man’s fantasy, a siren luring him to erotic bliss.

But she’d only been acting with him.

“Let me get you more wine,” she purred to the diplomat, and her husky voice scraped over Rafe’s nerves. “Then I’ll join you.”

She pushed herself off the bed. The neckline of her long gown gaped, exposing a flash of creamy flesh. Her body was perfect, all right—an attribute she used well. She wielded it like a lethal weapon, destroying any man foolish enough to care.

Good thing he was no longer that fool.

Dodging the diplomat’s groping hands, she turned to the bedside table, and bent to pour the wine. Rafe watched her in action—wriggling, making her dress tighten over her hips in a move guaranteed to snag the eye. His traitorous blood heating, he clenched his gloved hands into fists, the urge to yank that soft, yielding body against his—and make her want him again—riding him hard.

He hissed, furious at his reaction—that even after all this time, he wasn’t immune. Each sinuous move knocked his heart off course, sending blood surging straight to his groin.

He shook away the lust with effort, determined to focus on finding that ring. But suspicion swirled inside him, the same uneasy feeling he’d had from the start of this job winging back full force. Why was Gabrielle here? She hardly needed a notch on her belt, and seducing this overweight, middle-aged lothario wasn’t her style.

Trying to make sense of her presence, he tracked her suggestive movements with narrowed eyes. It didn’t surprise him that she would attend the reception. She moved in rarified social circles as one of the megarich of the world. Not only had she inherited a software conglomerate worth billions, but she’d descended from the landed aristocracy. And as cousin to the prime minister, she had political connections, as well.

All that explained her attendance at the summit’s reception. But why this charade with the diplomat? And why return to País Vell now?

Unless she was after the same thing Rafe was …

His heart missed a beat. He studied the enticing swell of her hips, the gleam of her naked back, and his brows gathered into a frown. Could she be after the historic ring? But why would she be? She didn’t need the money. She didn’t collect antiquities. And she’d never shown much interest in the La Brigada separatists who claimed the seventeenth-century signet ring—a symbol of their lost homeland—was theirs.

Rafe didn’t care about the ring, either. And nothing could have tempted him to risk his precious freedom except one thing—the chance to atone for the past.

But none of that explained Gabrielle.

She glanced over her shoulder, shot the diplomat a heated smile, and Rafe’s hold on his temper slipped. Regardless of her motives, he knew one thing. That ring was his. If by some odd twist of fate she had come here to steal it, she was out of luck.

She finished pouring the wine, then swiveled toward the bed, holding the glass. Without warning, she glanced up, and her gaze collided with his.

She went stock-still. The color slowly leached from her face. His anger steadily building, Rafe folded his arms and scowled back.

Several seconds dragged past. Gabi stayed rooted in place, gawking at him from across the bed. He deliberately severed the contact, then raked his gaze down the length of her—over her full, ripe breasts and narrow waist, back to her stunning face—and his resentment spiked higher yet. Because if she tried to interfere with his plans …

She gave her head a swift shake, as if to pull herself out of her daze. Then she slipped back into seductress mode, curling her lips into a practiced smile. But her hand trembled, sending wine slopping onto the bed, proving she wasn’t as unaffected as she tried to pretend.

Good. She deserved to sweat after the callous way she’d dumped him.

Leaning forward, she handed the diplomat the glass of wine. He gulped it down, then reached out to put it on the bedside table. “Lesh get that dress off,” he slurred.

“Right.” Her voice came out breathy. She stepped away from the bed. Reaching for the straps on her ballgown, she sliced her gaze back to Rafe’s.

He didn’t move. Stark tension arced in the air. He raised a brow in challenge, wondering just how far she’d take this game. Not that he cared. Gabrielle had meant nothing to him for years. And if she wanted to perform an impromptu strip tease, who was he to complain?

Unless this was some sort of trap …

The muscles of his belly tightened, more doubts piling inside. Had she expected him to show up here? Had she been sent here to waylay him? But that made no sense. She couldn’t have known his plans. And while she might be an expert seductress, she hadn’t faked her surprise.

But then why not sound the alarm? Why not tell the diplomat he was here? What game was she trying to play?

She moistened her lush lower lip with her tongue. The gown’s thin straps slithered down. Rafe’s gaze dropped to the scraps of fabric clinging precariously to her breasts, just as he knew she’d planned. But if she thought she could manipulate him through his hormones, she was wrong.

She paused, as if to heighten the anticipation.

Damned if it didn’t work.

Scowling, he cursed his weakness around this woman. He knew better than to let her suck him in. She’d led him on for years, slumming it with him while she waited for a more respectable man to come along.

A sudden snore cut through the air.

Gabrielle abruptly straightened. Rafe spared a glance at the diplomat now passed out cold on the sheets. Still scowling, he jerked apart the drapes and strode across the room, determined to get answers fast. As he neared, Gabrielle’s perfume flooded his senses, that unique blend of jasmine and vanilla taunting his nerves.

He stopped and braced his hands on his hips. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Well, hello, Rafe.” Her husky voice rumbled inside him, making him angrier yet.

“Gabrielle.” He bared his teeth in a feral smile.

She swayed back, her own smile wavering, the pulse speeding at the base of her throat betraying her unease.

It was about time she started to worry.

Because the real game was about to begin.

Chapter 2

Gabrielle gaped at Rafe in dismay, watching everything she’d worked for crumble apart. Bad enough she’d had to return to País Vell. Worse that she’d had to drug the American diplomat, who’d have one heck of a headache when he finally came to. But now the moment she’d dreaded for three torturous years had arrived—she’d come face to face with Rafael Navarro, the man she’d once desperately loved.

And at the worst possible time. She wasn’t prepared. She needed time to erect her defenses. And she couldn’t afford to mess up this mission. This was her one opportunity for vengeance, to finally bring down the killer who’d murdered her father, the man she’d worked tirelessly to incriminate for the past three years.

Rafe’s gaze skewered hers, making her pulse sprint. She pressed her clammy palms to her thighs, determined not to let him see how thoroughly he disrupted her nerves. It didn’t help that he was still outrageously gorgeous with his darkly chiseled face, a sorcerer’s black eyes, that thick shock of straight black hair.

Unabashed masculinity radiating from every pore.

He leaned his tall, sinewed body even closer, his furious eyes boring into hers. Stark grooves bracketed his sensual mouth, slashing through the razor stubble covering his jaw, and she battled the urge to step back.

He was still sexy, still potent. Still dangerous. And he still had that aura of menace that had always kept her enthralled. He’d called to the wildness latent inside her, luring her to forbidden pleasures, tempting her to shed society’s prohibitions, and live.

She inhaled, willing away the memories. She couldn’t think about the past. And she couldn’t worry about Rafe—not with everything she’d worked for at stake. Feigning a poise she didn’t feel, she pasted on the knowing, jaded expression she now used to keep men safely at bay.

“Imagine meeting you here,” she drawled, injecting a note of bored amusement into her voice. “I thought you’d given up the life of crime.”

His black eyes flashed. A muscle twitched in his iron jaw, and another whisper of unease slithered down her spine. Rafe wasn’t a man to toy with. He never obeyed the rules, never caved to another’s will. And he was impossible to control.

“Once a thief, always a thief, right, Gabrielle?”

Her face burned at the memory. She’d used that excuse to break off their engagement, aiming at his most vulnerable spot. But she couldn’t tell him the truth—that she’d had to drive him away. It was the only way she could make sure he survived.

“So why are you here?” he countered.

She hitched her shoulder toward the diplomat snoring on the bed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yeah.” He shot her a scathing look. “But stripping for middle-aged drunks is a new low, even for you.”

Hurt razored through her. She struggled not to let Rafe see it, her jaw aching from the effort it took to hold her smile in place. But she couldn’t miss the irony—since the last time she’d made love was with him.

“He’s not so bad,” she gritted out.

“Right. He looks like a real ball of fire in bed.”

Her smile frozen, she angled up her chin. “That’s none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t. You made it my business when you waltzed in on my case.”

“Your case?” She managed to scoff. “I’ve got more right to be here than you do. At least I was invited in.”

His onyx eyes turned deadly. He shifted closer, his wide shoulders caging her in. She moved back and bumped the nightstand, her heart tripping through her chest.

“Cut the crap, Gabrielle. Why are you really here?”

She tried again to inch backward. Her breath dammed up in her lungs. Rafe was too big, too close. Too threatening. Warnings skittered inside her, igniting the urgent need to flee.

But he didn’t budge. He towered over her, his broad chest filling her vision, sharp intelligence blazing in his eyes.

She frantically shuffled through options, desperate to make him back off. She couldn’t tell him the truth, but he’d see through any lies. Maybe the partial truth would satisfy his curiosity, enough to persuade him to leave.

“Fine. If you must know, I’m looking for information.”

“What kind of information?”

“Business. Something that affects FerrCom, my corporation. It has nothing to do with you.”

At least not directly. She’d recently intercepted a message using her company’s secret backdoor access to the billing software they ran. The message revealed that the American diplomat would deliver some highly sensitive intelligence to the king at the G-6 summit, exposing the identity of a traitor in the king’s inner circle.

The trouble was, the police chief—the man she believed to be the traitor—had access to the communications, too. And she knew he would never allow that intelligence to reach the king. She had to confiscate it before he did and deliver it to the prime minister, head of an ultrasecret spy group dedicated to protecting the king.

Resolve settled inside her. She’d waited three long years for this opportunity to destroy the police chief—the man who’d murdered her beloved father and assaulted her.

And this time she wouldn’t fail.

“You’re stealing from your competitors?” Rafe’s voice rang with outrage, drawing her attention back to him. “After claiming my criminal background would hurt your career?”

She tried not to wince. She’d only said that to drive him away. “I might as well. I learned to steal from the best.”

His eyes turned glacial. And guilt caught her square in the gut. She didn’t want to hurt him. She’d already caused him enough pain.

And she knew he’d gone straight—at least, until now. Shortly after they’d met he’d severed his ties to his tight-knit family, making himself an outcast, sacrificing everything he cared about to uphold the law.

But she had to throw him off her trail. She couldn’t risk that he’d discover the truth about the past—or get too close to her now.

“So why are you really here?” she asked again.

“I’m looking for jewelry.”

“In the castle? During the summit?” Even an adrenaline junkie like Rafe wouldn’t have the gall.

“You know me—always aiming out of my league.”

She flinched, the haughty words she’d used to reject him flaying her now. But she bit down hard on her lip to keep from blurting out a defense. It was safer for them both if he believed the worst.

No matter how badly his derision stung.

She studied his furious eyes, still unable to believe he’d resumed a life of crime. But what else could he be up to? He couldn’t possibly know about the intelligence she sought.

She shook her head. She’d have to puzzle that out later. She needed to get what she came for and leave—before the diplomat came to.

“Great,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “Then we won’t be in each other’s way. You can hunt for jewelry, and I’ll look for that information I need.”

Her composure rattled, she swiveled back to the bed. Trying hard to ignore Rafe still looming beside her, she got to work—punching the pillows and tangling the sheets, tugging off the diplomat’s pants. She couldn’t hide her presence in the diplomat’s bedroom. Dozens of guests had seen them leave the reception together, and the surveillance cameras had recorded them walking through the halls to his room. Her only chance to avoid suspicion when he discovered the missing intelligence was to give the appearance that they’d had sex.

She grabbed the diplomat’s glass from the nightstand and turned toward the bathroom—but Rafe still barred her way. He stood with his feet planted wide, his muscled arms folded over his chest, his cynical eyes tracking her moves.

Her stomach churning, she pushed past him. She didn’t care what he thought. She’d come here for justice, not forgiveness—especially from him.

She marched into the adjacent bathroom, her high heels clicking on the medieval stones, then glanced in the bathroom mirror. Behind her, Rafe finally began prowling around the bedroom, and she let out a pent-up breath. Lord, she didn’t need this. Returning to País Vell was dangerous enough. Hopefully he’d give up on finding valuables and leave before this night got worse.

Still keenly aware of Rafe’s movements, she rinsed out the diplomat’s wine glass, erasing traces of the drug she’d used, then returned it to the nightstand by the bed. To be safe, she swirled in some untainted wine.

Hesitating, she studied the nearly nude diplomat, his gray-haired chest rising with every ragged snore. Deciding to add another touch, she ripped a page from the notepad by the telephone, jotted down that she’d enjoyed the night, and left it on the pillow beside his head.

That done, she set to work. Following in Rafe’s footsteps, she searched the room—rifling through the drawer in the bedside table, checking the diplomat’s suitcase, examining the pockets and seams of his clothes. She assumed he’d put the information she needed on a computer flash drive or something equally as easy to transport.

But where had he squirreled it away?

She rummaged through the antique armoire as Rafe looked under the bed. Still nothing. Frustrated, she re-entered the bathroom and checked his toiletry case.

A soft click from the bedroom reached her ears. Whirling back, she spotted Rafe kneeling beside a briefcase on the floor. Her pulse quickening, she rushed to his side. “Let me see that,” she said.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the briefcase and thumbed through the folders, then pulled out a small velvet bag. He loosened the drawstring and dumped the contents into his palm. A large gold ring gleamed against his black leather glove.

Her jaw dropped. So he really had come here in search of jewels. But why? He’d quit his family’s business years ago.

Still holding the ring, he rose, slipped it back into the velvet bag, then stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans.

She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not really going to take that.”

“Damn straight I am.”

“But … you can’t. I’ll get blamed.” Too much evidence placed her in the room. And stealing the flash drive was one thing. She needed that to bring down a murderous traitor, an end she could justify. But a ring … “You have to put it back.”

“Forget it.” He turned toward the long, velvet drapes.

Panic swarmed inside her. “Rafe, please,” she begged. “This is going to mess everything up.”

His head swung around. The fury in his eyes stopped her cold. “I’m a thief, Gabrielle. This is what I do. So why should I put it back?”

She clenched her hands, her stomach in total turmoil as he flung her words back at her. But she couldn’t explain why she’d lied, why she’d had to push him away. She could never let him know.

But if she got arrested for the theft … The police chief would get away with her father’s murder. He’d lock her behind bars—or worse.

“Listen,” she pleaded. “I know I’m asking a lot, but you have to believe me—”

“Believe you?” He let out a bitter laugh. “After the way you lied to me?”

“I didn’t—”

A man’s voice rose in the hallway, cutting her off. She froze in sudden alarm. Someone was coming. Oh, God. She had to go.

But she hadn’t found the flash drive yet.

“Expecting someone?” Rafe asked.

“What? No, of course not.” How could he think that?

Footsteps thudded outside the door. Her entire body tensed.

“Secure the stairs,” the man called out. “I’ll check the bedroom.”

Her stomach plunged. Raymundo Ortiz. The police chief. The man who’d slaughtered her father and nearly murdered her.

She stared at the door in horror, knowing she had to flee. But if she ran, she’d look guilty. And she hadn’t done anything wrong—aside from slipping the diplomat that drug. But did she dare stay and try to brazen it out, and confront that cold-blooded killer alone?

Rafe shot her a glare, as if she’d conjured up Ortiz, then pushed through the velvet drapes. The doorknob rattled hard. Her pulse went berserk. No way was she taking on Ortiz. She turned and rushed after Rafe.

She caught up with him at the alcove door. He whipped around, anger rolling off him in waves. “What do you want now?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Not with me, you aren’t.”

“Then move aside.” Frantic, she tried to step around him. He shot out his arm and blocked her way. “Are you crazy? You can’t just go waltzing out there. The guards will shoot you on sight.”

“I can’t stay in here.”

“The hell you can’t.”

“Rafe, please.” More thumps rose from the bedroom door, and her desperation surged. “Let me by. I can’t let him find me. I have to go.”

He scowled at her for several heartbeats, then hissed. “Fine, follow me. But you have to do what I say. I mean it.” His fierce gaze burned into hers. “You make one wrong move and you’re on your own.” Motioning for her to be quiet, he cracked open the alcove door.

Relieved he’d agreed to help her, she shot a nervous glance at the drapes. Ortiz must have come for the flash drive. He must have seen her leave the reception with the diplomat and somehow divined her plans. But why bring backup? Why advertise his presence? Shouldn’t he sneak into the bedroom alone?

Rafe glanced her way. “Stay close.”

He didn’t have to warn her. Ortiz ran the royal police. His armed guards swarmed the castle. It would take a miracle to escape.

Rafe crept onto the medieval wall walk. She scurried after, trying not to make any noise. Dressed all in black, he instantly merged with the shadows. Her heart beat triple time as she dogged his heels.

He strode to the nearby watch tower and picked up a bundle of rope—which came as no surprise. Rafe had always prepared his heists meticulously, calculating every contingency—his secret to avoiding arrest.

But suddenly, he wheeled around, grabbed her arm, and shoved her against the tower. She gasped. “What—?”

“Shh!”

He flattened his body against hers. The rough rocks dug at her bare back. A second later, a guard charged by, his rifle raised, his heavy boots pounding the stones.

And a wild sound wedged in her throat. She hadn’t even heard him coming. If it hadn’t been for Rafe, she’d be dead.

The guard reached the alcove door. He kicked it open and charged inside.

“Come on.” Rafe seized her arm, but he didn’t have to convince her to rush. She raced across the uneven wall walk beside him, running as fast as she could in her wobbly heels.

They flew past another watch tower, then jumped down a flight of stone steps. Shouts rose from the courtyard below them, and she prayed the crenellated edge of the battlement would keep them concealed.

But a minute later, Rafe stopped again. “Get down!”

She dove to the ground, heedless of the sharp stones scraping her legs through her flimsy dress, and pressed her back to the wall. A heartbeat later, the searchlight skipped overhead.

She struggled to breathe. A siren rose in the distance, adding more confusion to her already disordered thoughts. Why the show of force? She hadn’t done anything wrong as far as the police chief knew.

Unless he was chasing Rafe …

But that didn’t make sense. Rafe had planned this job down to the second, even timing the searchlight. How had Ortiz known that he’d broken in?

Rafe leaned close. His warm breath feathered her ear. “We’ll climb down here. I’ll go first. As soon as I’m clear, grab the rope and slide down.”

“Slide?” Down a three-story wall?

“There’s no time to lower you down.” He pulled off his leather gloves and pressed them into her hands. “Wear these. And move fast. We’ve only got three minutes to beat the light.”

“Right.” Fighting back a burst of anxiety, she slipped on the supple gloves, still warm from his big hands. Then she tugged off her strappy sandals and looped them over her wrists. She could do this. She had to do this. It was the only way to survive.

The powerful beam passed by. Rafe jumped to his feet, secured the grappling hook to the wall, and tossed the rope over the side. Gabi scrambled upright as he climbed onto the ledge.

She glanced down, but the obsidian night swallowed the ground. She quickly averted her gaze, trying not to think about the deadly drop—or what would happen if she fell.

Rafe pushed off, twirled around and planted his feet on the wall. Then his dark gaze connected with hers, and for an instant, time seemed to grind to a halt. And that old sense of adventure zipped back, that heady feeling of excitement he’d always evoked. Rafe had jolted her from her sheltered upbringing, giving her a thrilling taste of danger she couldn’t resist. He’d been off-limits, forbidden. A thief. A man society didn’t approve of. A man who’d made her feel intensely alive.

“Hurry,” he urged, then disappeared into the dark.

Bunching up the hem of her ball gown, she swung her legs over the ledge. Another siren joined the first one. Footsteps thundered close by. Knowing she only had seconds, she leaned down and grabbed the rope, her stomach a riot of nerves. Then she sucked in a breath and leaped.

For a second, she couldn’t move. She clutched the rope with a death grip, too terrified to loosen her hold. Her shoulders began to ache. The night wind chilled her bare back. The rope undulated wildly beneath her as Rafe worked his way to the ground, and it was all she could do to hang on.

But she had to move. She had to get away from the wall walk before the guards caught up—or her arms gave way and she fell.

Summoning her courage, she pried her fingers apart. She instantly flew downward, the rope tearing through her hands. Too fast.

Startled, she tightened her grip and jolted to a stop, badly wrenching her arms. She panted wildly, so scared she could hardly think.

But the footsteps were pounding closer. She didn’t have time to waste. Slackening her grip, she inched down the nylon rope, sliding and stopping in erratic bursts. Her momentum spun her around, banged her against the wall, and she tried not to let out a moan.

Endless seconds crawled past. Her palms burned despite the leather gloves. Her arms trembled violently, her shoulder muscles searing as she struggled to hold on to the rope. She had no idea how much time she had left—or how many yards to the ground.

Suddenly an arm encircled her waist. Panicked, she gasped and clutched the rope. But Rafe’s voice murmured into her ear. “Let go. You made it.” Shaking, her legs wobbling so hard she couldn’t stand, she collapsed on the hard-packed dirt.

“Run,” he urged her. “Get into the woods.”

Still panting, she lifted her head. She caught the flash of the oncoming searchlight—and a fresh surge of adrenaline zapped her into gear. She lurched to her feet, gathered her hem so she wouldn’t trip, then ran full-out toward the woods.

But she realized Rafe wasn’t with her. She whirled around, spotted him still standing by the wall, whipping the long rope back and forth. A moment later, the grappling hook thudded into the ground.

He scooped up the rope, tossed it into a nearby bush, and began sprinting her way. She spun back into motion, Rafe’s footsteps spurring her on. The searchlight swung steadily closer. She desperately tried to speed up. They only had seconds to reach the trees.

Rafe flew past her and grabbed her arm. She plunged with him into the undergrowth—but then lost her balance and fell. Branches tore at her face, her hair, her arms. She crashed to the ground, her skin stinging, her breath knocked from her lungs. A fraction of a second later, the searchlight passed overhead.

Shaking wildly, her heart stampeding out of control, she lay sprawled in the prickly brush. She waited, not daring to move, as the beam swung past her again.

“This way,” Rafe called softly.

Still breathless, she slipped on her flimsy sandals to protect her feet. Then she rose and battled her way through the bushes, the sharp branches snagging her dress. She jerked it loose, ignoring the sound of ripping fabric as she stumbled through the woods after Rafe.

A wild feeling burbled inside her at the disaster she’d made of the night. She hadn’t found the flash drive. The police chief might now have it—destroying her only proof of his crimes. And she was fleeing the castle with Rafe—the one man she’d vowed to avoid.

So what should she do? She tripped on an exposed tree root, struggling to remain upright in the steep terrain. She couldn’t stay with Rafe, she knew that much. He was a wild card in this fiasco, uncontrollable. She couldn’t take the chance that he would expose her—or discover the truth about the past.

But Ortiz had seen her at the reception. He now knew she’d returned to País Vell. And if he guessed that she knew about his secret activities, he’d stop at nothing to hunt her down.

Rafe came to a halt. “Hold up.”

She bumped against him, then craned her neck to see. “What is it?”

“We’ve reached the road.”

She peered through the thick foliage. A blue LED light flashed below them, illuminating the two-lane road that switchbacked down the mountain into the town. “The police.”

“It looks like they’ve set up a roadblock.” Rafe’s low voice rumbled through the dark. “Stay here. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Without waiting for an answer, he crept off. Car doors slammed nearby. A radio squawked from the road. Gabi shivered and rubbed her arms, the night chill settling into her bones.

And the horror of her predicament spun through her mind. She’d bungled her mission badly. She’d somehow tipped off Ortiz, a man with unlimited power. But she couldn’t give up. She had to find that proof. No matter what else happened, she had to destroy her father’s murderer. This was her only chance.

A twig snapped close by. She spun around, alarmed, as a shadow materialized at her side. “It’s me,” Rafe murmured, and she pressed her palm to her rioting heart.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, her eyes searching his in the dark.

“They’re looking for us, all right.”

“Both of us?” She frowned. “Did you hear why?”

“Yeah.” He paused. His eyes turned even more grim. “They think we’ve committed a murder.”

“Murder?” she gasped.

He nodded, his mouth hardening into a slit. “The diplomat is dead.”

Chapter 3

“I didn’t kill him.” Gabi trailed Rafe through the woods in the darkness, still struggling to wrap her mind around the diplomat’s death. “That drug I gave him … it only made him drowsy. It couldn’t have caused a reaction. And I know he didn’t have allergies because I had his medical records checked.”

Rafe didn’t answer. He continued to push through the bushes, using his tiny penlight to illuminate the rocky ground.

“I mean it, Rafe.” She slid on a pinecone, nearly falling in her awkward designer heels. “There’s no way that drug could have killed him.”

“I believe you.” He stopped, then waited for her to catch up. “The police said he was shot.”

“Shot?” She stumbled to a halt. “But who … Ortiz?”

Rafe’s mouth tightened, his face barely visible in the night. “Who else?”

Her heart took a nosedive. This was so much worse than she’d thought. But why would Ortiz kill the diplomat? Why not simply steal the flash drive while he slept? None of this made sense.

Then even more horror dawned, and she pressed her hand to her throat. “They’ve got evidence against me. I left the reception with him. I’m on the security tapes. I left that note.”

Then another realization slammed into the first one, making her head spin even more. “Oh, God. It was my fault. I drugged him. He couldn’t even defend himself. I left him there to die.”

She hugged her arms, guilt crashing through her, a terrible tightness welling up in her throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” All she’d wanted was justice for her father’s death. Instead, she’d condemned an innocent man to die.

Stricken, she shook her head. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed there and protected him.”

“Then Ortiz would have killed you, too.”

But why? What did Ortiz have to gain from their deaths, aside from silencing her?

“What a mess,” she whispered, dazed. The evening had turned into a nightmare, and it just kept getting worse. She’d taken a chance by returning to País Vell. Certain she would find that flash drive, she’d planned to confiscate the evidence and turn it over to the prime minister before Ortiz could do her harm. But everything had gone wrong. And now she would never escape Ortiz. He had too much power—aircraft and weapons at his disposal, a police force at his command. He would launch a massive manhunt and scour the surrounding hills.

And then, yet another bolt of awareness struck home. She didn’t only need to elude Ortiz. The Americans would hunt for her, too. They would search the globe to find their diplomat’s supposed killer—leaving her no safe place to hide.

Panic rising inside her, she shot a furtive glance around the inky woods. She couldn’t waste time. She had to stay on the move, get farther away from the castle before Ortiz and his men caught up—and then figure out what to do.

“Come on. We need to keep moving,” Rafe said, echoing her thoughts. “There’s an old shepherd’s hut near here. We can rest there for a while and make plans.”

“You think it’s safe?”

“For tonight. I scouted it out earlier. It’s been abandoned for decades, probably since the Spanish civil war. The vegetation is overgrown, and there’s nothing else nearby. I doubt anyone remembers it’s there.”

He resumed hiking. She followed more slowly, her reservations growing as she picked her way through the brush—but she didn’t have much choice. She needed to stick with Rafe until she formed an alternate plan.

But Rafe presented dangers of his own. He was too clever, too suspicious. He knew her far too well, making it hard to hide the truth.

Which meant before he figured out what she was up to, she had to get away from him.

Several exhausting miles later, they reached the abandoned hut. Gabi huddled on a stool by the rustic fireplace, watching Rafe feed scraps of kindling into the sparks. The tiny flames licked the wood, casting firelight over his arms. The scent of wood smoke snaked through the air.

She shivered and rubbed her feet, her open sandals no protection against the bone-shuddering chill seeping through the dirt floor. Adding to her misery, the night breeze gusted through holes in the old tile roof, raising goose bumps along her skin.

Rafe leaned back on his heels and cut her a brooding look. Suddenly he peeled off his black turtleneck sweater, leaving on a short-sleeved T-shirt, and tossed the sweater to her. “Put that on before you freeze to death,” he said.

Too cold to argue, she tugged it over her head. The soft cotton sweater smelled faintly of Rafe’s aftershave, a sandalwood blend she’d always loved. She hugged her arms, the familiar scent giving her comfort, grateful for the added warmth.

For a minute they didn’t speak. Rafe stared at the fire, his rough-hewn, masculine profile illuminated by the flickering light. She scanned the width of his bulging shoulders, the curve of his iron biceps, the sinews in his strong neck.

Then his eyes returned to hers, the impact changing the rhythm of her pulse. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

His mouth flattened in a sign of impatience. “What you were really doing back there.”

“But I already told you—”

“Cut the lies, Gabrielle.”

The bitterness in his voice brought her up short. “You don’t believe me?”

“Of course I don’t believe you.”

“But … I’m telling you the truth.”

“The truth?” He barked out a cynical laugh. “You never told me the truth in your life.”

Her stomach churned. She looked away, knowing she deserved his scorn. She’d treated him abominably that night. She’d hurled cruel, hurtful lies at him, willingly crushing his heart. But she’d done it to protect him. She’d had to drive him away.

But she couldn’t tell him that. She had to keep that secret buried, no matter what the cost.

Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she leveled her voice. “I told you. I came here for information—for my business. It doesn’t affect you at all.”

“Right. And we both just happened to be there when Ortiz showed up.”

His words stopped her cold. Startled, she searched his eyes. “You’re saying you weren’t there by chance?”

He made a sound of disgust. “Come on, Gabrielle. You know damned well that Ortiz set me up.”

She stared at him in shock. “You think he set you up? How?”

“As if you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

He bunched his jaw, the planes of his dark face hard. The fire crackled in the now-tense air.

“I really don’t, Rafe. What does he have to do with you?”

His jaw still working, he turned his gaze to the fire. After a minute, he sighed. “He hired me to steal that ring.”

“He hired you?” She gaped at him, staggered, certain that she’d heard wrong. Rafe was working for Ortiz, the man who’d murdered her father?

Could this night get any more bizarre?

“But … you hate Ortiz.” He’d persecuted Rafe’s family for decades, scapegoating them for a myriad of crimes. The thought of Rafe now collaborating with his archenemy defied logic—and boggled her mind. “Why on earth would you work for him?”

He didn’t answer at first. He kept his gaze on the flames. Then the cool wind gusted, scattering sparks over the dirt, and he slanted her a glance. “He came to my shop last week,” he said, referring to the precious gem business he ran. “He stops by once in a while and accuses me of fencing jewels.” He grimaced. “He doesn’t think I’ve reformed, either.”

Her cheeks burned. She bit back the denial that instantly sprang to her lips. She had to let him think the worst. “And?”

“He offered me a job.”

“To steal that ring.” She couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

Rafe tilted his head. “He said the diplomat would be bringing it to the summit as a goodwill gesture to the king. The Americans want his cooperation in their war on terror.”

That made sense. País Vell had a long history of smuggling given its strategic location between Spain and France. Information—and criminals—often slipped through the porous hills.

“But the ring belonged to the last queen of Reino Antiguo,” Rafe continued, naming the once-independent kingdom now controlled by País Vell. “Ortiz knew the separatists would protest if they found out the king had it. So he hired me to find it. He wanted to keep it hidden until the summit ended so there wouldn’t be any unrest.”

That seemed plausible, too. The last thing the police would want during an important international summit was rioting in the streets. “But wouldn’t that cause problems with the Americans? They’d hardly overlook the theft.”

Rafe shrugged. “He seemed more concerned about the separatists. And he planned to give the ring back after the summit … or so he said. He probably figured he could placate the Americans for a few days.”

She frowned at that. The story sounded logical—up to a point. “But why hire you? Why not get it himself?”

“He said there were separatist sympathizers on the police force so he couldn’t send in his own men.”

“But then why show up at the room?”

“Exactly.” He dipped his head. “He obviously set me up.”

The breeze gusted again, raising more goose bumps on her spine as she turned that over in her mind. Ortiz was clever, ruthless. She could see him concocting this plan. He could arrest Rafe at last, claiming he’d caught him stealing the ring. He could even blame him for the diplomat’s murder. No one would believe Rafe’s word over his.

But why would Rafe take such an obvious risk?

“What did you get out of this?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“But—”

“Forget it. It’s personal. It has nothing to do with you. What matters is that he set me up.”

His brusque tone hurt, but she could hardly fault him for shutting her out. Rafe was a fiercely loyal man. He would never forgive a betrayal.

Especially hers.

Her throat suddenly thick, she returned her gaze to the fire. And she had to admit that Rafe had changed in the past three years. The tender man who’d teased her, the thrilling daredevil who’d fulfilled her need for adventure had disappeared. He was harder now, more cynical. He had a deep-seated bitterness to him—hostility and resentment she’d caused.

A dull ache hollowed her chest, kicking off a swarm of regrets. She’d never wanted to hurt him. She’d adored Rafe. She would have given anything to spend her life in his arms.

But she’d made the right choice. She’d had to break off their engagement. If she’d told him the truth, he would have gone after Ortiz. And there was no earthly way she could have risked Rafe’s life.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she struggled to corral her unruly emotions and think. She couldn’t change the past. She couldn’t erase her lies—or the terrible pain she’d caused. She couldn’t even tell Rafe the truth. All she could do was focus on her mission and find the proof she needed to destroy Ortiz—before more innocent people died.

Rafe was right, though. Ortiz did nothing by chance. And she couldn’t believe that he’d coincidentally hired Rafe to get that ring at the same time that intelligence was coming in. That ring had to be connected to her case.

But how?

“May I see the ring?” she asked, rising.

Rafe hesitated—which stung. “I’m not going to run off with it,” she said, her voice tight.

“You’ve got that right.” He pulled the velvet bag from his pocket and tossed it her way.

She caught it, then moved closer to the fire, determined to ignore the lash of hurt. No matter how much his distrust galled her, no matter how strong the urge to explain and beg his forgiveness, she had to focus on what mattered now.

She loosened the bag’s tassled drawstring, then dumped the heavy ring into her palm. Made of solid gold, it had a flat, square top with the relief of a bearded vulture—the bone crusher, Reino Antiguo’s royal crest. The gold simmered like fire in the light.

“It’s beautiful.” She tilted it toward the flames, studying the words engraved on the thick band. “There’s an inscription … in Latin. Morior invictus. Death before defeat.”

Rafe nodded. “Reino Antiguo’s motto. The ring was used as a royal seal.”

Not a secret message, then—unless the ring was fake. She caught Rafe’s eye. “You think it’s real?”

“It looks authentic. I’d have to examine it to be sure, though.” His gaze sharpened. “Why? You think there’s a connection to the information you’re looking for?”

Of course Rafe would figure that out. Keeping her expression neutral, she slipped the ring back into the bag. “I don’t see how.”

But if there was a connection to her case, she needed to keep the ring. She’d spent too many years waiting for this moment to lose any evidence now.

But Rafe would never give it up. He’d stolen it for Ortiz, which put them squarely at odds.

She handed Rafe the velvet pouch. He shoved it into his front pocket, his perceptive gaze trained on her. And she knew he was sorting through details, deciding whether to believe her or not.

“So what’s your plan?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

“We’ll rest for now. We can start hiking again at dawn. The terrain’s too rough from here on out. I don’t want to fall off a cliff.”

That bought her a couple hours. But it meant staying in the hut with him.

She glanced around the miniscule room—the rickety bed, the two wooden stools by the fireplace, the peeling stucco walls. And suddenly, she needed air, space. “I’ll be right back.”

“You still owe me answers,” he warned as she headed for the door. “Don’t even think of running away.”

So he’d decided not to trust her.

Smart man.

“I said I’d be back.” And she would. She couldn’t run yet, not without that ring. And she couldn’t get that until Rafe slept.

She opened the door and stepped outside, then slumped back against the hut’s stone wall. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the crisp night air, and tried to calm herself down. Cowbells clanked in the distance, the discordant sound doing nothing to assuage her nerves.

The diplomat was dead. She still didn’t have that flash drive. And now Rafe had a ring that might be connected to her case—which meant she had to steal it from him.

A fresh wave of anxiety tumbled through her, her conscience rebelling at the thought of deceiving Rafe again. He’d be furious when she took that ring. She would confirm every terrible suspicion about her he had.

She closed her eyes, fighting back an onslaught of regrets. She didn’t want to hurt him. She hated that he despised her, and that she couldn’t reveal the truth. But Ortiz had robbed her of choices that fateful night.

And nothing mattered more than revenge.

The soft swish of Gabrielle’s dress woke Rafe from a restless doze. He lay flat on his back by the fireplace, keeping his eyes shut, his breathing steady and slow to imitate sleep.

So she was finally making her move. He’d been expecting it for hours. He hadn’t missed the speculation in her eyes when she’d held that ring or the way she’d sidestepped his questions, never quite revealing why she was here.

He intended to get those answers now.

Her footsteps shuffled closer. He waited, his pulse accelerating as the erotic scent of her perfume mingled with smoke from the dying fire.

The swishing stopped. He felt her studying his face. Then she knelt beside him, her silk gown brushing his arm, her soft breath sweeping his jaw as she slid her fingers into the front left pocket of his jeans.

He gritted his teeth, struggling to regulate his breath as her fingers inched down his thigh. But his temper flared, his blood roiling at her gall. She’d accused him of being a thief—while here she was, trying to steal the ring from him.

Her hand came to a halt. For a minute, she didn’t move. Then she caught the velvet pouch between her fingers and started to tug.

He whipped out his hand and clamped her wrist. Her startled gaze flew to his. For several long seconds their eyes stayed locked, her pulse running ragged beneath his palm.

Then he relentlessly tugged her closer, until her face was inches from his. “Looking for something?” he growled.

Her gaze faltered. She nibbled her bottom lip, drawing his eyes to her sultry mouth. Then she relaxed against him, morphing into seductress mode, and shot him a sideways glance. “Can’t you guess?” she purred.

He took in her full pouting lips, the swell of her generous breasts, and his hold on his temper slipped. She was playing him, trying to manipulate him with her charms—just like she’d done to that diplomat.

His mouth thinned. “Nice performance. What’s next? Another striptease?”

Her eyes flashed. She struggled to jerk her hand free, but he squeezed her wrist even harder, unwilling to let her budge. He waited for several heartbeats, making sure she knew she couldn’t escape him, then pushed her away in disgust.

He rolled to his feet, then stalked to the door and back, trying to keep himself under control. When he reached the fireplace, he stopped. “All right,” he said. “Cut the crap and start talking—beginning with why you’re really here.”

She rose and brushed off her gown, her eyes not quite meeting his. “I already told you. I’m after information.”

“The hell you are.”

“I am,” she insisted. He waited, barely managing to restrain his temper, until her guilty gaze rose to his. “It’s just … I think the ring might be involved.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” He shot her a scowl, and she lifted her chin. “I don’t. It’s … complicated.”

“Try me.”

She hesitated.

His jaw hardened. “That wasn’t a request.”

Her movements jerky, she retreated to the stool beside the fireplace and sat. The wind gusted, moaning through the caved-in roof, making the embers in the fireplace flare.

“I told you the truth,” she said finally, her voice subdued. “At least most of it. You know my company makes billing software for communication firms.”

He nodded, and she went on. “Whenever we install a system we keep a secret backdoor access in case we need to do repairs. And … we use that to monitor their calls.”

She spied on them? And she’d accused him of immoral behavior? “That’s illegal.”

She had the grace to blush. “I know. And our customers don’t know we do that, obviously. If people knew we kept track of their activities, they wouldn’t buy our products.”

Which they marketed to governments around the globe.

He leaned against the mantle, wondering where she was heading with this. “Go on.”

“I didn’t know about the backdoor access at first. It’s hardly something we advertise. But after my father died, when I took over the company, I started noticing irregularities. I finally figured out he was checking messages that way. And I think he found out something incriminating, something dangerous that got him killed.”

Rafe blinked, her revelation taking him aback. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that.

He swung his gaze to the glowing embers, searching his memory for details of the case. Her father had died at his office during a late-night robbery. His murder—and Gabi’s subsequent ascent to owner of the company—had prompted her to break off her engagement to Rafe.

“You’re saying he wasn’t robbed?”

“That’s right. The murderer just made it look that way.” Her gaze swerved back to his. “My father was spying for the government, running a secret operation Arturo Menendez—the prime minister—heads. We think he came across some information in one of those messages, something that someone didn’t want to leak out.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“No.” She smoothed her long gown over her legs. “I couldn’t prove anything at the time. And except for the prime minister, I didn’t know who to trust. He suggested we get proof before we accuse anyone.”

Too bad the police didn’t do the same.

Rafe pushed his resentment aside. “So where does the diplomat fit in?”

“A few weeks ago I intercepted a message. He was supposed to deliver some top-secret intelligence at the summit about a traitor in the king’s inner group.

“I figured the information would be on a flash drive,” she added. “That’s what I was looking for in the room. I didn’t know about the ring. And the ring might just be a coincidence—a goodwill gesture like the police chief said. But if there’s any chance it’s connected to my father’s murder, I have to find out. I can’t let his killer go free.”

Rafe’s frown deepened, her revelation complicating an already unholy mess. If Ortiz wanted that ring, and if that ring was connected to her case …

His gaze sharpened on hers. “You’re saying Ortiz is the traitor?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you think he is.”

“I don’t have any proof.”

Hell. Suddenly feeling haunted, Rafe plowed his hand through his hair. This job was supposed to be straightforward—grab the ring, turn it over to the police chief and fulfill his end of the deal.

He wasn’t supposed to be framed for murder. He wasn’t supposed to be chased by the royal guards. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be embroiled in an espionage case involving his former lover—a woman he couldn’t trust.

He eyed Gabi’s thick, tousled hair, the tempting bow of her lips and everything inside him rebelled. He didn’t need her hanging around him. He wanted to forget he’d ever seen her and get her permanently out of his life.

But he couldn’t escape the facts. Ortiz had framed him for the diplomat’s murder. This case was far more complicated than he’d believed. And like it or not, whatever Gabi was searching for impacted him—which meant he had to keep her around.

But he also had to be careful. He had too much at stake to let down his guard around her now. “I want to see that message you intercepted.”

She blinked. “You still don’t believe me?”

“After everything you’ve done to me?”

Her amber eyes turned wounded, but he crushed down an answering spurt of guilt. She was acting again, trying to play on his sympathies, and he refused to take the bait.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly dawn. We can head out now.”

Not bothering to answer, she rose and headed toward the door. But he quickly stepped around her and blocked her path. “I’ll only say this once,” he said when she lifted her gaze to his. “I’m in charge here. From here on out, you do what I say.”

Her eyes filled with outrage, just as he’d known they would. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“You do now. I’m warning you, Gabi. You try to sneak off, you try to stab me in the back or steal that ring, and you’ll be sorry you tried.”

Her mouth tightened. Annoyance flashed in her golden eyes. Then she pushed past him and stalked outside the hut.

He watched her go, unwilling to feel any guilt. No matter how vulnerable she appeared, no matter how expertly she plied her charms, he couldn’t trust her again.

She’d devastated him before, crushing any illusions he had.

And he’d be damned if he’d let her make a fool of him twice.

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