The House of Steele works for the good guys—but sometimes it’s hard to tell heroes from villains…

The beautiful former thief had never met a lock she couldn’t pick. Although Rowan Steele is now legit, she handles some of the family’s most dangerous assignments. When she agrees to safeguard an ancient treasure, her heart—as well as her life—may be the price.

His outlaw days roaming the streets of London are behind him. Now Finn Gallagher’s expert eyes authenticate the treasures he used to steal. When a major antiquities cache is threatened, he recruits Rowan to join him. Together, he figures, they can keep anything safe. Until an old enemy raises the stakes…

“Let’s get out of here.”

Finn was rarely taken off guard, so the obvious invitation in Rowan’s words caught him up short. “Where do you want to go?”

“Have you ever been to the British Museum after-hours?”

He had, in fact, been there on more than one occasion, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Now, what would a nice girl like you be wanting in a place like that?”

“What happened to that adventurous spirit, Finn?” Rowan moved in, the light scent of her wrapping around his senses as the heat of her body assailed him through his suit. “You know, the one that had you making those idiotic jumps off your office building?”

“And the guards with guns?”

She waved a hand. “Easy.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Finn held out a hand, barely suppressing the urge to wrap her in his arms. “Lead the way.”

House of Steele: Elite investigators taking on the most difficult assignments all over the world.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to the world of the Steele siblings. Liam, Campbell, Kensington and Rowan formed the high-end security firm—the House of Steele—to cater to a wealthy clientele the world over. Each has a unique skill set used to get the job done for their elite, exclusive clients.

In The London Deception, the youngest Steele, Rowan, is forced to confront her past in the form of sexy Finn Gallagher. Now a modern-day female Indiana Jones, Rowan trots the globe, rescuing antiquities.

Finn needs Rowan’s help. He’s authenticating a major find in Egypt’s Valley of the Queens and needs her expertise. What neither of them anticipates is to be revisited by an enemy more dangerous than either ever suspected.

I had so much fun writing The London Deception. I’ve always had a fascination with ancient Egypt and I hope you’ll forgive me some artistic license as I played with the history of Ramesses II and his wife Nefertari. While they are real, I’ve taken liberties with their sculptures and burial chambers for the sake of the story.

I absolutely loved writing this book and the very real challenge of taking two damaged souls and redeeming them through the power of love. Love of family, love of a significant other and, maybe most important of all, love of self.

Best,

Addison Fox

The London Deception

Addison Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ADDISON FOX

is a Philadelphia girl transplanted to Dallas, Texas. Although her similarities to Grace Kelly stop at sharing the same place of birth, she’s often dreamed of marrying a prince and living along the Mediterranean.

In the meantime, she’s more than happy penning romance novels about two strong-willed and exciting people who deserve their happy ever after—after she makes them work so hard for it, of course. When she’s not writing, she can be found spending time with family and friends, reading or enjoying a glass of wine.

Find out more about Addison or contact her at her website—www.addisonfox.com—or catch up with her on Facebook (addisonfoxauthor) and Twitter (@addisonfox).

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For Alice

Valued critique partner, trusted confidante, dearest friend.

I’m so blessed you left a message.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Twelve years ago—London

The bullet missed her ear by the grace of God and a stone in her shoe.

Unwilling to tempt fate twice, Rowan Steele belly crawled across the roof of the Knightsbridge townhome, reluctant to find out if her assailant was going to try again or just come after her.

She needed a more secure location.

Now.

Not for the first time did she curse her innate fear of guns or she’d have nicked Grandfather’s World War II service pistol and stuck it in the waistband of her black pants before sneaking out earlier. A raw, choked laugh welled in her throat at the irony.

Guns she ran in fear from. Climbing London rooftops as a means to rip off the contents below? Bring it on.

A shout echoed from the street, muffled in the light fog that coated the city. When she’d arrived ten minutes earlier, she’d considered the fog a blessing, but its rapid swirl and increasing weight had her reconsidering that decision.

Who the bloody hell would be shooting at her?

And how did they even know she was up here?

Rowan kept moving, her breath heavy, even as the questions swirled through her mind faster than the fog around her body. A small nook sat between two chimneys—sitting room and study respectively—and she moved determinedly onward over the rough tiles to give herself a moment to regroup in relative safety.

Obviously the jewelry extraction—the evening’s main event—was off.

Now she just had to figure out how to get off the roof undetected.

The small space enveloped her as she slid her body between the twin columns of old brick and took her first easy breath since the gunshot. Voices still echoed from the street, but they’d grown fainter and she didn’t think it was only from the fog.

Her plans for the evening ran through her mind’s eye on the same steady loop she’d not been able to get out of her head since her first visit to the townhome six months before. Her dear friend Bethany Warrington couldn’t stop talking about her mother’s latest gift from her father—a diamond-and-ruby bracelet purported to have been worn by Queen Victoria.

While Bethany might have been dear, she was altogether too dim and had blithely provided the combination to the jewelry safe her mother kept in her bedroom as she’d fiddled her way through it three times before successfully cracking it on the fourth.

Since the bracelet was basically sitting there for the taking, Rowan could hardly ignore the windfall and had plotted how she’d get in and out when Bethany’s family took their annual jaunt to the Côte d’Azur.

On a rather huge level, Rowan knew what she was doing was wrong. Even if she could work her way past the clear directive in the Ten Commandments, she also knew by her actions she betrayed a friend.

Yet the impulse to take—to take and take and take whatever she could get her hands on—wouldn’t be sated.

And no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t change that simple fact.

Just like her parents.

They’d been taken from her by that same God who’d laid down those Commandments and she couldn’t quite get past the need to strike back at Him and anyone else who got in her way.

In those moments when she stole something—be it a piece of jewelry worn by royalty or a pack of chewing gum carelessly left on the edge of a desk at school—she felt.

And in all the other endless hours, she simply marked time with that sickening well of grief in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t close, even as month piled on month to the tune of nearly four years gone.

It was that same pit of grief—and the desperate urge to fill it—that had her creeping out of her hiding place as the voices on the street below stayed quiet.

Rowan allowed those emotions to carry her along the path she’d originally mapped out. The large tree that stood in the small garden two doors down from the Warringtons’ had provided the rooftop access and it had been easy enough to work her way across the roofs until she got to number twenty-three.

It was now the work of a minute to shimmy down the back wall on the thick ivy vines that wrapped the back of the house and enter through the former servants’ entrance. A servant-free entrance due to the fact that most were on their own holiday and the remaining three in residence had been given the night off.

Rowan crouched before the door, her pick tools in hand. The lock was complicated—she’d expected no less on a home this dear—but she knew she could do it. Especially after all the practice she’d put in on her grandparents’ town house.

After completing the last tumbler, she got back to her feet and opened the door. With careful strokes, she tapped out the alarm code Bethany had also shared and watched the red light flash over to green.

Rowan stood still for one moment, drinking in the quiet air of the house. Anticipation hummed in her veins and she took the briefest moment to savor it.

To savor being alive.

Then she relocked the door and headed up the kitchen stairwell to the third floor. The hallway carpet runner was soft under her feet as she moved into the bedroom Lady Warrington kept for her own use.

Night reflected through the windows, sheening the bedroom to a bright silver as Rowan slipped into the room. She slid open the double doors of the walk-in closet and went straight for the small safe built into the wall. The muted smells of fine leather, rich fabrics and the light scent of Chanel assailed her with a memory of her own mother’s closet but she ruthlessly tamped it down.

She would do this.

And any sympathy for Bethany or her mother needed to be ignored.

Just as with the pick tools, the thin leather gloves that covered her hands weren’t a deterrent, and she quickly sped through the safe combination from memory. Even without knowledge of the combination, Rowan knew the moment each tumbler fell into place. Call it a sixth sense, subtle anticipation or the superb hearing her family regularly teased her about; the answer didn’t really matter.

Rowan knew.

On the last spin, she settled on the number sixteen—fittingly the same as her age—and reached for the safe’s handle. The door swung open, revealing all of the beautiful contents inside.

Rowan looked past them, despite the fact they called to her, whispering what a conquest it would be to remove everything. Instead, she pressed on, the piles of velvet containers housing bracelets, rings and necklaces all ignored until her hand settled over the black pouch in the rear of the safe. The cuff was heavy in her hands and she already imagined the wink of diamonds as she pulled the pouch from the safe.

Already, she felt the way the hard metal would encase her wrist as she hid the bracelet under the too-long arm of her school sweater, daring fate to rat her out.

To uncover her dark, desperate need to feel something.

Despite her fantasies, Rowan was eminently practical and knew any further daydreaming would need to wait for home. With one last look at the layers of velvet boxes still in the safe, she let out a small sigh and reached for the thick metal door.

The scream welled in her throat immediately at the heavy hand that came over hers while another dragged heavily against her mouth, muffling any noise.

“Thank you, darling. You’ve made this terribly easy.” The dark voice crooned into her ear, the sounds of England unmistakable in the cultured tones. His breath was warm against her cheek.

She struggled against the hold—and the uncontrolled shiver at the light breath—but her captor was prepared, his elbows tightening against her shoulders to keep her still. Raw fear flooded her mouth with a harsh metallic taste as the simple urge to flee surpassed every other thought.

Was it one of the Warringtons’ servants, lying in wait?

Another thief?

A cop come to catch her?

The thoughts tumbled one over the other, in time with the heavy thud of her heartbeats, and it took Rowan several seconds to realize her captor hadn’t moved.

He’d made no effort to touch her further and she felt only his hands on her body, no press of a gun or knife.

“If I move my hand, will you listen to me?”

She nodded, the voice oddly seductive in the dim light of the closet.

“Since I don’t fully believe you won’t scream, let me give you one more piece of advice, Peach.”

She stilled, the strange sense that he spoke the truth filtering in through the fear as the odd endearment sent a shiver down her spine. What was likely a simple way to address her in lieu of her name felt different somehow.

On his lips the name felt lush. And seductive?

While she wasn’t all that familiar with the sensation, she’d read more than enough romances to wish for a little seduction in her life. Had giggled with her girlfriends over the very same.

“That gunshot you blithely ignored in favor of heading in here? The man with the gun and two of his friends are still outside the house. So I suggest you do nothing to alert them to our presence.”

Whatever sensitive emotion had momentarily gripped her fled at the very real threat that awaited both of them. The man lifted his hand and Rowan took her first easy breath since he’d captured her. Although he’d removed the cover over her mouth, the press of his body still held her in place facing the safe.

“Wh-who are they?” Her breath hitched on the words and she winced at the weakness.

“I don’t know but I suspect they’re after the same thing we both are.”

“The bracelet?” Her voice was stronger and she squared her shoulders under his grip.

“The very same.”

“How would they know about it?”

“Seems as if Lord Warrington purchased something that wasn’t really for sale.”

“He stole this bracelet?”

“Steal is such an ugly word when there is a payment involved. He claims he purchased it rightfully, but it’s been whispered in several places he knew full well the bracelet rightfully belonged to another.”

The cryptic answer stilled her and Rowan tried once more to turn in his arms. “How do I know you’re not with them?”

“I work alone.” The words were swift and immediate and she didn’t know why she believed him, but she did.

“I can feel the brush of your ski mask against my head. Can I just turn around to talk to you? I clearly won’t be able to identify you.”

A light laugh drifted over her as the velvet pouch was snatched from her hand and then the heavy press of his body vanished. Rowan wondered briefly at the loss of warmth before the thought fled and she turned to face her captor.

Her very first impression was one of broad shoulders encased in black. The tight shirt he wore tapered to slender hips and long legs that made her think of the gangly height of her older brother Campbell. The wool mask she’d felt whisper against her head covered his face; odd that something she’d normally think of as scary or menacing only left her curious to see the face underneath.

Rich hazel eyes glittered from the holes in the mask’s face and she forgot herself for the briefest of moments when her gaze locked with his.

On a hard shake of her head, Rowan focused on the problem at hand. What was the matter with her? “Who’s out there?”

A quick light flashed across his eyes before being replaced by a hard glint that matched his next words. “A few blokes who want what’s in here and thought tonight would be a good night to case the joint. Just like you and me.”

“How could they know that?”

“How’d you know that?”

The words were nearly out—that she knew the family—when she bit them back on a hard clench of her teeth. He might be a friend for the moment, but the man clad head to toe in black wasn’t to be trusted.

“Come on, Peach. Close that safe door and let’s figure out how we’re going to get out of here.” The name whispered across her nerve endings once more, and Rowan tamped down on the delicious clench that seized her belly.

Rowan closed and locked the safe as directed. “There are servants’ stairs at the end of the hall at the back of the house.”

“They’ve got three guys. One’s no doubt back there.” The masked man never turned as he reached for her hand and dragged her from the closet. He gestured with his free hand as they crossed the broad expanse of Lady Warrington’s room. “Over there. Behind the curtains.”

“We can’t hide behind the curtains. They’ll find us for sure.”

“No, they’ll find us in the hallway, which is likely where they’re headed now.”

“They can’t get in that fast.”

“Of course they can. Especially since they’ve probably breached the back door you so kindly left unarmed.” He turned to look at her. “You do realize you’re not the only person in London in possession of lock picks?”

Once again Rowan was forced to clamp down on a retort, the truth of his words striking deep.

Why hadn’t she quit when she was ahead?

The gunshot had been scary enough. She’d known once she got to safety between the chimneys that it was time to get out of there.

So why had she assumed the threat had vanished?

The image of her hand closing over the velvet bag holding the bracelet popped into her mind like a lure, but for the first time in four years the thought of possessing something not hers fell flat.

Her captor—partner in crime?—pushed her behind the heavy curtains decorated with large, rather unattractive cabbage roses that hung along the wall of Lady Warrington’s bedroom. Rowan felt the dusty air swirl around her as the man fluffed the thick floor-to-ceiling pleats into place.

“Shhh, Peach.”

“Why—”

The question was cut off by his hand as he covered her mouth and she caught the vague image of him shaking his head in the darkened space.

And then there were no words—not even breath—as the thick, old door to the bedroom slammed open, knocking against the wall.

“She in there?”

“No one’s in here.” A Cockney accent reached her ears, although it was muffled slightly through the curtain, and Rowan prayed the voice belonged to a man too dumb to do a thorough search of the room.

The voice that belonged to the man who hunted her pressed on. “This was her destination.”

“Place looks untouched, guv.”

Rowan could only thank the heavy rug that covered the floor didn’t show footprints the same way plush carpet would have, and her esteem for Lady Warrington’s decorating skills rose a notch.

“Did you search it?”

“Look. She’s not here, I tell ya. Let’s look at the safe.” The muffled sound of footsteps crossing the room, then the nearly soundless swing of the closet doors broke the silence. “Look. Safe hasn’t even been touched.”

“Maybe she cracked it.”

“Little bit of fluff like her?”

“Don’t underestimate her. Size has little to do with skill.”

A low grumble echoed from the closet and Rowan had to strain to hear the response. “She was on the roof not ten minutes ago. How’d she get in here, crack the safe and get away?”

The idea that the gunshot had happened less than ten minutes ago surprised Rowan. If she’d been asked, she’d have surely said she and the man in black had been in the closet for at least twenty minutes, yet it had been merely a quarter of that.

“What if she’s still prowling the outside? Or got away’s more like it.” The assurance dripped from the second man’s voice and Rowan could only offer thanks he was so eager to assume she’d fled the scene.

“Check the room. I’m going to work on the safe.”

The moment of good fortune—the one that had bloomed so briefly—shriveled and died as heavy footsteps thudded in the direction of her hiding place.

* * *

Finn Gallagher reached for the small, slender hand next to his and willed her to understand his intentions. The urge to flee straight-out was strong, but he knew there was the slightest chance the idiot on the other side of the room wouldn’t discover them.

Slim, but a chance.

Besides, he’d gamble on stunning the grunt with the element of surprise, leaving him to only have to deal with the one in the closet. And if there was a third, as he’d originally calculated?

Finn mentally shook his head. Deal with it if it comes, boyo.

Wasn’t that what his old man had always said?

While not quite comforting in his current predicament, the old man had always been a wise bugger. He’d do best to take the advice and sit still, maintaining an even breath and a steady focus.

He squeezed the girl’s—could she really be more than sixteen or seventeen?—hand once, then dropped it to brace for discovery.

And had to wait the length of time it took the moron taking orders to cross the room and poke the curtain.

“Run!” Finn hollered the order as he threw a punch about where he estimated a head should be. The heavy grunt from the other side let him know he’d come relatively close as the girl streaked away from their hiding place.

Finn used the brief moment of confusion to reach down and throw the curtain over his opponent’s head, pushing forward at the same time as if in a rugby scrum. He caught the slender black form run across the room from the corner of his eye, satisfied she’d at least cleared the immediate threat.

Although her movement had turned his attention for barely a second, it had given his assailant enough time to struggle to a standing position. Finn saw the hard glint in the seasoned professional’s eye and opted for an old trick he’d learned on the playground.

He kicked first, telegraphing the motion with his eyes, and used the man’s off-kilter frame as he dodged the foot to slam another punch into his face. The heavy thud of bone on bone rang up his arm but Finn ignored it as he took off after the girl.

“Teddy! She’s headed your way. Get her!” The shout rang out from the closet as the first thug clamored out. Finn knew “Teddy” must be the third thief. A renewed sense of urgency gripped him to make sure the girl was all right, even as the thought he didn’t know her—and really shouldn’t be investing this much time in protecting her—flashed through his mind.

Then an image of her wide blue eyes, strangely guileless for the fact she had just been removing a piece of jewelry worth well over a million pounds, intruded on his waffling thoughts.

Could she really be that innocent?

Of course, if she was the age he’d assessed, the answer was quite possibly a yes. He’d only been in the game a few years himself, but he’d lost his own innocence a hell of a long time ago.

Which made it that much more puzzling she’d be so immediately appealing.

Finn kept moving, the heavy bracelet he’d shoved in his fake pocket—inside an interior pouch he kept wrapped around his leg—took a bit of getting used to as he straggled his way across the room. The cuff of the bracelet was awkward against his flesh and he fought to adjust the wrap around his thigh.

As he hit the back servants’ stairwell, Finn knew the few moments of hesitation to adjust the bracelet were going to cost him. A thick hand reached out and snagged his shirt, the tug enough to slow him down. Finn stopped hard and pushed toward the hallway wall, knocking the man off-balance. It was only when he felt the hard edge of a gun that Finn knew he was in real trouble.

The thick, heavy beats of his heart kept his focus sharp and he turned hard on his captor, using his body for momentum. He grabbed the weapon with one hand while executing a swift uppercut with the other. The thug gave as good as he got, his skills no doubt honed on the streets the same as Finn’s, but the movements did dislodge the gun, and the heavy piece banged against the wall and fell.

Satisfied he’d removed at least half his problem, Finn used the wall to his advantage, slamming the man into it. A painting mere inches from the guy’s head quivered with the impact, but Finn barely saw it as hands flashed up to slam him in the chin.

A scream echoed from the bottom of the stairs, effectively breaking through the ringing in his ears.

The girl.

Indecision ripped through him as he continued to struggle with the man in the hallway. The gun was a very real threat and leaving his opponent in favor of traipsing after the girl was only going to give the thug time to get the weapon—and the upper hand.

As another scream tore through the air, Finn made his decision.

With one final slam to his opponent and a brief prayer the hard wall would stun him enough to slow him down, Finn dropped his hold and raced down the stairs.

* * *

Rowan screamed as hands came over her shoulders, dragging her backward. She kicked and scrambled, desperate to get out of the hold as her racing heartbeat threatened to swamp her. Her breath was already coming in heavy pants, the urgent need to get to safety drumming through her system.

“Where you think you’re going?” The man’s breath was warm and clammy in her ear before he turned his head and hollered up the stairs, “Got her!”

Who were these guys? And what had Bethany’s father gotten himself into?

“Think you’re going to take what’s ours, did you?”

“It’s not yours.” She struggled against the tight hold, suddenly conscious of how different this man’s grip was from the man in black.

Where he’d pinned her in place to explain what was happening, this thug was all about the lascivious press of his body against hers.

And then the disgusting press of his body was gone as if it had never been as the man was literally dragged off her.

“Keep running!”

Rowan turned at the voice, a mix of relief and sudden ease swamping her.

The man in black was still fighting for her.

It was that very thought that had her defying his orders. “I can’t leave you!”

“Get out of here.” The words came out as a barely concealed grunt as he struggled with her former captor. Eyes roaming over the hallway, she caught sight of a small corner of the kitchen through an open doorway. A heavy frying pan sat on the edge of the counter.

Rowan moved at once, the pan in hand as she raced back to the hall. The two men continued to fight, each locked in a death grip, and she braced her feet, waiting until the movements of the two bodies would put the dangerous thug in the line of her swing.

Be bold, Rowan Steele.

The words flashed through her mind. They were her father’s admonishment before she ever did anything she didn’t want to do or was afraid of. First days of school. A big footy tournament. A big test.

The words—forgotten these past years in her grief—were suddenly a very real reminder of the strength inside of her.

Arms rigid, she swung the pan as hard as she could. A zing of satisfaction matched the ringing in her arms when the thug went limp midfight. The man in black took advantage immediately, pressing on her shoulder to get her moving.

At the heavy thud of footsteps on the stairs, they both turned.

The other thug—the one from the closet—shot off another round from the bottom of the stairs. The bullet went wild, but he never had a chance to get off a second shot when the frying pan was snatched from her hand, then went flying, end over end toward the man’s head.

The pan hit hard, knocking the man off his feet as another shot went wild.

“Wow.”

The man in black stared at her for the briefest moment before he shrugged and grabbed her free hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

She followed him out the same back door she’d used to enter the house. “Wait!”

The impatience was evident in those broad shoulders and the quick rocking from foot to foot, but he stopped for her. “What is it?”

“Give me a minute.” Rowan reached for the small, slim plastic bag she kept in her back pocket.

“We don’t have time for this.”

“Just wait.”

She flipped the small bag inside out as she waved him through the door with her other hand. “Go in front of me.”

“What is that?”

“Petroleum jelly.”

His low whistle echoed in her ear at the same time their felled thug let out a large roar. “Time to go, Peach.”

Rowan gave the knob one more swirl from the bag before slamming the door behind her and fled down the back steps. “Come on down here. Through the old mews.”

He reached for her hand to drag her out the back garden toward the main road. “They’ll follow us that way.”

“Not when we go up.”

“Up where?”

“The vines. All the houses back here have thick ivy. We climb it.”

“Absolutely not.”

If the situation weren’t so dire, Rowan might have laughed at his clear affront. “You’ve got a better idea?”

“We keep on and make a run for it through the alley. Same way I came in.”

“They’re going to follow us that way.”

A shout behind them confirmed the truth of that and the man shrugged. “You sure about this?”

“Positive. There’s a tree a few doors down for the descent. It’ll be more secure than the alley.”

Another bellow echoed from the direction of the kitchen, and Rowan knew the thug had found his progress stymied with the doorknob. A quick smile flashed in the man in black’s eyes as he laced his fingers and put his hand out to give her a boost up the ivy. “Real nice trick back there, Peach.”

“Thanks.” Rowan put her foot in his hands, but stopped, the question she’d wanted to ask back behind the curtain flaring up once more. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Because you’re lush and ripe, like a fresh peach.”

The cavalier words—delivered with a wicked smile that was visible even through the mouth of the mask—caught her up as a flood of warmth rushed through her.

She knew it was reckless.

Pointless, really, and terribly dangerous, but like the bracelet she couldn’t resist, she could no more stop the impulse than she could stop her heart from beating. With the quick fingers she was known for, she had his mask halfway off his face and her lips against his in the span of a breath.

Whatever surprise he might have had at her move was quickly tamped down by the hard press of his lips and the quick heat of his tongue as it swept through her parted lips.

A streak of heat flooded her belly before racing to the end of her limbs, and Rowan had the very real sensation of feeling her knees go weak.

He lifted his head, his lips bright with wetness in the moonlight, but it was his eyes that truly captured her. The gaze that had teased mere moments before glinted with something else. Something elemental. Something that called to her and made all those empty places inside—the ones that clamored so loudly in their silence—still.

And for the first time in four years, Rowan Steele felt an emotion that was stronger than the emptiness.

Voice gentle, he nodded toward his still-laced fingers. “Come on, darling. Up you go.”

Rowan placed a booted foot in his hands, their eyes meeting once more. In the moonlight she saw what had only been an impression earlier when she’d thought him as gangly as her brother.

Likely because he was.

He was barely a man, no more than nineteen or twenty if she estimated correctly. The half of his face she could see—over his hard jaw and past the thin scruff of beard—held a softness. Even more than that, she had the distinct sensation that he wasn’t quite done filling out the body that would ultimately be his.

With a hard push and the determination to find out who he was when they reached safety, she launched off his laced fingers, grabbing the ivy. She worked her way up the side of the house, hand over hand. He did the same on several strands next to her, his grunts the only sounds breaking the silence.

She cleared the second floor and turned to see him still struggling on the first. “Hand over hand and use your feet on the wall.”

“Bloody vines are breaking under my weight.”

“Grab a thicker handful.”

“I’m try—”

The protest bubbling in his words never fully formed as the thug they’d left in the kitchen came into view beneath them. Rowan screamed as the pistol lifted, even as her body moved on, desperate with the urge to flee the threat.

They were so close.

And then they weren’t.

The boy who climbed next to her shook with the impact of a bullet. His fingers loosened against the ivy.

His body slid down the wall, his gloved hands barely hanging on to the vines, before collapsing in a heavy slump on the ground.

Tears burned her eyes but she climbed on, torn between going back to him and the all-consuming need to get away.

To leave the nightmare behind.

The last image she saw before she ran over the London rooftops was that slumped figure—clad in black—lifeless on the ground.

Chapter 2

Today—New York City

Rowan Steele fired round after round at the Lower West Side gun range that had been her main practice site for the past decade. The fear of guns she’d long carried had never faded, but Rowan refused to be ruled by it.

And she took some solace when the multitude of holes in the center of the paper target’s chest indicated she’d mastered a technical proficiency, if not an emotional one.

The distinct feeling of being watched washed over her and she laid the gun down on the platform in front of her before turning around.

Straight into the eyes of her brother Campbell.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, his long frame on the lanky, slender side of muscular. “Same thing you are. Staying sharp.”

“You haven’t been back from Paris all that long. I’d have thought picking up a gun was the last thing you’d want to do for a few more weeks.”

The hollow laugh was as empty as his eyes. “Why the hell do you think I’m here?”

Rowan nodded, well aware the events he and his fiancée, Abby, had faced the previous month were still far too fresh for both of them. The half brother Abby didn’t know she’d had was gone, but his attempts at terrorizing her were going to take time to fade. Add on the fact that the man had died at Campbell’s hands and she knew he and his new love were both working hard to get past the pain and look forward to their future.

She was just so damned happy they’d found each other and had a future to get on with.

“Abby going to take lessons?” She kept the question casual as she pulled a fresh magazine from her pocket.

“She’s not interested. And I’m only here to keep Kensington off my back.” Campbell grimaced before adopting a high tone meant to mimic their sister. “All those who work for the House of Steele are trained with the highest degree of security and protection skills.”

“So we are.”

“I’m surprised to see you, actually. I thought you were headed to evaluate that Egyptian collection coming into the new museum in Seattle.”

“Kenzi’s got a different assignment she wants me to take on.”

Campbell’s eyebrows lifted over a speculative blue gaze. “I thought Seattle was a pretty lucrative gig.”

“Apparently whoever she’s got dangling is willing to triple the usual fees.”

“Which is code for run far, run fast.” Campbell’s mouth slid into a frown. “Kenzi knows better than that. You look at the file?”

“Not yet.”

“Whatever it is, there’s no way it’s worth it.”

Rowan didn’t completely agree with Campbell—they took on the hard jobs others weren’t capable of—but she wasn’t going to argue the point. Her brother had a right to be a bit raw after recent events. She heard the protective instincts that threaded through his words.

Campbell would bounce back, and in the meantime, she’d keep her own council on the new opportunity. The House of Steele stood out as a resource because they did take on the hard jobs. And they had very few peers because no one had their combination of connections, skills and bankroll to get it done.

It still didn’t mean triple their already-exorbitant fee didn’t ring a few bells.

“You get what you pay for.”

“You always do.” Campbell moved into the stall next to hers and removed his gun from a protective case. “Just remember you get what you take, too. You don’t have to take this job.”

“I know.”

Although Kensington managed the majority of the jobs they took on, no one had to work on anything. Her sister did know how to force the issue—and had done so on more than one occasion—but at the end of the day they all had an equal vote.

Pushing aside the imagined contents of what awaited her when she finally got around to her email, Rowan resumed her stance and spent the next twenty minutes in companionable silence with Campbell.

She loved all her siblings and knew she was fortunate for the relationship she had with each of them, but what she had with Campbell was special.

Kensington took her position as oldest female sibling seriously, pushing the matriarch role even when it wasn’t necessary. And Liam used his status as oldest sibling and oldest brother to get away with whatever he chose whenever he chose.

But Campbell.

They understood each other.

Each was the youngest of their sex and both had made some dodgy choices in their youth. Although neither spoke of those times, she knew between the two of them they’d contributed to the majority of their grandfather’s gray hairs.

Maybe it was the companionable silence or a weird melancholy she hadn’t been able to shake since learning of Campbell’s near miss in Paris, but as they wrapped up their things, she wasn’t ready to end the evening. “You up for a cup of coffee or a drink?”

“I’d love to.”

The breath she’d been holding came out on a rush. “Great.”

“We’re not far from Meatpacking. How about that new bar that opened. Johansen’s?”

“Sure.”

The high-tech glass-and-chrome interior of the bar welcomed them a half hour later after a brisk walk in the late October air and Rowan settled into her back-lit booth seat.

Campbell waited a beat until their waitress was out of earshot before leaning forward. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure about that?”

“Can’t I have a drink with my brother?”

“Of course you can. Doesn’t change the fact I want to know what put the shadows under your eyes.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just been a busy few weeks, that’s all.”

“No, that’s not all and it’s not nothing. Why aren’t you sleeping? Is it the dreams?”

She briefly toyed with brazening her way through a bluff, but the blue eyes that bore into hers saw too much and knew too much for it to be worth the effort.

“Yes, I’ve been having the dreams again. They started up after you got home. After we understood what really happened in Paris.”

“I’m fine, Ro.” Campbell reached across the table and gripped her hand. “Abby and I are both fine. And it’s behind us.”

“You killed her brother, Campbell.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t just go away, so don’t act like you’re all fine with it.”

“I know it’s not that easy. And I am working on it. We both are.” He looked up from their joined hands. “So why the hell are you the one having bad dreams?”

The urge to tell him about that long-ago night rose up, clamping her throat in a tight grip. With stoic determination, she pushed down on the urge. For nearly half her life, she’d kept the secrets of what she used to do.

The stealing. The deliberate and purposeful removal of prized possessions from others. Even the emotional void that she’d lived with for so long and which she still sunk into from time to time if she wasn’t vigilant.

But underneath it all were the images of that horrible night.

The twisted body as it lay along the base of the house, unmoving. The gunshots directed at her that she’d barely missed. The lingering hunt through newspapers, police files, internet searches—whatever she could get her hands on—to find out if someone had been murdered outside the Warringtons’ Knightsbridge home that spring night in London.

Rowan had always carried the slim hope that the boy who was barely a man had escaped with his life. She and Bethany had stayed friends, and the ensuing excitement and rampant sympathy at school for the traumatized house she and her family came home to had sparked endless rounds of discussion and speculation. On several occasions, Rowan probed if they’d found anyone, or any blood, or if anyone had gotten away.

The answer was always no.

Despite the hope she carried that he was all right, Rowan simply couldn’t erase the images of that last night. And even now, she could feel his lips on hers if she closed her eyes.

Could remember the distinguished lilt of his voice when he spoke, his lips pressed to her ear.

Could feel the moment her heart had begun beating once more with a passion for life that had lay dormant since the death of her parents.

“Have you considered a vacation?”

Rowan zoned back into Campbell’s words as their waitress laid down their drinks. “I’m taking part in that dig in the Valley of the Queens next spring.”

“That’s work, Ro. Not vacation.”

She smiled at the endearment as she picked up her wine. “I love what I do, which makes it a vacation every day. Besides, who wouldn’t want to get their hands on the new cache that was found this past spring?”

Campbell shook his head but his smile stayed broad. “What is wrong with us? I’m dragging Abby to a conference next month on the latest upgrades in internet security. Want to know the worst part?”

“What?”

“Abby’s actually excited about it.”

Rowan couldn’t hold back the smile—or resist pointing out the obvious. “She is one of the world’s leading experts in communications technology and she runs a multinational company. Does this really surprise you?”

The quick smile that was his trademark flashed. “No. And when you consider I find it oddly sexy, well, there you have it. We do what we love.”

“That we do.” She was so pleased to see that smile. Relieved, really. If he could smile that way, it meant he was on his way back to normal. “And for the record, we all think she’s your match in every way. It’s so obvious it’s almost scary. I just can’t believe Kensington never thought to introduce you two before.”

“We weren’t meant to meet before.”

The words were oddly prophetic and Rowan chewed on them long after he’d walked her back to her Chelsea apartment, then went on to his own home.

Was there a time and a place? A moment when two people were supposed to meet or were meant to click? She’d always been a bit middling on the whole fate-takes-a-hand thing, but Rowan also knew there were simply things in life you couldn’t explain.

Moments of extreme awareness that could save your ass, like dodging a bullet without even realizing it was coming.

Or acting on impulse and kissing someone you had no business touching.

She’d also visited enough parts of the world to know that superstition and the belief that some broader, guiding hand was in control had many a follower.

Despite all that—or maybe in spite of it, Rowan mused—she had never been able to fully abandon the notion that you also made your own life and made your own luck. Sitting around waiting for something to come to you was about as valuable as waiting to win the lottery.

Action trumped all.

Which was why her curiosity about the new job Kensington had on the line had her padding into her home office after changing into a pair of oversize, comfy sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The heat kicked on as she walked into the old maid’s room that she used as an office, and Rowan smiled at the sound. The crisp October air had grown colder in the past weeks and she was already thinking about the coming holidays.

She navigated through the secure log-in to the House of Steele database and pulled up the files Kensington had sent earlier. And forgot every single worry or care in her mind as she read the details her sister had layered over several pieces of source material.

The three-time payday was a lovely gesture, but as Rowan reread each piece of information on Finn Gallagher and his company, Gallagher International, she knew deep in her heart she’d have done the job for free.

* * *

Finn rechecked his email as he lingered over a bourbon, irritated there had been no further correspondence from Kensington Steele. He’d requested services from her firm three days ago.

What was she waiting on?

Even as the question floated through his mind, Finn knew the answer. She was vetting him as thoroughly as possible, just as he would have done with any business partner he was considering working with.

The fact he already kept close tabs on the entire Steele family, watching them from afar, was a different matter entirely.

The sounds of the bar—a favorite of the London art crowd—swirled around him in dulcet tones as he allowed himself a few brief moments to think about Rowan Steele and her family. He was fascinated by what the Steele siblings had built. Although their firm wasn’t highly publicized—there was no website or social-media feeds for them—those in the know knew exactly how to find them.

The House of Steele was a discreet resource, and from what he’d heard, observed or pulled through casual gossip, the Steeles always got what they came for.

It was a track record he couldn’t help but admire.

“Gallagher.” Finn stowed his phone in his interior coat pocket and glanced up at the greeting before standing to extend a hand.

“Good to see you, John. Join me for a drink.”

John Bauer—a well-placed administrator at one of the world’s top auction houses—took the seat opposite. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Finn ordered a bottle of wine he knew John set stock by and settled in for a lively discussion. As evenings went, it wasn’t what he’d planned, but if he were honest with himself, he had no idea what he’d planned. The restless feeling that had gripped him the previous week when the job came in had sharp claws and he hadn’t been able to settle.

The conversation with John would give him some much-needed company while also ensuring he’d go home rich with information he didn’t have when he began his evening.

With a congenial smile, Finn opened with a quick stroke to John’s ego. “Heard you’re the favorite for the maharaja jewels.”

“We certainly hope so. The Brunei government has been rather cryptic on who they will choose, but I think it will be us.” Finn saw the cat-in-the-cream smile and knew the deal was far nearer to closed than the words suggested, but gave the man his illusions.

He’d get far more out of him if John thought he wasn’t as quick on the uptake.

“I wish you the very best on it.”

The conversation swirled with the wine, and Finn settled in for a discussion that would follow tangents and fragments of tangents until they finally swung back around to where he wanted.

“Speaking of inside lines, heard you’ve got your eye pretty firmly focused on the antiquities market.”

“It’s a sound strategy.” Finn kept his words casual as he poured out the rest of the bottle between them. “I’ve always had a personal interest in Egypt, so it’s rather easy to meld the two with my business goals.”

“Big news that cache found last spring in the Valley of the Queens.”

“It’s extraordinary. And tied up in red tape, squabbling and a whole host of attitude from the academic community. My firm is helping to mediate as well as authenticate the find.”

“You don’t say.”

Finn nodded. “Handling this one personally myself.”

“You know—” John broke off, speculation rampant in his gaze. “Rumor has it you’re an Indiana Jones type. Scouring the world for lost treasures. Keeping the less savory blokes from looting the ruins and all that good fun. Gallagher International’s just a front for all that.”

Finn kept his smile broad and his tone wry. He knew as well as anyone technology and modern communications had made it virtually impossible to remain fully incognito. But he was surprised by the depth of John’s gossip-fueled knowledge.

“Do I look like I like khaki pants and fedoras?” Finn extended his sleeves for good measure, pleased when his cuff links winked in the light of the bar. “And I’m not sure I’ve ever touched a bullwhip.”

John’s smile—and the wine that fueled the haze behind his gaze—was broad. “And this is clearly how gossip gets started. You’re a young guy. People know you’ve got a sense of adventure. The rest steamrolls from there.”

“I’m a businessman with diverse interests. But I have to say I’m sort of pleased to know I have a reputation.”

John had the wherewithal to decline another bottle, and it was only as Finn was headed home, the thick fall air clearing his head from the wine, that he congratulated himself on the approach he’d taken with the House of Steele.

If John’s comments were any indication, people in the know had begun to speculate on his motives. He ran Gallagher International with an impeccable track record, and his skills authenticating for the major auction houses were known to be among the best. State-of-the-art and thorough authentication of artifacts, the ability to secure permits and licenses to excavate, and the mediation services he’d indicated earlier.

All had proven far more lucrative than the choices of his early, misguided days.

And all had provided an outstanding cover for his older, somewhat wiser, still-misguided choices.

The only question left to his mind was whether or not Rowan Steele was going to go along for the ride.

* * *

Rowan sat in the conference room they kept at headquarters and pored over the map of Egypt she’d had since her college days. The map was well used—full of pencil markings, notations and a fair number of rips and tears—but she loved it and the history of her life that was tied to every one of those external markers.

She’d instructed Kensington to take the meeting with Finn Gallagher and knew she needed to be on her game. The man had rearranged his entire schedule to get to New York overnight for their face-to-face, only reinforcing the job was one of his highest priorities. As if the payment he’d offered didn’t already offer a sizable clue.

Although she hadn’t slept much this week, the time with Campbell the other night had eliminated the nightmares, and when she did sleep, her mind was blessedly free. For the first time in more days than she could count, Rowan felt somewhat back to her old self.

Kensington bustled into the room on sky-high, pencil-thin heels, her normally serene expression haggard. “That’s what you’re wearing to this meeting?”

“I’m fine.” Rowan glanced down at the peasant blouse she’d donned with a pair of jeans. “What’s your damage today?”

“Finn Gallagher is offering us a rather lucrative gig, Rowan. You can’t take it a notch above bohemian chic?”

“I think your sister looks rather beautiful, Ms. Steele.”

They both turned, and Rowan would have bet her face was a match for Kensington’s dropped mouth as they both took in the large man that stood in the doorway.

“As do you in your corporate chic. I hope you’ll forgive my coming straight up. Your assistant let me in.” He stepped into the room and crossed to them, his arm outstretched. “Kensington?”

Rowan gave her sister the edge in quick recoveries and saw the polished veneer that returned once more to her porcelain skin. “Mr. Gallagher. Glad you could join us.”

“Finn, please.”

The man turned toward her, and Rowan felt the first blast from his intense gaze. Rich hazel eyes winked at her, slight crinkles edging the corners, and she felt herself immediately sucked in.

Especially when another pair of hazel eyes rose up in her mind to swamp her with the memory of a moonlit night full of danger and death.

Pull it together, girl.

The admonishment did little to remove the memory, but it was enough to have her gathering her manners and extending her hand. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

The cultured tones of his native Britain met her ears, and another remembrance struck hard and fast. This man’s voice was deeper than the one that haunted her memories, but still effective at turning her insides liquid.

Kensington gestured him toward a seat, and Rowan took a moment to gather herself while his attention was diverted. She’d been in the presence of men with British accents before. She’d also been in the presence of men with hazel eyes.

So where was this sudden flash of memory coming from?

And why was it so strong and nearly debilitating in its intensity?

Sure, the dreams had been particularly bad of late and she hadn’t been sleeping well, but even insomnia wasn’t an excuse for such a reaction. Maybe it was the prospect of spending time in his all-too-attractive company if they agreed to the assignment.

Or so Rowan hoped.

They all helped themselves to coffee and a small fruit-and-breakfast-pastry tray before resuming spots at the table. Rowan hung back, lingering over the preparation for her coffee, intrigued by the seat Finn selected.

In her experience, powerful men always gravitated to the head of the table, so it was fascinating when he selected a seat in the middle. It was even more fascinating to watch as he removed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, the thick muscles of his forearms capturing her gaze.

“Finn, I appreciate your taking the time to meet with us.” Kensington started in, her “client tone” firmly in place. “Your request is an interesting one and frankly not something a lot of firms have the expertise to pull off.”

“Which is why I made the outreach to you in the first place.”

“And which we appreciate.” Kensington volleyed right back. “It doesn’t change the fact you’re requesting services from us that are, at best, unorthodox and, at worst, highly dangerous.”

“The danger should be minimal, especially for someone of your sister’s expertise.”

For the first time since the discussion began, Finn’s gaze settled fully on her. Rowan felt the shift in attention immediately, a heavy rush of heat filling her center at his scrutiny.

“You seem awfully sure about that, Mr. Gallagher.”

“Finn.” He corrected her with a smile. “Please.”

“Whatever I call you, it doesn’t change the fact you want me to accompany you into a highly charged political situation. Those assigned to excavate the site have a variety of interests. What makes you so sure they’re all willing to play well with others?”

“I make it my business to know the odds. To understand where there’s real danger and where there’s simply a lot of smoke.”

“And I make it my business to pick the proper partner when politics are involved,” Rowan parried.

“I am the right partner.”

“I’ve already been approached on this project by the British Museum. I’m scheduled to spend time on the excavation site in the spring.”

“Partner with me and you can get there next week. All your clearances will be taken care of. Immediate access, Ms. Steele.”

Rowan smiled, the formality an interesting touch, especially since they’d already dispensed with surnames at his directive. “I’ve spent my career building my reputation with the Egyptian authorities, the world’s major auction houses and the academicians who want to ensure history is preserved.”

“As have I.”

“Yet you want me to pose as your business partner, aid you in authenticating the cache and potentially aid in the removal of said cache if the situation becomes untenable.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head, the movement enough to flutter the light material of her blouse where it gaped at her throat. “You don’t need me for that. Your reputation is sound and you’ve already got the job. Why bring in an outsider?”

Finn knew she had a point, but damn it, he needed her on this. “I want an expert. An outside expert who can see things that I can’t.”

“The intel that’s come back already suggests it’s a straight excavation job on a site that’s already been studied for a century. It’s about to play host to several teams of experts. Why bring in one more?”

While he’d expected her skepticism, he didn’t expect the overt push back. He’d been involved in the project for the past two months, and no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t hold back the sense that he needed another resource with him. The parties in play—the British Museum, the British and Egyptian governments, and several interested auction houses—all had ulterior motives in mind.

But were any of them truly worried about the preservation of the priceless artifacts the experts were pulling from the tomb?

“The site’s always been considered the most dynamic of all the tombs in the Valley. A discovery anywhere is big news, but a discovery like this has drawn the interest of any number of unsavory interests.”

“The British Museum is hardly going to let an unsavory character—” the slightest edge of humor tinged her words “—walk out of there.”

“They will if they don’t know who to keep an eye on.”

Her eyes widened and any hint of teasing had vanished. “You think an insider is going to try to take the pieces?”

“I need to be prepared for that eventuality. I can’t authenticate anything if it’s removed before I take possession of it. And I won’t take a risk that someone switches in a fake.”

“So why do you need me?”

“You know the items. You know Egyptian artifacts. You know the players. I need a right hand to help me remove anything that might be at risk.”

“Then perhaps you’re unfamiliar with my work and my reputation. I’m no thief, Finn.”

Chapter 3

On the contrary.

The words popped to mind immediately—along with the memory of Rowan Steele clad head to toe in black—but Finn kept them to himself as he took in the twin looks of concern staring at him across the old cherrywood conference table.

Perhaps he’d miscalculated.

He’d originally thought his summons to the Upper East Side brownstone that acted as headquarters for the House of Steele was about sizing him up for the job and deciding if they wanted in.

What he saw brewing was something else entirely.

The question wasn’t if they wanted in on the job. They were simply calculating the odds of whether or not they wanted to hitch their wagon to his.

“I wasn’t implying anything of the sort, Rowan.”

“Yet that’s exactly what you’ve asked of me and are willing to pay our already significant fees several times over should I agree to accompany you.”

“If I determine the cache that’s been discovered is at risk, I’ll do what I need to do to protect it.”

“Even if taking it means you’ll be in violation of the UNESCO Convention?

“Yes.” The vivid blue of her gaze never wavered from his, and he had to admire her gumption. “I have no intention of keeping any of the contents should it come to removal. But I will not see them looted by thieves in the middle of the desert.”

“What makes you qualified to make that decision?”

“I’ll know it should the situation arise.”

Rowan shook her head, but he didn’t miss the faint smile that ghosted her lips. Heat arced between them as he smiled back and enjoyed the slight widening of her lips before she morphed back into skeptical adversary on the other side of the conference room table.

She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. Although he’d kept tabs on her since that night in London, he had forcefully tamped down on allowing that interest to be anything more than that of a smart businessman who possessed full knowledge of his competition.

Whenever he’d thought of that night—those youthful moments that defined his path for adulthood—he thought of Rowan Steele.

Her presence at the town house had been as shocking as it was unexpected. But it was the young woman who had revealed herself to him that night who had intrigued him, while also ensuring he’d never forgotten her.

He’d sensed pain. A deep-rooted recklessness that drove her actions and which she wasn’t quite able to control.

It was that recklessness—and the corresponding sensation of looking into a mirror where his own actions and choices reflected back at him—that had dogged him throughout his recovery from the gunshot wound he’d sustained that night. Rowan had forced him to acknowledge he was on a path that wasn’t going to ensure a very long life span.

She’d also ensured he had quite a mystery to solve once he’d healed from his injuries. Although he’d begun focusing on his future, he’d made it his business to figure out how a highly skilled young girl had come to be on the Warringtons’ roof.

“Tell me more about the excavation. In your own words.”

Rowan’s question pulled him from his thoughts and he focused on the reason he’d sought her out. “A small tomb was discovered next to Nefertari’s burial site. The cache of objects is believed to depict the great love between Ramesses II and his wife, Nefertari. Several of the jewels already discovered are believed to be her wedding set.”

“Why do you believe it’s been overlooked? Nefertari’s tomb is the best known in the Valley of the Queens. Scholars have been over and around every inch of it.”

He’d turned the problem over and over in his mind and hadn’t yet come to any firm conclusions, but was anxious to discuss them with her. “At the risk of seeming uneducated, I’d consider it a sign of technological advancement combined with a stroke of pure dumb luck.”

Rowan’s smile was back. “I’m not quite sure the team from the British Museum who made the discovery while rephotographing the tomb would appreciate that characterization.”

“You know the team?”

“Well enough. Baxter Monroe has always been a supporter of my work.”

Finn suspected Baxter Monroe was also a supporter of Rowan Steele’s rather delectable ass, but kept his thoughts to himself. “We’ll agree to disagree.”

Kensington took that moment to step in. “Finn, while I have every confidence in my sister, you can’t ignore there’s possible risk.”

“Which my firm is prepared to minimize. In addition to Rowan’s sterling reputation, I have legitimate reason to be on-site because Gallagher International has been selected to authenticate the dig by the Coalition of Antiquities.”

Clearly unconvinced, Kensington pressed again. “So why isn’t your firm fully handling the site?”

“I am personally handling the site, not my staff. I need an expert on this and someone who knows the players in the region. Rowan has that. Her recent history of successfully retrieving various antiquities thefts is impressive. I think her presence will offer a degree of deterrence to those who’d like to see the cache distributed to the highest private bidder.”

“Why don’t you cut to the chase?” Rowan interrupted whatever it was Kensington was about to say next. “You want me to spy on-site and schmooze with my contacts. None of which will do us any good if everything goes sideways.”

Finn felt the deal slipping away, the hard glint in her eyes telegraphing what would no doubt be a refusal, and he puzzled at the strange sense of disappointment sweeping through his bloodstream. He knew from the start this was a difficult request. Knew the tensions between the various political factions involved in the tomb discovery were a hard sell.

So why did the rejection feel personal?

“The deal’s not going to go sideways. But if you want reassurance, why don’t you pay a visit to the Gallagher International offices? I’ll take you through all our research to date. The original reports from the team at the British Museum overlaid with topography of the region, our intel on all of the major crime rings currently involved in antiquities theft and full background on each of the players currently involved in the site.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then you’ll miss out on the opportunity to be on-site for the full excavation inside the tomb, the opportunity to authenticate the jewelry and private items already discovered in the cache along with anything else we find. Oh, and unfettered access to Nefertari’s tomb, which, as you know, isn’t granted to just anyone, nor is it granted all that often.”

A merry little twinkle lit up her eyes, the only real expression of her agreement. “I’m in.”

* * *

Rowan took a small measure of satisfaction at the matched looks of shock on both Finn’s and Kensington’s faces. While she knew the surprise was for vastly different reasons, she was pleased to have knocked both off guard.

Sure, the dangers at the site were real, but so were the dangers on any job she took on. She would go through her normal meticulous preparation in advance, and then it would be up to the situation to fall where it may.

But there was no way in hell she was missing out on that tomb.

“Then it’s settled. Can you be in London in two days?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you then. In the meantime, I’ll forward some additional documentation for you to review.”

Kensington maintained her usual small talk, then ushered Finn Gallagher from the conference room, their voices fading down the hall. Rowan heard the vague mention of contracts and an early transfer of funds to pay for her travel but tuned the majority of it out.

She was headed back to Egypt.

And she was headed there with a man who put her back up all the while intriguing her.

Finn Gallagher was a puzzle. The same early behavior that impressed her with his seat selection—a clear indication he held both her and Kensington in equal regard—had continued throughout the meeting. He made his points without apology, yet she got the distinct impression he fully understood what he was asking.

And he scored major points for his very real skepticism of Baxter Monroe.

She’d always hated the museum’s head of Egyptian artifacts and thought the man operated with a pomposity that bordered on ignorance. She also knew for a fact the man had spent little time on the dig site despite his lavish claims to the contrary. The discovery was the result of his poor behavior in the tomb on a random visit that had oddly paid dividends, but rather than acknowledge his team, he was now blithely taking credit for the work of his staff.

Oh yeah, she wanted in.

And when you added in the petty joy that would come from the chance to get on-site and beat the museum to the catalog of the find as well as its overall authentication, she’d be damned if she stayed out of this project.

“I’m not sure if I think you’re terrifyingly brilliant or brilliantly terrifying.” Kensington walked back into the room and crossed toward the credenza on the far wall for more coffee.

“Can’t I be both?”

“I thought you were going to brush him off like lint.”

“Aside from the fact that I don’t think Finn Gallagher brushes easily, there’s no way I’m passing this up.”

“Ro.” Kensington took her seat once more, a sudden seriousness painting her features as her blue gaze turned solemn. “You need to be careful.”

“I will be.”

“Really careful. There are a lot of players in this one with a lot invested in the outcome.”

“I’m invested, too. This is a major discovery.”

“That’s my point.”

Rowan fought to keep the frustration from her voice, opting for what she hoped was a more persuasive tone. “This is the perfect blend of my professional expertise and the types of assignments we take on here. I’d be a fool to pass it up.”

“Please just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“No, you’re not.” That serious expression was back, and much as she wanted to argue with Kenzi, on some level Rowan refused to lie.

She did take risks and she always had.

While she had given up stealing after that night in the Warrington house, she’d never given up the thrill of the hunt. And archaeology had given her an outlet for that.

Great finds.

The potential for danger.

And the deep understanding of how the mind of a thief worked had come in handy on more than one occasion.

Because she knew how to case a place—how to find its weak points and devise a plan to get in and out—she knew how to find the thieves that regularly attacked locations of value.

“I’d say it’s a family trait we all have in spades.”

* * *

Jared Wright reviewed the report from the Valley of the Queens and marveled at the sheer stupidity of his contact at the Cairo Museum. He’d ensured a local was on the job within days of the discovery of a cache of royal jewels, yet it didn’t seem to be helping. The team from the British Museum had the inside track and had managed to get the site locked up tight as a drum.

He needed a way in.

His phone beeped and he glanced down at the screen. The words New Player flashed before the screen faded to black. He did a quick screen swipe and typed in his ten-digit password—you could never be too careful—before accessing the message.

J:

Some old friends are headed to Luxor. Seems the duo on the Victoria Project are back in business together. Talk soon.

M

The news had a ready sense of anticipation flooding his veins as he reread the message.

Although he’d kept tabs on the two kids who’d taken the Queen Victoria bracelet years ago, he’d never done more than keep watch. The boy hadn’t been worth his time and when he’d discovered a few weeks after the heist the kid had had the fortitude to live, he’d given him the benefit of the doubt. They’d never found the bracelet when they searched him and he was too small-time to ultimately be worth his time.

The girl, on the other hand...

It had taken some doing to track her down, but when he finally figured out who she was, he backed off all the way. He was building an empire and it would have done him no good to go up against the Steele family. Especially if he’d garnered the scrutiny and attention of the British government should the girl have gone missing. No, Jared had washed his hands of the entire mess.

Oddly enough, the bracelet had never hit the market and he also suspected that night had been the last heist Rowan Steele had ever tried. None of his surveillance had turned up her involvement in anything further, and when she finally went off to college and then spent several years on archaeology sites, he stopped focusing on her.

His network kept tabs and that was all that was needed.

The fact she was working on the Valley of the Queens project wasn’t all that surprising. The archaeology community was strong, and Rowan was well respected.

But what was she doing reteaming with Gallagher?

Jared turned the puzzle over in his mind as he tapped out a response.

FOLLOW THEM.

He already had a buyer lined up for the results of the tomb; chief among the coveted items was a set of bracelets and a necklace made entirely of lapis lazuli, purported to be Nefertari’s wedding set.

And what a strange coincidence it all was.

Jared shook his head, setting the phone back on the desk as he stood to pace. He’d learned long ago there weren’t any coincidences.

So the real question was, who was playing who?

* * *

Rowan stared out the window of the external elevator as she was whisked the twenty stories up for Gallagher International’s main offices. The London skyline spread out before her and she saw the Gherkin in the distance, the large, egg-shaped building that had become a fixture in the city’s skyline a decade before.

The elevator came to a smooth stop and she stepped out onto plush carpeting. She had to give Finn credit, the selection of office space in London’s most recent architectural accomplishment, the Shard, gave a sense of quiet flash and competent business acumen. And she was thrilled to make her first visit to the impressive building.

Her brother Liam had BASE jumped it while it was under construction and she’d been jealous at the time. Now after actually visiting—and considering the size and shape of the building—she decided she’d leave the truly idiotic yearnings for adventure fully to her oldest sibling.

Finn waved at her from a glass-enclosed office. She watched him work his way from the office, down a short hallway before moving into the reception area to greet her. The wide-open space—the windows on the far side of the building were visible through the glass of Finn’s office—was impressive.

And lent a curious air of trust at the truly open design.

She watched him move, the vague sense she’d felt in the conference room a few days before taking better shape in her mind.

He was an attractive man—powerfully so—and an impressive one, too. His shoulders filled out the Savile Row suit to perfection and she could see the slim taper of his waist where the jacket hung open before he closed it with a dapper twist of a button.

His chiseled jaw, thick sandy brown hair and ready smile gave the vague sense of an impish child even as the fine lines of the suit suggested he wasn’t someone to be toyed with. When she also considered the clear signs of intelligence that sparked in his voice with every comment, Rowan could only admit Finn Gallagher was one impressive package.

She’d have to be stupid not to feel some sense of attraction to the man.

And she was very rarely stupid.

That long-ago night on Bethany Warrington’s roof flew through her mind but she ignored it in favor of focusing on the warm hazel eyes that drew her attention first.

“Rowan. Thank you for coming.”

His large hands enveloped hers before he leaned forward into the customary European kiss on both cheeks. The lightest slide of his beard—the day’s growth just beginning to show—met her lips and she couldn’t deny the rush of attraction that slid down her spine at the masculine scent that surrounded her. A touch of cedar over the fresh scent of the outdoors.

Delicious.

Just like the man himself.

She allowed herself the briefest moment to enjoy the contact by making a full turn around the lobby. “Impressive office space. I wasn’t even aware the building was fully occupied yet.”

“We got in early. I knew what I wanted in terms of space and it’s been everything I’ve hoped it would be.”

She didn’t miss the flash of pride that lit his eyes and couldn’t argue with the sentiment. There was something thrilling about seeing the results of your efforts and hard work.

That thrill had been the most unexpected joy after she’d come back to the land of the living. The transformation had taken time—and a lot of work with a therapist to understand her inner urges to steal—but she’d made a commitment to her grandfather and she wasn’t going to change it.

And she was proud to know she’d come out the other side.

“What’s that smile for?”

She glanced around the office once more before smoothly sharing her more casual thoughts from the elevator ride. “I was just thinking of my brother. I’m pretty sure he BASE jumped here.”

“We both did.”

“You jumped off the building?”

“Yep.”

“Together?”

“No. Despite knowing his reputation, I’ve never met your brother.”

“Why would you do something like that?”

He shrugged but she saw that spark of pride flare up once more. “Because it was here.”

“I suppose that’s as good an answer as any.”

They both lingered for a moment, awareness filling the small space between them. Rowan had changed for the visit, her peasant blouse and jeans traded for a plum-colored power suit that would rival anything in Kensington’s closet, and she was suddenly aware of the tight stricture of her skirt as she fought to keep her breath even.

The moment lingered a few seconds longer before the rich tones of his voice broke the silence. “I’m happy to take you on a tour or we can head on down to the labs.”

The focus on business helped and Rowan clung to that like a lifeline. Her anticipation for the office visit had grown over the past few days as she’d read several reports he’d sent in advance. His facilities were state-of-the-art, some of the equipment so new she’d only read about it. “I’m sure the labs will frame up the majority of my questions. Why don’t we start there?”

He extended a hand toward the hallway he’d come through. “Let’s take the stairs. They’re next to the windows, so you can at least get a view of Tower Bridge and the Tower of London before we go down to the lab.”

“Nothing like a midday view of one of the city’s most notorious spots for executions.” She’d meant it as a joke more than anything else—a moment to break the tension that gripped both of them—but his reaction caught her up short.

Those compelling hazel eyes widened momentarily in surprise before narrowing in thought as they strolled toward the bank of windows. “That’s funny. I usually have a completely different reaction when I look at it.”

“You don’t think of beheaded queens and kidnapped princes?”

He stopped and turned toward her as they stepped up to the outer glass window to look out at the city below. “I realize they’re a part of the Tower’s rich and storied history, but I can’t honestly say that’s the first thing that comes to mind.”

“What does come to mind then?”

The distinct notes of passion and the slightest touch of avarice—like a man viewing his lover’s body for the first time—lit up the depths of his eyes, turning them a rich moss-green. “The Crown Jewels, of course.”

Chapter 4

Finn searched for any hint of awareness in Rowan’s vivid blue eyes, but there were none. All he saw reflected back was that same bright curiosity that had captured him from the first.

There was a vibrancy about her, the energy humming under her skin strangely intoxicating. He’d met few people in his life who seemed as if they burned for their next adventure, excitement for life thrumming in their veins. It practically pulsed off Rowan Steele like a live wire sparking in the rain.

“What makes you think of the Crown Jewels first?” Her voice broke his reverie and Finn pulled himself back to their conversation. “Doesn’t the history intrigue you?”

“Absolutely. Political executions, state secrets and kidnapped royalty are fascinating and all deeply important during the point in time in which they happened. But all of them take a backseat to the Crown Jewels.”

“How so?”

How did he explain it?

While he led a life of material wealth, he’d never considered himself ruled by it. He was as comfortable with a backpack and a pair of sturdy boots as he traipsed through the jungle as he was in his expansive London flat, several floors up from the office. He likely smelled better when he stayed home, he thought with a rueful smile, but he enjoyed both equally. “Those jewels represent something far more lasting than the people who wear them.”

“Yes, but political intrigue and the lives of rulers live on in our history books.”

“Of course, but people still come and go, no matter how famous, how royal or politically savvy. They’re footnotes in history books, memories written down and told. But those jewels remain forever.”

“Is that why you love antiquities? The link to the past?”

“And to the future.” Finn gestured toward the door to the lab. “Come on, I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

He leaned forward into the retinal scanner that sat next to the lab door, then pressed his palm to a small pad. The lock snicked softly, the red light sitting above it flashing to green. “After you.”

“Impressive security.”

“Necessary security.”

“No doubt.” She walked ahead of him and he couldn’t keep his gaze from skimming over her thin frame. The suit she wore fit her perfectly, and it was easy to see the lithe strength underneath the plum-colored silk. Her skirt fell to a tasteful length above her knee—a shame it wasn’t shorter, Finn couldn’t help thinking—before exposing spectacular calves that flowed into four-inch heels.

The entire package screamed competent businesswoman, but he also knew her reputation. That same backpack-carrying, boot-clad vision he kept of himself was an apt description for Rowan from all accounts. The reports of her exploits for the past decade indicated the woman was as comfortable in pearls and an evening gown as she was in a tank top, shorts and hiking boots.

And she switched effortlessly between both sides of her life.

A sharp intake of breath pulled his attention off her body as she swung around to look at him. “This is yours?”

“Yes.”

She danced backward on her heels, the excitement he’d sensed before amping up as she practically ran to the long steel counters that lined the perimeter of the room. “You can do carbon dating here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have an electron microscope?”

“Off-site. While this building offers many wonderful advantages, it’s too high to realistically ground the equipment. We house the microscope off-site with another lab we have about twenty kilometers outside the city.”

“Wow.” That single word, full of reverence, had his body tightening in anticipation.

Had he ever seen a woman that excited about a piece of technology? Moreover, had he ever felt like a conquering hero simply because he owned one?

Fascinated, he watched as she worked her way down the rows, her smile broad and her questions pointed as she stopped to talk to a few of his researchers before she returned to his side.

“I realize you’re considered foremost in your field, but even you can’t possibly have enough work to keep the lab busy? There aren’t enough dig sites to keep a facility this size active.”

He led her toward another set of doors, her attention shifting toward him as they walked. “We take on work from museums, auction houses, educational facilities. It’s been a key piece of my business strategy, to provide a top-notch facility so they can outsource their lab needs.”

“Smart.”

“And highly lucrative. The investment in equipment has paid dividends several times over.”

Finn gestured toward a waiting elevator. “You ready to go up? I’d like to go over my plans for the trip.”

“You mean the trip where we may or may not steal several ancient artifacts?”

A vivid light twinkled in the depths of her blue gaze and Finn fought the urge to move toward her. “That’d be the one.”

“Perfect. I’ve got a few ideas of my own on that, starting with a way around that toady Baxter Monroe.”

He gestured her back off the elevator and toward his office. “You don’t like the intrepid leader of our dig? We will be working under him for the next few weeks.”

The light snort would have been clue enough, but it was the vitriol that dripped from Rowan’s words that had him taking real notice. “He couldn’t dig his way to anything but more dirt if it weren’t for all that family money he throws around. He’s useless, and I don’t speak that harshly about many people.”

“What has he done to get your back up?”

“He nearly destroyed a series of relics in Iran a few years ago. He claimed his experience in Egypt made him a natural for any work in the Middle East and handled several ancient Persian relics like a two-year-old on a sugar bender. The man is a menace and for the life of me I can’t understand why the museum keeps him on staff.”

Finn couldn’t hold back the smile as he opened his office door, standing back so she could walk in first. “So that means you have no interest in attending his launch party this evening?”

Rowan turned on her heel, the move as smooth as her near-pirouette in the lab. “Launch party?”

“He holds one before every major project starts.”

“You party with the man?”

“Hardly. I have about as much respect for him as you do, perhaps less since I was called in by the prime minister to mediate that little Iranian situation he created. But I’m a firm believer in that old adage.”

Her eyebrows arched over those fierce blue eyes, that sharp gaze sexy as hell. “Let me guess. ‘Keep your friends close’?”

Finn nodded, an image of Baxter Monroe firmly in his mind’s eye. “‘And your enemies closer.’”

* * *

Rowan glanced around her well-appointed hotel suite as the bellman made quick work of her bags. She had to give Finn Gallagher credit, the man did know how to impress. Her suite at the Savoy was subtly appointed, yet it spoke of wealth and influence. It was also eminently practical, since Monroe was holding his launch party here at the hotel.

She’d had the requisite twinges of guilt at not informing her grandparents she’d be in town, but had tamped down on them at the evidence Finn expected her time on the job to include evening events.

She tipped the bellman and ushered him out before turning her attention toward the evening’s events. The concept of a launch party stuck in her stomach like a ball of lead, but she willed it aside. The event had no bearing on the serious work that should be taking place in the Valley of the Queens, but it would do what Finn had suggested.

Allow her to size up her enemy.

The fact the event was a social one and on Baxter Monroe’s turf was a small side benefit, guaranteed to make him relaxed and approachable. The very daring neckline of the gown she’d brought with her was another plus and she knew she had another weapon in her arsenal.

The phone buzzed from the depths of her oversize purse and Rowan dug it out, pleased she caught it in time before the caller went to voice mail. “Hey, big sis. You checking up on me?”

“Of course.” Kensington’s tone was sharp and matter-of-fact. Rowan couldn’t keep the smile from blooming on her face as she imagined her sister seated behind her ruthlessly organized desk. “I wanted to see how your meeting went with Gallagher.”

“The man can do his own carbon dating. I practically had an orgasm in his lab just thinking about it.”

“Don’t you think you should save that until you know him a bit better?”

Rowan did laugh at her sister’s dry tone before she outlined all that she’d learned while visiting Gallagher International. “So tonight’s a party with the museum crew.”

“I won’t even ask your feelings on that. You may be three thousand miles away, but your voice drips with loathing and a scathing disdain I can only admire.”

“It’s an archaeological dig, for Pete’s sake, not a party. The fact Monroe’s even throwing one is further proof of what a world-class jerk he is.”

“Yes, but you will mingle and be charming.”

Rowan fought the urge to grit her teeth. “Am I anything but?”

“Did you bring a dress?”

“Yes, I brought a dress.”

“Because I told you to.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Wait! Rowan, please.” When she hesitated, Kensington pushed on. “Be careful tonight. Something’s felt a little off about this from the first.”

“You don’t trust Finn?”

“We don’t know him to trust him. But I do know I don’t trust the situation.”

“I hardly think I’m in much danger attending a party at the Savoy.”

“Just stay sharp.”

The urge to tease her sister or tell her to quit the melodramatic directives was high, but something held Rowan back. Whether it was a sixth sense or something else, she didn’t know, but the light brush of nerves along her spine had agreement rising up in her tone. “I will.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, Ken-zoo.” The tease was nearly as old as she was, a funny back-and-forth she had had with her sister since they were small. Another wave of nerves layered over the first as they disconnected the call, and Rowan fought to shake it off.

There was nothing to be worried about. Nothing at all.

* * *

Rowan was still trying to convince herself of that an hour later as she wended her way through the lobby of the Savoy toward a small gathering room chosen for the party. While Kensington had the sisterly ability to mix smug satisfaction with older-sibling order giving, Rowan had to admit the snug black cocktail dress she now wore in place of her plum suit was an inspired last-minute packing choice.

A packing choice she’d have overlooked had it not been for her sister, she admitted to herself as she came to a stop inside the entryway.

The same lush accommodations she’d experienced upstairs were even more impressive here. Various servers circulated through the room, their trays full of champagne or canapés. The crowd stood in elegant conversation circles, evidenced by the muted hum of voices that rose up around her as she moved farther into the room.

“Ms. Steele,” a low voice whispered in her ear, a split second after she’d felt the sheer heft of his body sidle up against hers. “You look beautiful this evening.”

“Thank you.” The words nearly stuck in her throat as she caught full sight of Finn Gallagher in a crisp black suit. Broad shoulders filled up her gaze as she turned to face him and once again she was struck by the incredible vision he made.

He had nearly flawless features; the only criticism she could even muster up was that they were almost too sharp—too harsh—to be handsome. Yet even as she thought it, her conscience fought her, reminding her it was that very trait that screamed masculine perfection.

She could picture him in the jungle just as easily as she saw him in the designer suit that covered his impressive form. Regardless of the situation—rugged or refined—both telegraphed the exact same thing. Finn Gallagher would be a formidable opponent.

A man who inevitably got what he came for.

And why did the suddenly delicious thought flutter through her mind that she would love to be the object of that intense focus?

She’d been raised around strong men. Both her father and her grandfather were formidable in their own right, and her brothers, Liam and Campbell, had followed family tradition. While each of her brothers had their own individual style, both epitomized the strong, self-assured male.

Having been brought up that way, she respected men who knew how to go after what they wanted. She respected them even more if they admired that trait in her.

One look into Finn Gallagher’s deep hazel eyes and she saw flashes of that respect layered under the distinct notes of male appreciation and attraction, and it drew her in.

“I know he’s not your favorite person, but Baxter did order the best champagne.” Finn held a full flute of the pale liquid toward her. “It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

“True.” She accepted the glass, bemused when Finn lifted his flute in toast. “Now you’re going to force me to celebrate Monroe’s generosity, too?”

“I’d prefer to think of this as a toast to our partnership.”

Rowan lifted her glass. “May it bear the most ancient of fruits.”

She didn’t miss the subtle lift of his eyebrows over the rim of his glass, but other than that, Finn didn’t cop to any other response. She took a sip of her champagne, the bubbles light and crisp on her tongue. “Damn, but he did choose the good stuff.”

“How else do you suppose he’s going to impress a room full of his top patrons?”

“Is that how you got in on the dig?”

“I don’t need to wine and dine slimy toadies like Baxter Monroe to sell my services.” He hesitated for a moment before flashing a quick, wolfish grin. “I do, however, spend considerable time wooing his bosses.”

“No one argues with the moneyman.” Rowan thought about her afternoon visit to Gallagher International. “Or the man with the fancy research lab.”

“Spot-on you are.”

“I think I’m beginning to get a picture.” Rowan took another sip of her champagne as she glanced around the room. “You ensure the top museum brass have an unlimited supply of what they need, namely money and access to research services, and in exchange, it allows you to keep tabs on Monroe and his activities.”

“Spot-on again.”

“And keeping tabs also ensures you have a place on the digs, whether Monroe wants you there or not.”

“Now you’re just showing off.” The cocky grin was back, along with that distinct layer of respect in his gaze. “Well, then. Are you ready to go have some fun?”

“At this event?”

“Of course.”

She paused a moment, pleased when Finn’s gaze darkened with that tantalizing attraction that hummed subtly between them. “There’s a phrase in America. It’s called poking the bear in his den.”

“You’re suggesting Monroe’s the bear in this delightful Mark Twain-esque colloquialism?”

“Yep.”

Finn extended his arm and Rowan took it, his hard strength more than evident through the sleeve of his suit jacket. She fought the urge to cling to those delectable muscles, instead nodding in the direction of Baxter Monroe. “Allow me to lead the way.”

* * *

Finn gave himself the momentary gift of simply drinking her in, before he moved them deftly through the ballroom. The woman cut an incredible figure, the black dress clinging to each and every curve she possessed. If her plum suit from earlier had twisted him in knots, the black cocktail dress had him engulfed in flames.

She was stunning. Her pert features—already maximized by the short cap of hair that covered her head—stood out without the need for much fuss. Her makeup was minimal, the natural flush of her cheeks a sign of her vitality. The gamine cut of her hair had a secondary benefit—her neck and shoulders were fully exposed. The slender curve of her neck drew his gaze and he imagined pressing a line of kisses there, flicking his tongue lightly against her skin with the sole purpose of making her shiver.

The image gripped him as he placed his near-empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Finn laid his hand over hers, pleased by the light jolt that rattled through his body at the contact. The shudder of her arm where it threaded through his only reinforced she was as affected as he was.

He took pleasure from the thought, surprised when a quick flash of memory rose up swift and strong. The same woman, clad all in black, pressing her lips to his.

He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to see if the lush memory he’d kept all these years was nearly as satisfying as he remembered. Wanted to know if there was a way to replicate something that sweet and innocent, yet carnal and almost desperate with need.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it.” Baxter’s voice broke the moment, and thoughts of kissing Rowan Steele vanished at the very clear evidence they were both “on.” The hand that had reflexively tightened on his arm with attraction tightened once more, this time in a subtle anger that practically vibrated from her.

He disengaged their linked arms, shifting his hand to the small of her back, and pulled her a fraction of an inch closer, whether in protection or possession, Finn didn’t know. “Baxter.”

Monroe turned to face Rowan. “And Miss Steele? I understand you’ll be joining us in the Valley of the Queens. I’m delighted.”

“Likewise.”

“When did you arrive in town?”

The forced conversation spun out and Finn was amused to watch how elegantly Rowan played her mark. She kept up the polite facade, never breaking eye contact or the subtle hints of flirtation until she went in for the kill. “I understand the site’s discovery was something of a surprise.”

Baxter’s laugh did nothing to hide the stiff lines of his face. “Hardly. What would give you that idea?”

“Just some things I’ve heard.”

“That’s hard to imagine. The museum was doing routine restoration in Nefertari’s burial chamber. We’ve always had reason to believe there was something else there and the time was ripe to explore. It’s as simple as that.”

“Fascinating.” Rowan shook her head, her voice still layered in polite platitudes. If Finn didn’t see her vivid blue, predatory gaze with his own eyes, he’d likely not have believed the small, genteel woman was capable of what came next.

“Yes, it is.”

“And here I thought this incredible discovery was all because you got your panties in a twist and tossed a small, pointed archaeology trowel across a priceless burial chamber.”

“Of all...” the man sputtered, the pale skin of his neck growing red.

“You then forced one of your lackeys to go pick it up before anyone could possibly snap a photo of the tossed object. Isn’t that right, Baxter?”

“Gossip and innuendo.”

“Yes, well, in my experience, nearly all gossip and innuendo has a grain or two of truth in it.”

The red flooding Baxter’s face shifted as his rolling gaze locked on to Rowan’s. “If that’s true, then surely you’re well aware of the rumors that follow you, Miss Steele.”

Finn fought the immediate and urgent need to get in between the two of them as Rowan leaned into Baxter’s personal space. “Then you are familiar with my reputation. I’m delighted to hear it. I expect you’ll be on your best behavior when we go to Egypt, then.”

“I’m interested in preserving the site and whatever we recover from the chamber.”

“As am I.”

“Then we’re obviously on the same page.”

“See that we stay there.”

Baxter avoided any pretense of a polite departure as he turned on his heel and crossed the room toward the bar. From the widening eyes of the bartender, Finn could only assume the drink request was given in a harsh bark.

With a sly smile he couldn’t have held back if he tried, Finn turned his gaze toward Rowan. “I can’t say I understand your motives but I do like your style.”

“I told you I didn’t like him.”

“There’s subtle disdain and then there’s barely veiled hatred.”

“I prefer to think of it as a preemptive strike.” Rowan’s smile was broad as she gestured toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Finn was rarely taken off guard, so the obvious invitation in her words caught him up short. “Where do you want go?”

“Have you ever been to the British Museum after hours?”

He had, in fact, been there on more than one occasion, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Now, what would a nice girl like you be wanting in a place like that?”

“I can think of a few things.”

He could think of several himself, but again, Finn thought it wise to avoid that topic. “The museum opens tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m. sharp. I can have a car arranged to pick you up, deliver you and wait for you as long as you’d like.”

“What happened to that adventurous spirit, Finn?” Rowan moved in, the light scent of her wrapping around his senses as the heat of her body assailed him through his suit. “You know, the one that had you making those idiotic jumps off your office building?”

“There were far fewer cameras recording that idiocy.”

“We can get around those.”

“And the guards with guns?”

She waved a hand. “Easy.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Finn held out a hand, barely suppressing the urge to wrap her in his arms. “Lead the way.”

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