Royal Captive Read online

  As Lauryn had said, taking one-of-a-kind, easily recognizable artifacts like the crown jewels made little sense for their gold and gem value alone. But the theft made a world of sense if the purpose was to disrupt the monarchy.

  And the crown held other power, too. Like the key to the Brotherhood’s treasure, a find of historical significance, which he didn’t want to go into over the phone. He didn’t even want to think about the kind of war that it could finance if it fell into the wrong hands.

  “Any developments there?” his brother asked.

  Istvan filled him in, getting up to pace the room as he did so.

  “And how is the princess of thieves?” Miklos asked at the end, after all his other questions had been answered.

  Istvan walked from the bedroom to the living room and closed the door behind him. “Don’t call her that.”

  “What would you like to call her, plain princess?”

  He shook his head silently. The one drawback about having a close-knit family was that they felt free to stick their noses into his business anywhere, anytime. “It’s not like that between me and Miss Steler.”

  The connection was purely physical. And intellectual. But that was it. Nothing he couldn’t walk away from at the end. Not that he’d told his brothers about the physical part even. None of their meddling business.

  “Because of Amalia?” Miklos asked. “Still?”

  He said nothing. Because the truth was, he thought about Amalia less and less.

  “You were never in love with Amalia. You know that, right?”

  “I was. You go too far. Being married doesn’t make you an expert on the subject,” Istvan responded with some heat.

  “Why didn’t you marry her?”

  Why didn’t he, indeed. He’d thought about that many times in the aftermath of her death. “The time wasn’t right.” Among many other things. “And there were obstacles. She was a commoner. Divorced. There would have been a bloody fight at the palace over it. The Chancellor would have had a stroke. Mother would have had a heart attack.” The reasons that seemed to have had all kinds of power in the past, suddenly sounded weak, even to his own ears.

  “Here is a piece of unsolicited advice from your big brother—the time is always right with the right woman.”

  “If there’s nothing else you have for me on the investigation, I’m signing off here.” Istvan closed the phone before his brother could have pushed further.

  He longed for the days when they used to share hunting stories and sword-fighting tips. Now that Miklos and Benedek and Lazlo were married and more in touch with their emotions, whatever that meant, God help the rest of them.

  Janos and Miklos had met Lauryn when they’d come and taken the ship’s crew back to Valtria with them. Both liked her, which made no sense at all. Janos, maybe, but Miklos ran palace security—he’d lost several of his men to the heist. He should not approve of an ex-thief so thoroughly.

  Not that his disapproval would have been better. Istvan felt defensive just thinking about anyone disapproving of her. She scrambled his brain like no other, he thought as he walked back to her.

  She stood next to the bed, her dress back in place, looking as if she, too, had sobered in the few minutes that had passed. She glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s time for us to leave.”

  For the next meeting with the next criminal. And the stakes were higher than ever. “You should stay.”

  She gave him a stubborn look. “We’ve already done that song and dance.”

  “These people are more dangerous than I thought.” He told her what he’d found out from Miklos, told her a little about the Freedom Council. “We’re not facing a simple gang of thieves with a wealthy buyer behind them. The Freedom Council’s sole purpose is the defeat of the monarchy and the destruction of the royal family.”

  “By that you mean they’ll try to kill you given half a chance?”

  He nodded.

  For a second she held his gaze without a word, a thoughtful look in her eyes. Then she squared her slim shoulders. “All the more reason for me to be there.”

  A pure gesture of courage and loyalty.

  He felt an unfamiliar sensation in the middle of his chest. For now, he decided to ignore it.

  BELLINGHAM WAS AN AGENT, a go-between man. Berk, the guy they were meeting tonight, was a crew boss, a different animal altogether. Bellingham was a gentleman, using his high standing in society to gain connections, to wheel and deal. He had people for protection and intimidation when necessary. He wasn’t the type to get his hands dirty.

  Berk was the man in the trenches. He went out on heists and put his neck on the line every time. Lauryn knew his kind only too well. He had a team of rough-and-tough criminals to keep in line, keep from going rogue or trying to take over. Any one of his men could plea-bargain his name if caught, any one could slit his throat to get a bigger share of the loot.

  Berk didn’t invite them into his home. He insisted on meeting at a neutral location on the Turkish side of the island, at a café near a famous bazaar where he had enough of his armed men watching to make minced meat out of them at the first wrong move. Caution was Berk’s middle name. That and shooting first, apologizing later was what kept him alive.

  “Does your buyer have a price range?” he asked, drawing from a water pipe. They were sitting over a plate of sweets and strong, unfiltered coffee.

  The man had watery brown eyes and a sparse beard that covered only the tip of his chin, the scraggly hairs a few inches long, coming together at the end in a spike. Tattoos of Turkish script covered his lower arms. He wore an eggplant-colored suit and leather loafers that had pointy toes.

  “For the right piece, he’d pay the right price,” Istvan said as Fernando.

  “And the right piece would be something extravagant.”

  Istvan nodded. “Something truly one-of-a-kind. For a private collection that’s never been seen by outside eyes.”

  “Maybe he has something in mind and would like to commission a job?”

  “He’s heard about a recent job with several items he might be interested in.”

  “Commissioned by another collector?”

  Istvan shrugged.

  “The original buyer would be disappointed if he didn’t get what he paid for. Bad business all around.”

  The two had been talking like that for an hour, hinting much, saying little as Lauryn patiently sat by. The market buzzed around them, people coming and going, shopping, drinking, making deals. Women, too. Some in Western outfits, others veiled. Coming from Turkey, Muslim conservatives were gaining ground on the north side of the island. Only a small foothold, though. Nobody gave her any trouble for her clothes or for sitting with two men, although, knowing what it would be like here, she had added a large, dark blue silk shawl to her outfit. She had draped it loosely over her head and shoulders when they’d arrived.

  Directly next to the café was a spice stand, a perfume stand on the other side where scents were mixed on the spot, one-of-a-kind for each customer’s taste. Clothing shops took up one full row, silks and damasks in every color of the rainbow. Another alley was dominated by carpet dealers, selling everything from four-hundred-year-old museum-quality pieces to the latest designs. Copper dishes were sold yet in another place. And leather, and everything that can be made from the material, in several shops within sight.

  She’d been pretending to pay a great deal of attention to the shopping, leaving the men to talk. But it seemed the talk was going in circles at this stage. She turned her attention to them and snuggled up to Istvan. He ignored her for a while, then pushed her away.

  She put on a hurt look, then shrugged and cozied up to Berk, linking one arm through his, smoothing a hand down his lapel. “Can I offer you more coffee?”

  He cast an amused look at Fernando/Istvan. Then nodded.

  She served him, but didn’t pull away when she was done. The thunder in Istvan’s eyes looked award-worthy as he pulled a wad of cash from hi
s pocket and tossed the bills at her. “Go shopping.”

  She bumped into Berk as she slid off her chair, flashed him an apologetic smile. To Istvan she gave a look of defiance, but then took the money and walked away to explore the bazaar.

  On her way, she passed a table where Istvan’s two bodyguards sat incognito, although she was sure Berk had picked them out as soon as they’d arrived, which was fine.

  She went to the candle maker first and bought a chunk of beeswax. Then a length of silk the color of her eyes. Next she visited the leather shop where she selected a supple bodice that laced up in the front, a risqué piece made for tourists. This she took into the dressing room.

  She glanced through the crack in the curtain and for a second watched the man who’d been following her all along, one of Berk’s goons no doubt. Tall and bulky, he looked the quintessential seedy tough guy, with a scar running along his cheekbone, a bump in his nose where it had healed badly after a fight and greasy hair combed back from his eyes.

  She cast the bodice aside, took the keys she’d lifted off Berk and pressed them into the chunk of wax, then cleaned them off to make sure nothing stuck to them. Next came the papers she’d lifted from the man’s pocket. She used her cell phone to carefully photograph each page. Then she put everything away and carried out the bodice. She made a show of bargaining, as was expected, but ended up leaving the thing behind.

  Her work done, she walked around some more, politely refusing vendors who did their level best to lure her inside their small shops, calling loudly and offering the most incredible deals. She moved within a hundred feet of where Istvan and Berk were sitting, making a game of picking out Berk’s men who were standing guard at regular intervals. She found almost a dozen and made a point of remembering their faces. They were his crew, the ones he would send after her and Istvan if something went wrong. It was better to be able to recognize them from afar.

  When it looked as if Istvan and Berk were finishing up, she weaved her way back to them, stopped behind Berk and touched his shoulders, smoothed down his lapels, gave the man a sugary smile. “I love your country. Everyone is so nice.”

  Istvan stood up so quickly that his chair nearly tipped back. “You know how to find me,” he told Berk, then grabbed Lauryn’s elbow and dragged her along without a word. His steps were controlled, as was the emotion on his face, but enough tension radiated off him to tell everyone who watched that he was displeased with his woman.

  The gazes of Berk’s men followed them, some looking on with an amused smile.

  Then one looked toward Berk’s table. Some silent communication must have passed between them because the man began walking down an aisle parallel to theirs, keeping them in his sight.

  ISTVAN WATCHED LAURYN come out of their hotel bath room, again in those sensible pajamas, and go straight to the table to pour herself a glass of water. He was still fully dressed, although resting comfortably, his arms under his head as he reclined on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankles. They’d had a productive day, all in all.

  They both deserved a break.

  He glanced toward the window. The last time he’d checked, Berk’s goon was gone. He let the guy follow them back to the hotel. Let Berk have that information, let him think he had the upper hand and that Fernando and his guards weren’t as sharp as they thought.

  The chunk of beeswax had been picked up by his backup team, the keys already being made. The copies of the two pieces of scrap paper in Berk’s pocket lay on the nightstand. On one there was an address. He’d al ready sent a man there to check it out. A tailor shop, not much more than a small room with a window front, his man had reported after the premises had been entered and searched. Nothing suspicious had been found.

  “How did I do as the misbehaving mistress?” Lauryn brought the glass of water over and set it on her nightstand.

  “You have misbehaving down pat. The mistress part needs work.” He sat up and reached out and pulled her down to the bed.

  She moved away from him, putting some distance and a throw pillow between them. “Listen. About this afternoon…”

  Thinking about that afternoon put his body on alert and then some. Sitting on the bed with her and thinking about their passionate kisses kicked the heat up another notch. “I agree. It’s high time we finished. I apologize for the interruption.”

  She threw him a look of exasperation. “You know that’s not what I was about to say.”

  His body was buzzing with anticipation. As usual, her seductress act had gone only too well. Her touching him had filled him with need. Her touching Berk had filled him with thoughts of murder.

  “Anyway. About this afternoon…” She looked away. “That was a mistake.”

  “Says who?”

  “Reality and common sense.”

  “Both overrated.”

  “You can’t be involved with someone like me.” She turned back to him and folded her arms in front of her. “Think of the press.”

  He’d already thought of that. Anyone involved with the royal princes came under a magnifying glass. Her past, her family, would never stand up to scrutiny. They’d crucify her. And Chancellor Egon would crucify him for the bad press. More than ever, the monarchy had to be beyond reproach. The Freedom Council stopped at nothing to malign the royal family and turn the people against them, stooping to outright lies if needed. Lauryn’s past, even if nothing more than rumors, would be used against them mercilessly.

  He rarely railed against the confines of his title, certainly not like Lazlo and some of his other brothers. But he did now. Something to be dealt with later. He swiped the pillow from between them and pulled her close, pulled her down to the bed with him and settled her in his arms, kissed her temple, then the tip of a small, pink ear. “I don’t see any press in sight.”

  She turned her head, but she didn’t move away. “You want a temporary mistress.”

  “I want you, any way you’re willing.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since you broke the Brotherhood’s code.” Probably even before. Possibly from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, but he thought telling her that might give her too much power.

  She struggled with a smile as her eyes opened. “You’re impossible.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “I bet.” She pulled away to pick up the paper that held the information she’d lifted from Berk. The address was a dead end, but she’d also photographed some kind of a drawing.

  “What do you think it is?” he asked.

  “A map, but of what?” She traced the lines. “Could be roads and hills. Could be a map of the early Christian catacombs right here in Paphos.”

  “Could be a map of hallways inside a building.”

  “We need at least one point of reference. Without that, the map is no help whatsoever.” She put the paper back, frustration drawing small lines around her full lips, lines he wouldn’t have minded kissing away.

  He reached out to fold his fingers around her slim wrist and pulled her closer.

  “I can’t do this,” she said, her voice pained.

  “Why?”

  She looked as if she wasn’t going to answer, but then she said, “There is something here.” She drew a slow breath, looking away from him. “At least for me there is. If I open this door, it’s going to hurt to walk away.”

  “Then don’t.” He caught himself as soon as he said the words. What the hell did he mean? Damned if he knew.

  “I’ll have to. Sooner or later. We live in different worlds.”

  He hated that she was right. Because, to be honest, there was something here for him, too. A pull he might have underestimated earlier. That she could coolly analyze the situation and so easily walk away from what could be burned him.

  “I’m not sleeping on the couch tonight.”

  She moved all the way to the other side of the bed and turned her back to him. “Suit yourself.”

  Two hours later, he was still staring at the
ceiling, which was just as well. At least his mind wasn’t fuzzy from sleep when his phone rang.

  The head of the team he’d left at Alexander’s estate was on the line. They were following up on a number of things, as Istvan had requested.

  “Our man who was following Berk called in. The guy went straight to Canda in Limassol. They hopped into a car and headed off toward the countryside,” he said.

  Canda was another possible link on Cyprus on their list. “Are they being followed?”

  “We have two men on them. The one who shadowed Berk and the one who shadowed Canda. They’ll report back to me as soon as there’s any change.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Five kilometers from Dali.”

  He was dragging his clothes on already. “I’m coming.”

  “Me, too.” Not surprisingly, Lauryn already had one of her Catwoman outfits on, blinking the sleep from her eyes, running her fingers through her copper hair to tame it enough for a ponytail.

  He didn’t have time to argue as she grabbed the sketchy map and shoved it in her pocket. He rapped on the door to alert his guards in the adjoining suite. They caught up while Istvan and Lauryn waited for the elevators. Probably slept with their clothes on, judging by the wrinkles.

  They took two cars for safety. Having backup could come in handy. He turned on the GPS and contacted the man who’d been following Berk. “Anything new?”

  “They drove into Dali and pulled into a courtyard. Not sure what happened in there, but they came out with a black van and backup.”

  “How many?”

  “Two jeeps with four men in each. Could be more in the back of the van.”

  “Heading which way?”

  “North.”

  “Morphou Bay,” Lauryn said once he’d hung up.

  “Probably.” If his asking around spooked the thieves because they had something to hide, they could be getting ready to move the artifacts off the island. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Syria was too close, just a boat ride away, so was the African coast. It would be all too easy for the thieves and the crown jewels to disappear forever.