them for a myriad of crimes. The thought of Rafe now collaborating with his archenemy defied logic—and boggled her mind. “Why on earth would you work for him?”
He didn’t answer at first. He kept his gaze on the flames. Then the cool wind gusted, scattering sparks over the dirt, and he slanted her a glance. “He came to my shop last week,” he said, referring to the precious gem business he ran. “He stops by once in a while and accuses me of fencing jewels.” He grimaced. “He doesn’t think I’ve reformed, either.”
Her cheeks burned. She bit back the denial that instantly sprang to her lips. She had to let him think the worst. “And?”
“He offered me a job.”
“To steal that ring.” She couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.
Rafe tilted his head. “He said the diplomat would be bringing it to the summit as a goodwill gesture to the king. The Americans want his cooperation in their war on terror.”
That made sense. País Vell had a long history of smuggling given its strategic location between Spain and France. Information—and criminals—often slipped through the porous hills.
“But the ring belonged to the last queen of Reino Antiguo,” Rafe continued, naming the once-independent kingdom now controlled by País Vell. “Ortiz knew the separatists would protest if they found out the king had it. So he hired me to find it. He wanted to keep it hidden until the summit ended so there wouldn’t be any unrest.”
That seemed plausible, too. The last thing the police would want during an important international summit was rioting in the streets. “But wouldn’t that cause problems with the Americans? They’d hardly overlook the theft.”
Rafe shrugged. “He seemed more concerned about the separatists. And he planned to give the ring back after the summit … or so he said. He probably figured he could placate the Americans for a few days.”
She frowned at that. The story sounded logical—up to a point. “But why hire you? Why not get it himself?”
“He said there were separatist sympathizers on the police force so he couldn’t send in his own men.”
“But then why show up at the room?”
“Exactly.” He dipped his head. “He obviously set me up.”
The breeze gusted again, raising more goose bumps on her spine as she turned that over in her mind. Ortiz was clever, ruthless. She could see him concocting this plan. He could arrest Rafe at last, claiming he’d caught him stealing the ring. He could even blame him for the diplomat’s murder. No one would believe Rafe’s word over his.
But why would Rafe take such an obvious risk?
“What did you get out of this?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“But—”
“Forget it. It’s personal. It has nothing to do with you. What matters is that he set me up.”
His brusque tone hurt, but she could hardly fault him for shutting her out. Rafe was a fiercely loyal man. He would never forgive a betrayal.
Especially hers.
Her throat suddenly thick, she returned her gaze to the fire. And she had to admit that Rafe had changed in the past three years. The tender man who’d teased her, the thrilling daredevil who’d fulfilled her need for adventure had disappeared. He was harder now, more cynical. He had a deep-seated bitterness to him—hostility and resentment she’d caused.
A dull ache hollowed her chest, kicking off a swarm of regrets. She’d never wanted to hurt him. She’d adored Rafe. She would have given anything to spend her life in his arms.
But she’d made the right choice. She’d had to break off their engagement. If she’d told him the truth, he would have gone after Ortiz. And there was no earthly way she could have risked Rafe’s life.
Taking a deep steadying breath, she struggled to corral her unruly emotions and think. She couldn’t change the past. She couldn’t erase her lies—or the terrible pain she’d caused. She couldn’t even tell Rafe the truth. All she could do was focus on her mission and find the proof she needed to destroy Ortiz—before more innocent people died.
Rafe was right, though. Ortiz did nothing by chance. And she couldn’t believe that he’d coincidentally hired Rafe to get that ring at the same time that intelligence was coming in. That ring had to be connected to her case.
But how?
“May I see the ring?” she asked, rising.
Rafe hesitated—which stung. “I’m not going to run off with it,” she said, her voice tight.
“You’ve got that right.” He pulled the velvet bag from his pocket and tossed it her way.
She caught it, then moved closer to the fire, determined to ignore the lash of hurt. No matter how much his distrust galled her, no matter how strong the urge to explain and beg his forgiveness, she had to focus on what mattered now.
She loosened the bag’s tassled drawstring, then dumped the heavy ring into her palm. Made of solid gold, it had a flat, square top with the relief of a bearded vulture—the bone crusher, Reino Antiguo’s royal crest. The gold simmered like fire in the light.
“It’s beautiful.” She tilted it toward the flames, studying the words engraved on the thick band. “There’s an inscription … in Latin. Morior invictus. Death before defeat.”
Rafe nodded. “Reino Antiguo’s motto. The ring was used as a royal seal.”
Not a secret message, then—unless the ring was fake. She caught Rafe’s eye. “You think it’s real?”
“It looks authentic. I’d have to examine it to be sure, though.” His gaze sharpened. “Why? You think there’s a connection to the information you’re looking for?”
Of course Rafe would figure that out. Keeping her expression neutral, she slipped the ring back into the bag. “I don’t see how.”
But if there was a connection to her case, she needed to keep the ring. She’d spent too many years waiting for this moment to lose any evidence now.
But Rafe would never give it up. He’d stolen it for Ortiz, which put them squarely at odds.
She handed Rafe the velvet pouch. He shoved it into his front pocket, his perceptive gaze trained on her. And she knew he was sorting through details, deciding whether to believe her or not.
“So what’s your plan?” she asked, hoping to distract him.
“We’ll rest for now. We can start hiking again at dawn. The terrain’s too rough from here on out. I don’t want to fall off a cliff.”
That bought her a couple hours. But it meant staying in the hut with him.
She glanced around the miniscule room—the rickety bed, the two wooden stools by the fireplace, the peeling stucco walls.
