with a hidden telephoto lens.
But breaking into the casino penthouse was a new low, even for her.
Leaning against the wall inside the restroom, she pressed her palm to her belly to suppress a burst of nerves. But she could hardly miss the irony. She’d been trying for years to rehabilitate her image, to overcome a lifetime spent disappointing her family and finally prove her worth. Now she was about to obliterate a decade of progress with just one act.
But she was desperate. She had to get into that penthouse and confiscate the blackmail evidence tonight. The casino owner would destroy the prince’s reputation—and possibly the entire monarchy—if she failed.
And better that she do this than her brother Tristan. At least if she got caught, no one would blink. Her reputation had been ruined years ago.
Nothing would go wrong, she reminded herself fiercely. This thief, Dante Quevedo, was reputed to be the best. He’d sneak her into the penthouse to find the incriminating surveillance footage and whisk her safely back out.
More anxiety swirled inside her at the thought of the man loitering in the hallway, the memory of his stark, dark face and furious eyes bringing a rush of heat to her skin. She’d expected someone older, shorter … more manageable.
But Dante Quevedo … She swallowed hard. He was too big, too male, too dangerous. He radiated testosterone and power. And the hostility in his midnight eyes …
She inhaled deeply, refusing to let him unsettle her. So he wasn’t what she’d expected. Tough. No matter how much he disturbed her, she couldn’t back out now.
She glanced at her watch. Two seconds. Her heartbeat accelerating, she straightened and faced the door.
The lights winked out. The casino’s mechanical systems powered down, a sudden unnatural hush descending on the pitch-black air.
Her tension rising, Paloma swung open the restroom door and stepped back into the hall—just as a sickening thud reached her ears.
She cringed. She’d hoped her bodyguard Carlos would wait for her down the hall. But if he’d interfered and hurt the thief … What was she going to do now?
A tiny light flickered on. The narrow beam of a penlight drew her gaze to the floor—where Carlos lay slumped at Dante’s feet.
Her jaw dropped. Carlos was an expert fighter. How had this thief managed to take him down?
“What did you do?” she cried, rushing to him. “You didn’t hurt him?” The last thing she wanted was to cause her protector harm.
“He’s fine. He’ll just have a headache when he comes to.” Dante’s flinty eyes narrowed on hers. “But what’s with the bodyguard? He wasn’t part of our deal.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I tried to sneak off without him, but he wouldn’t let me out of his sight.”
Dante only grunted in answer, then held his penlight out. “Here. Hold this.”
Still staggered at Dante’s prowess, she grabbed the penlight and aimed it his way. His back muscles flexed under his suit coat as he gripped Carlos beneath his arms and dragged him across the hall.
“Open the door,” he ordered, his deep voice rumbling in the dark.
Feeling even more off-kilter, she opened the restroom door. Dante dumped Carlos inside and reached for the penlight again. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”
“Right.” They had to hurry to commit a crime.
He strode down the hallway, the small light bobbing in the dark. Her sense of unreality mounting, Paloma scurried behind him, trying to keep up with his lengthy strides. Disembodied voices floated through the darkness—casino workers running through nearby corridors, rushing to restore the power.
But her thoughts kept returning to the bodyguard sprawled on the restroom floor. What would he do when he regained consciousness? Would he assume she’d been abducted and raise the alarm? And what if she and Dante got arrested? What if she couldn’t find the blackmailer’s evidence, and the royal family was ruined?
Fighting back a flurry of anxiety, she rushed after Dante down a private hall. This plan would work. It had to. She’d find that computer disk and return to the hallway before the power came back on. She had too much riding on this to fail.
Dante stopped at the tower door. A remnant of the medieval stronghold, the circular, three-story watchtower led to the penthouse, where the casino owner, César Gomez, had his private suite. Dante tugged on a pair of gloves and swung open the door.
She shot him a look of surprise. “It wasn’t locked?”
“It’s electronic. That’s why we cut the power.”
Of course. Completely out of her depth now, she followed him through the door. He led the way up the spiral stone staircase, taking the steps two at a time. She hurried after, her nerves coiling tighter as they neared the penthouse floor.
Would Gomez be at home? That was the milliondollar question, the one she’d been trying to answer all night. He hadn’t answered her phone calls. His employees hadn’t seen him in days. She prayed he’d left town on an impromptu vacation, because if he found her snooping through his penthouse …
She swallowed hard. It didn’t matter. No matter what the danger, she had to take the risk. It was pointless to pay a blackmailer to stay silent; his demands would only get worse.
And she didn’t dare let him expose that surveillance footage. Not now. Not with the country on edge. The sight of her brother partying with an international terrorist—no matter how innocent his actions had been—would further anger the citizens, leading to even more violent unrest.
They reached the fire door at the top of the staircase, and Dante paused again. “Wait here until I check it out.”
Nodding her agreement, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath.
Dante opened the door and peeked out. “It’s clear. Come on.”
Her pulse skittering wildly, she followed him from the stairwell into a wide stone vestibule carpeted with Belgian rugs. To the right stood Gomez’s private elevator, now dark. On the left loomed the door to the penthouse suite, its heavy planks covered with iron studs.
Experiencing another burst of anxiety, she glanced around, the ominous silence fueling her doubts. Because if anyone got wind of this break-in …
But she was committed now.
Dante handed her the penlight again. “Hold this while I pick the lock.”
“I thought the locks were electronic.”
“This one has a battery backup.”
That made sense. “You need the light?” she asked, shining it at the door.
“No.” Tugging two metal picks from his coat pocket, he lowered himself to one knee. Then he inserted the tools in the lock and closed his eyes.
Paloma
