High-Stakes Affair (9 page)

Thunder rumbled outside. Growing even more anxious, she jogged down the warehouse aisle beside Dante, her footsteps cleaving the gloom. The impending storm had darkened the windows, cloaking the room in an early dusk. Crates and pallets loomed on every side.

Dante headed down another aisle, then took a sudden detour, veering toward a metal door. “What’s in there?” he asked, peering through the small, high window set in the door. “It looks like a bunch of refrigerators.”

“Cold storage, probably. For anything that has to be kept at a certain temperature, like vaccines. I’ve seen it at the hospital. The containers have continuous tracking thermometers and a temperature log.”

He turned away with a grunt. Paloma pivoted and took the lead, hurrying past miles of shelves and crates. When she finally reached the hall at the front of the warehouse, she paused.

To the left was the entrance to the packaging plant, where the workers bottled and packaged pills. The shipping office was on the right. “This way,” Dante said, striding off, and she followed him to the office door.

Dante hauled out his picks and made short work of the lock.

“What are we looking for?” she asked as they stepped inside.

“Purchasing, billing records. Anything that looks out of place.” He flicked on the overhead light, then went to the computer at the desk and sat. “Good. It’s on. That’ll save us some time. Now I just need to find the password....” He started opening drawers.

Still feeling jumpy, Paloma took stock of the office—a drab, dusty room with a stained beige carpet, a trio of wilted plants on top of the metal file cabinets, and vinyl chairs. She peeked out the other door at the reception area—and spotted the surveillance camera aimed straight at her. Startled, she whirled around.

“Found it,” Dante said. He pulled a small notebook from a shelf hidden beneath the desk.

“They write their passwords in
that?
”

He flipped through the little book. “People tend to be lazy when it comes to security. You’d be surprised.”

Not anymore. Making a mental note to improve her own lax habits, she joined him at the desk.

He typed on the keyboard, and a screen popped up. “Perfect. They use the same accounting software that I do.” He dragged the mouse and selected an application from the screen. Another password later, he grinned. “We’re in.”

Wishing she could share his enthusiasm, she shot an uneasy glance toward the entrance. She couldn’t stifle her mounting dread—that the guards would arrive and arrest them, that her brother really was doing something wrong, that something even more ominous was about to occur.

Thunder boomed, rattling the windowpanes, and straining her nerves even more. “I wish Miguel would call,” she said. “This would be so much simpler if we could get into Gomez’s files.”

“He’ll call. Don’t worry.” His gaze still on the monitor, he slowly smiled. “Here we go.”

She dragged her attention back to the monitor, where a spreadsheet appeared on the screen. “What is that?”

“A summary record of orders for the past quarter.”

Leaning closer to Dante, she studied the headings on the columns—purchase dates, costs, the names of the medications and the companies they’d bought them from. The wholesaler they’d shipped them to and the marked-up price.

Dante scrolled quickly down the page, making her aching head whirl. She blinked to clear her eyes.

“So what do you think?”

“It looks clean, as far as I can see,” he replied.

Thank goodness.
She’d hoped this would be a waste of time.

Dante minimized the spreadsheet, then brought up another folder on the screen. A minute later he minimized that one, too. A deep roll of thunder vibrated the floor. Then the skies broke loose, and rain came bucketing down, drumming on the metal roof. She shivered in her damp clothes.

“Shouldn’t we get going?” she asked.

Dante didn’t look up. “A few more minutes.” He continued studying the screen, his expression intent.

She rubbed her arms, amazed at his steely nerves. How could he stay so calm? Tension coiling tighter inside her, she shot another glance toward the door. She couldn’t afford to get arrested, especially not here. Not only would the scandal rock the country, but it might reveal the true ownership of the company, a complication her family didn’t need.

“What the hell?”

She jerked her gaze back to the screen. “What?”

His brow furrowed, Dante flipped between two screens.

“What is it?” she asked again.

“I’m not sure yet.” He brought the first folder back on to the screen. “See this? Everything looks normal. Take this order, for example. Number nineteen fifty-four. Received the first of the month. A shipment of sildenafil citrate—that’s the generic name for a popular virility drug—coming from Salvo Pharmaceuticals in Spain.”

“So?”

“Now look at this.” He switched to the other folder. “The same date. The same quantity of sildenafil, but this one came from Mumbai. Hell, all the shipments in this folder came from there.”

“Maybe that’s where they manufacture the pills. It’s probably cheaper to outsource to India. Then they ship them here for repackaging. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He shook his head. “It’s the same shipment. They’ve entered it twice—once as coming from Mumbai and again as originating in Spain. Look.” He displayed the two screens side by side. “Everything’s the same—the order number, the date. They both contain sildenafil, and the quantity’s the same.”

An uneasy feeling stirred inside her.

“Why have a separate file just for the goods from India?” he asked. “And look at their profit—what they paid for it versus what they sold it for.” He pointed to the original screen. “They made, what? Roughly ten percent profit off the goods from Spain? I don’t know much about pharmaceuticals, but let’s assume that’s a normal margin. Now look at the difference in the Indian goods. The revenue’s a thousand percent!”

Her heart sped up. “What are you saying?”

“The Spanish shipments are bogus, a sham. He’s importing the medicine from India, but making it look as if it came from Spain. He can hide the profit that way.”

“You think he’s cooking his books?”

Dante’s eyes turned grim. “He’s doing more than that. Unless I miss my guess, he’s smuggling in counterfeit drugs.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“Think about it. The goods are delivered when the plant is closed. You’ve got La Brigada bringing them in—and everyone knows they run the smuggling routes around here. Then add in the double books…”

Oh, God.
He was right. Feeling sick, she closed her eyes.

“It’s easy,” Dante continued. “And the profit’s huge. They make the fakes in India for a minimal cost. They repackage them here, mixing them in with the real goods. That puts them in the legal distribution chain.”

And from there, they ended up in pharmacies around the world.

Her belly churned. She felt as if she was going to throw up. Counterfeits were a huge worry at the hospital where she volunteered. They could contain anything—baby powder, sawdust, diluted versions of the real drug. Even if the ingredients were benign, patients could die when they didn’t get the treatment they needed for their disease. And if the contents were deadly…

“A lot of terror groups run these rings,” Dante added. “It’s easier than dealing with illegal drugs. And a hell of a lot more profitable.”

“It’s despicable.” Her voice shook. Was there anything worse than preying on the sick? “I can’t believe my brother is involved in this.”

Dante’s gaze hardened. “Then let’s get proof.”

His watch beeped. Ignoring it, he swiveled around and jabbed his finger at the screen. “Here’s today’s shipment, the stuff we just watched them unload. More sildenafil. And it’s been entered twice—once as coming from Spain, and again from India.”

He hit Print and rose. After turning off the monitor, he grabbed the pages from the printer and strode to the office door. “Come on. Let’s go look at that shipment.”

She hurried with him through the hallway, denials warring with her growing doubts. She didn’t want to believe it. Even the idea of it made her sick. But she couldn’t stop the flood of memories—her brother’s sly lies, which he’d always covered with a charming grin. The fleeting flashes of cruelty she’d glimpsed—before she’d convinced herself she’d imagined them. But was Tristan truly capable of this?

They sprinted back into the warehouse, then raced down the aisle to the stack of pallets near the cargo bay doors.

“You grab the paperwork,” Dante told her. “I’m going to open the pallet and see what’s inside.”

Her tension mounting, knowing the police could show up at any time, she rushed around the pallet and searched for the plastic pouch. She ripped it off and took out the pages folded inside while Dante grabbed several tools. Then he sliced away the shrink-wrap, exposing the crate.

She glanced at the various papers—the bill of lading, the packing slip and customs forms. She found the name of the shipping company, the weight, quantity and description of the goods. Sildenafil.

Dante pried off the top of the crate, and they peered inside. Dozens of huge plastic containers filled the box. He cut through the packing material on one and unscrewed the lid, then scooped up a handful of pills.

Blue, diamond-shaped pills.

Her heart thudding, she took one from his hand. The word Salvo was stamped on one side; the drug’s brand name on the back.

Everything inside her turned cold.

“We’ll get them tested,” Dante said as a siren rose.

She managed to nod, but she didn’t have any doubts. Her brother was a criminal, selling fake drugs.

Chapter 8

P
aloma huddled on the rug before the fireplace in Dante’s front room hours later, her heart aching, her entire world falling apart. Rain slanted against the glass. Lightning crackled against the sky, flashing like a strobe light in the pitch-black night. She stared dully at the twisting flames, still not able to reconcile what she’d learned about her brother with the man she thought she’d known.

Tristan had betrayed her trust. He was engaged in criminal activities, smuggling counterfeit drugs. They still needed to test the pills, but she didn’t have any doubt. Too many details added up.

And it shattered her. It forced her to question everything she believed about him. Her brother, the prince—the future of País Vell’s monarchy—was in cahoots with terrorists, preying on innocent people worldwide.

Sick, vulnerable people. The very people who needed hope and help. Could he get more callous than that?

Lightning sizzled again, followed by a deep, thunderous boom that made the worn stone floor vibrate. The power had gone out when the full fury of the storm came down, shortly after they’d left the plant. The storm had provided cover, enabling them to evade the guards and reenter town. But the rain had soaked them on the harrowing drive down the mountain, and not even a hot shower, a roaring fire and the bundle of blankets Dante had wrapped her in could banish the profound chill.

Especially the one in her heart. Because now she had to wonder, if her brother was capable of committing an atrocity like this, what else might he have done?

“Here. This should help warm you,” Dante said. Bending down, he handed her a steaming mug of tea.

Grateful, she cradled the mug in her freezing hands, the spicy aroma of the brandy he’d added teasing her nose. She took a sip, savoring the smooth, aromatic heat as it warmed a path down her throat.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked, lowering himself to the rug. He’d showered, too, then changed into a sweater and jeans. The firelight flickered and danced, emphasizing the clean-shaven angles of his jaw.

“Not really,” she admitted. She took another sip of tea, then leaned back against the ottoman beside him and closed her eyes. She felt numb, hollow. Her whole world had tilted off course. “I still don’t want to believe he’s selling fake drugs.”

“It makes sense, though. He probably launders the profits through the casino during his gambling trips. Maybe that’s what Gomez was blackmailing him about.”

“Maybe. But how could he do something so awful? He’s profiting off people’s misery, hurting them when they need help the most.”

“I know.” Sympathy laced his voice, which she appreciated. At least he wasn’t rubbing it in. “I’m surprised he’d need the money, though. Your family owns most of País Vell.”

“Most of our wealth is held in trusts—the property, investments, even the businesses, like Vell Pharmaceuticals. We get a stipend from the income, but it isn’t as much as you’d think.” And Tristan had expensive hobbies and taste. “But there’s still no excuse. I don’t care how much money he thinks he needs. People can die from those counterfeit drugs.”

That news alone would ruin the monarchy when it came out. There would be no way to spin the news into something good. And rightfully not. Tristan didn’t deserve a break.

But the monarchy provided stability to País Vell. Its sudden destruction could ignite a civil war.

And she couldn’t halt an even greater fear lurking inside her—that he might be involved in something worse.

She pressed the heel of her hand to her gritty eyes, longing to forget about her brother for now. Her head still ached. Her throat was sore—thanks to that icy ride through the rain. And she was so damned exhausted that all she wanted was to curl up before the fire, escape reality and sleep.

But she couldn’t ignore the truth, no matter how tired she was. People’s lives could be at stake.

And the truth was…she now had to rethink her goal. She’d started off trying to protect her brother, to keep that blackmail evidence from coming to light. And she’d wanted to keep her countrymen from coming to harm—a noble cause.

But Tristan had used her, lied to her. She’d risked her life to get that computer disk. She’d broken into the casino. She’d been chased by guards—guards he’d promised to call off. She could have been shot!

Feeling utterly depleted, she sipped her tea, taking comfort from the warmth. The flames in the fireplace flickered and curled, throwing off welcome heat. The storm raged outside, rain pounding the windows while the lightning flashed.

She slid Dante another glance. He had his head tipped back, his dark eyes closed. Firelight danced on his tawny skin. She allowed her gaze to linger, tracing the potent lines of his face, his frankly sexual mouth, the heavy sinews roping his neck and arms. His stark masculinity washed through her, and her blood began to hum.

He appealed to her, all right. He had an edginess about him, and the kind of raw, animal magnetism she couldn’t resist. Her gaze wandered lower, over his hard, broad chest and lean, flat belly to the enticing bulge in his worn jeans. Her face warming, she shifted her gaze away.

And the irony of it all struck her hard. Dante was probably El Fantasma, a wanted criminal, the scourge of the nobility. And yet who was hurting people more? Dante? Or her brother, the prince—a man whose duty it was to lead and protect the people of País Vell?

“What’s wrong?” Dante asked, not opening his eyes.

Everything.
She swallowed another sip of tea, then sighed. “It’s ironic. I’ve always been the black sheep of the family, the one who couldn’t do anything right, while Tristan’s been the model son.” Everyone loved him. He was everything a prince should be—clever, handsome, refined.

Corrupt.

And while she’d worked for years to help and serve her people, trying in vain to rehabilitate her damaged image, her perfect brother had been committing crimes.

Dante opened his eyes, his expression thoughtful. “How did you end up labeled that way?”

“I don’t know.” She turned back to the fire with a shrug. “I guess I always had trouble conforming to what my father expected from me. I wasn’t very obedient, and he has harsh opinions about a woman’s role in life. But things really went south when my brother Felipe died.”

“How did that happen?”

She hesitated to say. No one ever discussed that day; the subject was strictly taboo. And she’d spent most of her life trying hard to forget it—not that it had done any good.

But Dante’s solid thigh stretched alongside hers. His broad shoulder invited her to lean on him, lending support. She turned her head, and the acceptance in his midnight eyes made her yearn to reveal the truth.

She didn’t know why. Maybe she’d held the story in too long. Or maybe with her illusions shattered about Tristan, she already felt exposed. Or maybe it was something in Dante—a man who’d also suffered a life-altering trauma—that made her think he’d understand.

And just maybe it was past time to face down her demons, to dredge up the painful memories and lay them to rest.

She drained her mug of tea and set it aside. Pulling her knees to her chest, she returned her gaze to the flames, and dragged in a steadying breath.

“It happened at the end of the summer. We were hot, cranky and bored that day. My father was busy with visitors, and we were desperate to get out of the house.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve. Felipe was two years older than I was. Tristan was only six.”

Thunder rumbled again. The log in the fireplace shifted, throwing up a shower of sparks.

“Our nanny suggested a hike to the lake. My father let us go, but he insisted we take our bodyguard, of course. It turned out they were having an affair, the nanny and the guard. I think…the hike was just an excuse so they could spend some time together. Either way, they were too involved with each other to pay much attention to us.”

“You only had one guard?” Dante asked, sounding surprised.

“There wasn’t as much danger then. La Brigada hadn’t launched an attack in years. And we weren’t going far, just to the lake behind the castle. We were still on gated grounds.”

She stared into the flames, watching the sparks shimmer and swirl as her mind continued to travel back. “We had a picnic and swam for a while. There was a raptor circling the lake, a hawk. Puffy clouds in the sky.” Funny how details like that lingered after all those years.

“The nanny and the guard wandered off. They told me to keep my eye on Tristan, who was skipping stones into the lake, but I got restless. There was a field of wildflowers nearby. I could still see Tristan, so I thought it would be okay if I went over to pick a bouquet.”

She swallowed hard. “I got distracted. I sat down and started weaving the flowers into a crown. I could still hear him throwing stones. And then I realized it was too quiet. I didn’t hear him anymore. I’m not sure how much time had passed. I jumped up, and he was gone, but I caught a glimpse of him running down the trail. He wanted to find Felipe, who’d gone to climb some rocks.”

Her belly churned. Her breath sped up. Sweat moistened her upper lip. “I chased him, yelling for him to wait, but that only made him run faster. By the time I caught up, he’d found Felipe and climbed way out on a boulder. He was standing right at the edge.”

Shivering, she closed her eyes. Dante shifted behind her, placing his heavy hand on her shoulder, the solid weight anchoring her somehow.

“Felipe went after him and tried to coax him back. But Tristan didn’t understand. He thought it was a game. He dodged him, and Felipe fell. He tumbled off the rock but somehow caught a branch and hung on.”

She pressed her hand to her throat, remembering the horror in Felipe’s eyes. The absolute panic and helplessness she’d felt.

“I knew I couldn’t pull him up. Felipe yelled at me to go for help. I got Tristan off the rock, and then I ran back down the trail, screaming to the nanny and guard. They finally heard me and started running toward me, but they were too far away to help. So I raced back.”

“Paloma…”

“No, I want to tell you.” Inhaling, feeling as winded as if she’d just run up that trail, she forced herself to go on. “When I got back to the rock, Felipe had managed to pull himself partway up. He was reaching for another branch. I couldn’t see exactly. Tristan had climbed back out on the rock and was blocking the way. I could hear Felipe shouting at him to move, to get back. That he was stepping on his hands and loosening the dirt.

“And then…and then…” Shaking, gasping, a cold sweat beading her face, she forced herself to remember it all. “Felipe fell.” His high-pitched scream had echoed in her skull—until it abruptly stopped.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Dante slid his hand to the nape of her neck. Then he rubbed her back, the gesture comforting, steadying, helping to dispel the horror she felt.

“Where was the guard?” he finally asked.

She inhaled. “They showed up a few seconds later.”

She twisted and met his eyes, feeling as if she were standing on a precipice herself. And suddenly, she wanted to tell him the rest, the horrific truth she’d never revealed. The fear she’d never dared name.

“But just for a minute,” she whispered. “When Tristan turned around, there was something in his eyes. I thought…he looked…triumphant. Gleeful. I thought for a second that he’d
made
Felipe fall.”

Dante’s gaze held hers. For several heartbeats, he didn’t speak. Then a log snapped in the fireplace, and she blinked.

“But that can’t be right. It happened so fast that I’m sure I imagined that. And everyone said it was my fault. I shouldn’t have wandered off. I should have called for help at once.”

Dante’s jaw hardened, and he sat up. “You were twelve. The guard and nanny were responsible for you. They were the ones to blame.”

She exhaled. “I know. My father fired them immediately.” Felipe’s death had devastated the king. First he’d lost his wife, then Felipe, his heir and favorite son. And he still blamed her. She felt his resentment and condemnation every day.

While she lived with the shame that she’d shirked her duty, that she hadn’t saved her beloved brother Felipe.

That she’d survived.

She let out a heavy sigh. “I was never popular, but I became a pariah overnight after that. I tried to make up for it, but I couldn’t do anything right. So I focused on helping Tristan instead.”

She’d wanted to feel needed, valued. To win her father’s approval and assuage the guilt. To prove she wasn’t as irresponsible as everyone said. And that maybe she deserved their respect.

“But nothing helped. Everyone still despised me. Any mistakes I made got magnified, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. And then…I gave up. I went wild—drinking, drugs. Living down to my bad reputation. Doing anything I could do to forget.”

“Did it help?”

“No.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I just hated myself more. The tabloids hounded me. My reputation tanked. I was the poster child for dissipated living, giving the separatists a reason to demand independence again. That’s what finally made me stop. I didn’t care about myself. But I realized the damage I was doing to País Vell.”

Dante dropped his hand, but he shifted closer, his broad shoulder supporting her back. She leaned against him, grateful for his compassion. His silence. His understanding.