Читать книгу: «High-Risk Reunion»
He wasn’t supposed to be framed for murder.
And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be embroiled in an espionage case involving his former lover—a woman he couldn’t trust.
“I want to see that message you intercepted.”
She blinked. “You still don’t believe me?”
“After everything you’ve done to me?”
Not bothering to answer, she headed toward the door. But he blocked her path. “I’ll only say this once,” he said. “I’m in charge here. From here on out, you do what I say.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“You do now.”
Temper flashed in her eyes. Then she pushed past him and stalked outside the hut.
She’d devastated him before, crushing any illusions he had.
And he’d be damned if she’d make a fool of him twice.
Dear Reader,
We all love to read about soldiers, those courageous, romantic warriors who charge into danger with their guns blazing, risking their lives to slay our enemies and keep us safe. But there are quieter heroes around us, too, people who use their covert skills for the greater good, usually without the fanfare or recognition they deserve. Those are the people I decided to highlight in this new series, the STEALTH KNIGHTS operating on the periphery of our awareness—semi-reformed thieves and spies, bad-boy heroes who defeat the evil in our world even as they steal our hearts.
I’m so excited to bring you the first of the STEALTH KNIGHTS stories, and am especially thrilled to set it in one of my favorite places on earth, the Pyrenees Mountains, a land of lush green valleys, medieval villages, and craggy peaks—the perfect setting for heart-stopping romance and high intrigue.
I hope you enjoy the adventure!
Gail Barrett
About the Author
GAIL BARRETT always knew she’d be a writer. Who else would spend her childhood grinding sparkling rocks into fairy dust and convincing her friends it was real? Or daydream her way through elementary school, spend high school reading philosophy and playing the bagpipes, and then head off to Spain during college to live the writer’s life? After four years she straggled back home—broke, but fluent in Spanish. She became a teacher, earned a master’s degree in linguistics, married a coast guard officer and had two sons.
But she never lost the desire to write. Her books have won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart.
She currently lives in western Maryland. Readers can contact her through her website, www.gailbarrett.com.
High-Risk
Reunion
Gail Barrett
MILLS & BOON
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To my fabulous editor, Susan Litman.
Thank you for believing in me!
Acknowledgments:
I’d like to thank the following people for their help with this book: Elle Kennedy, Judith Sandbrook, and Mary Jo Archer for their invaluable critiques; Kathy Lauten for her information about flash drives; and Joe Barrett for his expert computer help. Any mistakes are definitely my own.
Chapter 1
País Vell, the Pyrenees Mountains, 11:37 p.m.
Rafael Navarro dangled from the wall of the medieval castle, the murmur of approaching voices drifting down to him in the inky, moonless night. He went dead still, slid his gaze to the void plunging forty feet below him, and wondered what had gone wrong with his plan. Those guards weren’t supposed to arrive yet. He’d spent weeks studying their rotation for the G-6 summit, counting off the intervals of the passing searchlight, calculating the exact time and place to break into the American diplomat’s room. And he should have had three more minutes to scale this wall.
Cold sweat beaded his forehead. His back and shoulders throbbed as he clung to the nylon rope. But he schooled himself to absolute stillness, knowing even the slightest shift could move a prong on the grappling hook, drawing the royal guards’ attention to him. Behind him, a cool breeze swept down the slopes of the Pyrenees Mountains, the slow, rhythmic clanking of cowbells tightening his nerves.
“You’re not seriously going to smoke that.” The man’s voice came from the wall walk above.
“Why not?” a second man asked. His voice had a belligerent edge. “It’s not going to kill anyone.”
Except Rafe.
“The hell it won’t,” the first guard said. “You heard the boss. Anyone who screws up tonight gets fired.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Rafe’s heart galloped against his rib cage. He’d be dead if he didn’t move. Now. In a few precious seconds, the searchlight would pass, illuminating him like a dark bug splayed on a silver wall.
But cigarette smoke wisped past. More crucial seconds ticked down. Rafe gritted his teeth, his biceps trembling, every survival instinct screaming at him to go. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t even change positions to relieve the pressure on his now-numb hands.
“Hombre. Would you come on?” the first guard said, echoing Rafe’s thoughts. “The next rotation’s about to catch up.”
“Fine.” Disgust tinged the smoker’s voice. A glowing cigarette butt streaked over the wall, barely missing Rafe’s head. The guards finally pushed away from the ledge, the thud of their receding footsteps fading into the night.
Rafe eased out a breath, but forced himself to wait, counting off several vital heartbeats in case they circled back. Then he powered up the rope in a surge of adrenaline, glad he’d kept up the brutal workouts that enabled him to make this climb even though he’d retired from a life of crime.
Until now.
He reached the medieval battlement and paused again. Still clear. His arms aching, the desperate need to hurry flogging his brain, he hoisted himself over the edge. Then he yanked up the rope, pulled the grappling hook from the wall, and ducked—just as the searchlight skimmed overhead.
Too damned close.
His heart pounding, that addictive rush of danger streaming through his veins, he crawled to the ancient watchtower, careful to keep his head under the light’s wide range. Then he coiled the rope and tucked it against the wall for his descent. The high-powered beam swept back over the cylindrical tower, past a planked oak door dotted with iron studs.
Now. He leaped up and sprinted to the door. Skidding to a stop, he whipped the lock-pick gun from his back pocket, inserted a tension wrench into the lock and applied the gun. A series of sharp, rapid clicks rent the air.
The lock gave way.
Rafe squeezed through the door, careful not to let the hinges creak, into the darkened alcove that adjoined the diplomat’s room. At this height he didn’t worry about triggering an alarm. No one got past the armed guards, surveillance cameras and intrusion detection devices on the castle’s lower floors—except a third-generation master thief like him.
But he wasn’t out of danger yet. He had to find the historic signet ring and get back down that wall— before the reception ended and the American returned to his room.
Flicking on his penlight, he padded across the antique rug to the Baroque-style bureau. He checked the drawers, peeked behind the huge gilded paintings on the medieval wall. No ring. No hidden safe. He turned toward the bedroom.
A soft, feminine laugh stopped him cold.
His pulse drummed hard. He snapped his gaze to the closed velvet drapes dividing the two rooms. The diplomat had come back early—and he wasn’t alone.
Rafe frowned, debating his options, but he didn’t have a choice. He had to get that ring tonight. The diplomat was scheduled to present it to País Vell’s king in the morning. And if that happened, Rafe’s bargain with the police chief would be void.
His nerves ratcheting higher, every sense hyperalert, he crept to the floor-length drapes and nudged the edge aside. The cool, musty room was shrouded in darkness—only the faint, golden haze from a bedside lamp penetrated the gloom. Rafe zeroed in on the couple standing across from him on the opposite side of the bed. The woman had her back to him, and the mellow light gilded her naked curves.
No, not naked, he amended, his mouth quirking up in regret. But her back was bare, her gown plunging so low on her hips he could easily imagine the rest.
He allowed his gaze to linger, taking a long, leisurely slide down the sensuous sweep of her spine to the riveting contours of her hips. He couldn’t fault the diplomat’s taste—or haste. The woman was flawless, at least from the rear. She had sleek, honeyed skin, and centerfold-worthy curves. She wore her dark hair up, exposing the tempting nape of her neck. Loose tendrils danced in the light.
And given the rapt expression on the balding diplomat’s face, her front side was better yet.
But Rafe didn’t have time to ogle the diplomat’s escort. Dragging his attention back to the room, he scanned the wingback chairs hulking in the shadows, the imposing Louis XIV armoire with its carved doors hanging ajar. That ring had to be within reach. But how could he get past the bed to search?
The diplomat tugged off his shirt and tossed it aside, then struggled to pull off a sock. He staggered and lost his balance, lurching against the woman. She steadied them both and laughed.
Rafe stilled, the low, throaty sound jarring something inside him, a memory he’d fought to erase. He whipped his gaze to her smooth velvet skin, the dip of her slender waist, and gave his head a swift shake. It couldn’t be her. There was no damned way.
Gabrielle Ferrer hadn’t set foot in País Vell in years.
“Come on, honey,” the diplomat said, enunciating his words too carefully, drawing Rafe’s eyes to the wine glasses beside the bed. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
He spun her around in a move probably meant to be debonair. Instead he tripped and sprawled back over the bed. The woman fell atop him and laughed again. “Easy there.” She pushed herself up to her elbows, bringing her face more fully into the halo of light, and Rafe’s heart slammed to a halt. So he hadn’t hallucinated that voice. It really was Gabrielle.
Hell of a place to find his ex-fiancée.
He ran his eyes down the elegant swell of her cheekbones, the seductive tilt of her lips. She hadn’t changed in the past three years. She still had those hot, sultry eyes, that X-rated mouth.
A body that still fueled his erotic dreams.
The diplomat pawed at her dress, pulling her shoulder strap down her arm, revealing the curves of her ample breasts. Curves Rafe had tasted and teased and touched.
He clenched his jaw. Resentment scorched deep in his gut. She was good, he’d give her that much. The sensual laugh, the come-hither way she tossed her head, baring the tempting skin of her throat. She was every man’s fantasy, a siren luring him to erotic bliss.
But she’d only been acting with him.
“Let me get you more wine,” she purred to the diplomat, and her husky voice scraped over Rafe’s nerves. “Then I’ll join you.”
She pushed herself off the bed. The neckline of her long gown gaped, exposing a flash of creamy flesh. Her body was perfect, all right—an attribute she used well. She wielded it like a lethal weapon, destroying any man foolish enough to care.
Good thing he was no longer that fool.
Dodging the diplomat’s groping hands, she turned to the bedside table, and bent to pour the wine. Rafe watched her in action—wriggling, making her dress tighten over her hips in a move guaranteed to snag the eye. His traitorous blood heating, he clenched his gloved hands into fists, the urge to yank that soft, yielding body against his—and make her want him again—riding him hard.
He hissed, furious at his reaction—that even after all this time, he wasn’t immune. Each sinuous move knocked his heart off course, sending blood surging straight to his groin.
He shook away the lust with effort, determined to focus on finding that ring. But suspicion swirled inside him, the same uneasy feeling he’d had from the start of this job winging back full force. Why was Gabrielle here? She hardly needed a notch on her belt, and seducing this overweight, middle-aged lothario wasn’t her style.
Trying to make sense of her presence, he tracked her suggestive movements with narrowed eyes. It didn’t surprise him that she would attend the reception. She moved in rarified social circles as one of the megarich of the world. Not only had she inherited a software conglomerate worth billions, but she’d descended from the landed aristocracy. And as cousin to the prime minister, she had political connections, as well.
All that explained her attendance at the summit’s reception. But why this charade with the diplomat? And why return to País Vell now?
Unless she was after the same thing Rafe was …
His heart missed a beat. He studied the enticing swell of her hips, the gleam of her naked back, and his brows gathered into a frown. Could she be after the historic ring? But why would she be? She didn’t need the money. She didn’t collect antiquities. And she’d never shown much interest in the La Brigada separatists who claimed the seventeenth-century signet ring—a symbol of their lost homeland—was theirs.
Rafe didn’t care about the ring, either. And nothing could have tempted him to risk his precious freedom except one thing—the chance to atone for the past.
But none of that explained Gabrielle.
She glanced over her shoulder, shot the diplomat a heated smile, and Rafe’s hold on his temper slipped. Regardless of her motives, he knew one thing. That ring was his. If by some odd twist of fate she had come here to steal it, she was out of luck.
She finished pouring the wine, then swiveled toward the bed, holding the glass. Without warning, she glanced up, and her gaze collided with his.
She went stock-still. The color slowly leached from her face. His anger steadily building, Rafe folded his arms and scowled back.
Several seconds dragged past. Gabi stayed rooted in place, gawking at him from across the bed. He deliberately severed the contact, then raked his gaze down the length of her—over her full, ripe breasts and narrow waist, back to her stunning face—and his resentment spiked higher yet. Because if she tried to interfere with his plans …
She gave her head a swift shake, as if to pull herself out of her daze. Then she slipped back into seductress mode, curling her lips into a practiced smile. But her hand trembled, sending wine slopping onto the bed, proving she wasn’t as unaffected as she tried to pretend.
Good. She deserved to sweat after the callous way she’d dumped him.
Leaning forward, she handed the diplomat the glass of wine. He gulped it down, then reached out to put it on the bedside table. “Lesh get that dress off,” he slurred.
“Right.” Her voice came out breathy. She stepped away from the bed. Reaching for the straps on her ballgown, she sliced her gaze back to Rafe’s.
He didn’t move. Stark tension arced in the air. He raised a brow in challenge, wondering just how far she’d take this game. Not that he cared. Gabrielle had meant nothing to him for years. And if she wanted to perform an impromptu strip tease, who was he to complain?
Unless this was some sort of trap …
The muscles of his belly tightened, more doubts piling inside. Had she expected him to show up here? Had she been sent here to waylay him? But that made no sense. She couldn’t have known his plans. And while she might be an expert seductress, she hadn’t faked her surprise.
But then why not sound the alarm? Why not tell the diplomat he was here? What game was she trying to play?
She moistened her lush lower lip with her tongue. The gown’s thin straps slithered down. Rafe’s gaze dropped to the scraps of fabric clinging precariously to her breasts, just as he knew she’d planned. But if she thought she could manipulate him through his hormones, she was wrong.
She paused, as if to heighten the anticipation.
Damned if it didn’t work.
Scowling, he cursed his weakness around this woman. He knew better than to let her suck him in. She’d led him on for years, slumming it with him while she waited for a more respectable man to come along.
A sudden snore cut through the air.
Gabrielle abruptly straightened. Rafe spared a glance at the diplomat now passed out cold on the sheets. Still scowling, he jerked apart the drapes and strode across the room, determined to get answers fast. As he neared, Gabrielle’s perfume flooded his senses, that unique blend of jasmine and vanilla taunting his nerves.
He stopped and braced his hands on his hips. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Well, hello, Rafe.” Her husky voice rumbled inside him, making him angrier yet.
“Gabrielle.” He bared his teeth in a feral smile.
She swayed back, her own smile wavering, the pulse speeding at the base of her throat betraying her unease.
It was about time she started to worry.
Because the real game was about to begin.
Chapter 2
Gabrielle gaped at Rafe in dismay, watching everything she’d worked for crumble apart. Bad enough she’d had to return to País Vell. Worse that she’d had to drug the American diplomat, who’d have one heck of a headache when he finally came to. But now the moment she’d dreaded for three torturous years had arrived—she’d come face to face with Rafael Navarro, the man she’d once desperately loved.
And at the worst possible time. She wasn’t prepared. She needed time to erect her defenses. And she couldn’t afford to mess up this mission. This was her one opportunity for vengeance, to finally bring down the killer who’d murdered her father, the man she’d worked tirelessly to incriminate for the past three years.
Rafe’s gaze skewered hers, making her pulse sprint. She pressed her clammy palms to her thighs, determined not to let him see how thoroughly he disrupted her nerves. It didn’t help that he was still outrageously gorgeous with his darkly chiseled face, a sorcerer’s black eyes, that thick shock of straight black hair.
Unabashed masculinity radiating from every pore.
He leaned his tall, sinewed body even closer, his furious eyes boring into hers. Stark grooves bracketed his sensual mouth, slashing through the razor stubble covering his jaw, and she battled the urge to step back.
He was still sexy, still potent. Still dangerous. And he still had that aura of menace that had always kept her enthralled. He’d called to the wildness latent inside her, luring her to forbidden pleasures, tempting her to shed society’s prohibitions, and live.
She inhaled, willing away the memories. She couldn’t think about the past. And she couldn’t worry about Rafe—not with everything she’d worked for at stake. Feigning a poise she didn’t feel, she pasted on the knowing, jaded expression she now used to keep men safely at bay.
“Imagine meeting you here,” she drawled, injecting a note of bored amusement into her voice. “I thought you’d given up the life of crime.”
His black eyes flashed. A muscle twitched in his iron jaw, and another whisper of unease slithered down her spine. Rafe wasn’t a man to toy with. He never obeyed the rules, never caved to another’s will. And he was impossible to control.
“Once a thief, always a thief, right, Gabrielle?”
Her face burned at the memory. She’d used that excuse to break off their engagement, aiming at his most vulnerable spot. But she couldn’t tell him the truth—that she’d had to drive him away. It was the only way she could make sure he survived.
“So why are you here?” he countered.
She hitched her shoulder toward the diplomat snoring on the bed. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Yeah.” He shot her a scathing look. “But stripping for middle-aged drunks is a new low, even for you.”
Hurt razored through her. She struggled not to let Rafe see it, her jaw aching from the effort it took to hold her smile in place. But she couldn’t miss the irony—since the last time she’d made love was with him.
“He’s not so bad,” she gritted out.
“Right. He looks like a real ball of fire in bed.”
Her smile frozen, she angled up her chin. “That’s none of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t. You made it my business when you waltzed in on my case.”
“Your case?” She managed to scoff. “I’ve got more right to be here than you do. At least I was invited in.”
His onyx eyes turned deadly. He shifted closer, his wide shoulders caging her in. She moved back and bumped the nightstand, her heart tripping through her chest.
“Cut the crap, Gabrielle. Why are you really here?”
She tried again to inch backward. Her breath dammed up in her lungs. Rafe was too big, too close. Too threatening. Warnings skittered inside her, igniting the urgent need to flee.
But he didn’t budge. He towered over her, his broad chest filling her vision, sharp intelligence blazing in his eyes.
She frantically shuffled through options, desperate to make him back off. She couldn’t tell him the truth, but he’d see through any lies. Maybe the partial truth would satisfy his curiosity, enough to persuade him to leave.
“Fine. If you must know, I’m looking for information.”
“What kind of information?”
“Business. Something that affects FerrCom, my corporation. It has nothing to do with you.”
At least not directly. She’d recently intercepted a message using her company’s secret backdoor access to the billing software they ran. The message revealed that the American diplomat would deliver some highly sensitive intelligence to the king at the G-6 summit, exposing the identity of a traitor in the king’s inner circle.
The trouble was, the police chief—the man she believed to be the traitor—had access to the communications, too. And she knew he would never allow that intelligence to reach the king. She had to confiscate it before he did and deliver it to the prime minister, head of an ultrasecret spy group dedicated to protecting the king.
Resolve settled inside her. She’d waited three long years for this opportunity to destroy the police chief—the man who’d murdered her beloved father and assaulted her.
And this time she wouldn’t fail.
“You’re stealing from your competitors?” Rafe’s voice rang with outrage, drawing her attention back to him. “After claiming my criminal background would hurt your career?”
She tried not to wince. She’d only said that to drive him away. “I might as well. I learned to steal from the best.”
His eyes turned glacial. And guilt caught her square in the gut. She didn’t want to hurt him. She’d already caused him enough pain.
And she knew he’d gone straight—at least, until now. Shortly after they’d met he’d severed his ties to his tight-knit family, making himself an outcast, sacrificing everything he cared about to uphold the law.
But she had to throw him off her trail. She couldn’t risk that he’d discover the truth about the past—or get too close to her now.
“So why are you really here?” she asked again.
“I’m looking for jewelry.”
“In the castle? During the summit?” Even an adrenaline junkie like Rafe wouldn’t have the gall.
“You know me—always aiming out of my league.”
She flinched, the haughty words she’d used to reject him flaying her now. But she bit down hard on her lip to keep from blurting out a defense. It was safer for them both if he believed the worst.
No matter how badly his derision stung.
She studied his furious eyes, still unable to believe he’d resumed a life of crime. But what else could he be up to? He couldn’t possibly know about the intelligence she sought.
She shook her head. She’d have to puzzle that out later. She needed to get what she came for and leave—before the diplomat came to.
“Great,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “Then we won’t be in each other’s way. You can hunt for jewelry, and I’ll look for that information I need.”
Her composure rattled, she swiveled back to the bed. Trying hard to ignore Rafe still looming beside her, she got to work—punching the pillows and tangling the sheets, tugging off the diplomat’s pants. She couldn’t hide her presence in the diplomat’s bedroom. Dozens of guests had seen them leave the reception together, and the surveillance cameras had recorded them walking through the halls to his room. Her only chance to avoid suspicion when he discovered the missing intelligence was to give the appearance that they’d had sex.
She grabbed the diplomat’s glass from the nightstand and turned toward the bathroom—but Rafe still barred her way. He stood with his feet planted wide, his muscled arms folded over his chest, his cynical eyes tracking her moves.
Her stomach churning, she pushed past him. She didn’t care what he thought. She’d come here for justice, not forgiveness—especially from him.
She marched into the adjacent bathroom, her high heels clicking on the medieval stones, then glanced in the bathroom mirror. Behind her, Rafe finally began prowling around the bedroom, and she let out a pent-up breath. Lord, she didn’t need this. Returning to País Vell was dangerous enough. Hopefully he’d give up on finding valuables and leave before this night got worse.
Still keenly aware of Rafe’s movements, she rinsed out the diplomat’s wine glass, erasing traces of the drug she’d used, then returned it to the nightstand by the bed. To be safe, she swirled in some untainted wine.
Hesitating, she studied the nearly nude diplomat, his gray-haired chest rising with every ragged snore. Deciding to add another touch, she ripped a page from the notepad by the telephone, jotted down that she’d enjoyed the night, and left it on the pillow beside his head.
That done, she set to work. Following in Rafe’s footsteps, she searched the room—rifling through the drawer in the bedside table, checking the diplomat’s suitcase, examining the pockets and seams of his clothes. She assumed he’d put the information she needed on a computer flash drive or something equally as easy to transport.
But where had he squirreled it away?
She rummaged through the antique armoire as Rafe looked under the bed. Still nothing. Frustrated, she re-entered the bathroom and checked his toiletry case.
A soft click from the bedroom reached her ears. Whirling back, she spotted Rafe kneeling beside a briefcase on the floor. Her pulse quickening, she rushed to his side. “Let me see that,” she said.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the briefcase and thumbed through the folders, then pulled out a small velvet bag. He loosened the drawstring and dumped the contents into his palm. A large gold ring gleamed against his black leather glove.
Her jaw dropped. So he really had come here in search of jewels. But why? He’d quit his family’s business years ago.
Still holding the ring, he rose, slipped it back into the velvet bag, then stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans.
She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not really going to take that.”
“Damn straight I am.”
“But … you can’t. I’ll get blamed.” Too much evidence placed her in the room. And stealing the flash drive was one thing. She needed that to bring down a murderous traitor, an end she could justify. But a ring … “You have to put it back.”
“Forget it.” He turned toward the long, velvet drapes.
Panic swarmed inside her. “Rafe, please,” she begged. “This is going to mess everything up.”
His head swung around. The fury in his eyes stopped her cold. “I’m a thief, Gabrielle. This is what I do. So why should I put it back?”
She clenched her hands, her stomach in total turmoil as he flung her words back at her. But she couldn’t explain why she’d lied, why she’d had to push him away. She could never let him know.
But if she got arrested for the theft … The police chief would get away with her father’s murder. He’d lock her behind bars—or worse.
“Listen,” she pleaded. “I know I’m asking a lot, but you have to believe me—”
“Believe you?” He let out a bitter laugh. “After the way you lied to me?”
“I didn’t—”
A man’s voice rose in the hallway, cutting her off. She froze in sudden alarm. Someone was coming. Oh, God. She had to go.
But she hadn’t found the flash drive yet.
“Expecting someone?” Rafe asked.
“What? No, of course not.” How could he think that?
Footsteps thudded outside the door. Her entire body tensed.
“Secure the stairs,” the man called out. “I’ll check the bedroom.”
Her stomach plunged. Raymundo Ortiz. The police chief. The man who’d slaughtered her father and nearly murdered her.
She stared at the door in horror, knowing she had to flee. But if she ran, she’d look guilty. And she hadn’t done anything wrong—aside from slipping the diplomat that drug. But did she dare stay and try to brazen it out, and confront that cold-blooded killer alone?
Rafe shot her a glare, as if she’d conjured up Ortiz, then pushed through the velvet drapes. The doorknob rattled hard. Her pulse went berserk. No way was she taking on Ortiz. She turned and rushed after Rafe.
She caught up with him at the alcove door. He whipped around, anger rolling off him in waves. “What do you want now?”
“I’m leaving.”
“Not with me, you aren’t.”
“Then move aside.” Frantic, she tried to step around him. He shot out his arm and blocked her way. “Are you crazy? You can’t just go waltzing out there. The guards will shoot you on sight.”
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