To Catch a Princess (5 page)

But she wasn’t going to be as dense with the whole insane marriage arrangement. Especially now that she knew that she couldn’t trust Peter. That he had been lying to her for nearly a decade. Frickin’ unbelievable.

He had said it was complicated as to why he had kept his real identity a secret. That he didn’t want to be in the public eye, and on some level she could understand that. It would be tough for him to be undercover or work his beat if the press and others found out he was a prince.

But there was more that he wasn’t saying. He’d started to, then changed his mind. What could the big badass detective need to protect himself from?

He’d said she could trust him, but obviously he didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth. So no, she couldn’t trust him.

Not until he gave her the real reason for hiding who he was.

…

Peter’s knees wobbled as he stepped from the helicopter onto the grounds of the Monaco Heliport. Luckily the stomach-churning, sweat-inducing ride from the
Côte d’Azur
airport in Nice had barely taken ten minutes.

Ten minutes of torture, but he’d be damned if he’d let Tatiana see his discomfort. He placed his hand at the small of her back, and although she did a little shimmy to shake it off, he directed her toward the polished silver Rolls Royce limo waiting for them yards away.

Tony Martino, head of security at the Jewel of Russia, the Ivanovs’ Monaco casino and hotel complex, waited by the vehicle. Peter recognized him from the materials Alexander had provided so he could get to know the various people he’d be working with.

Tony bowed as Tatiana approached. “Princess. It’s nice to see you again,” the man said in a way that made Peter want to punch his lights out, especially when his gaze settled for far too long on Tatiana’s body.

“Thank you, Tony. May I introduce Detective Peter Roman,” she said, ice dripping from every syllable of what she knew to be his alias. “He’ll be assisting us for the next week,” she added with obvious reluctance.

Peter shook the security chief’s hand and didn’t fail to notice the way the other man sized him up and found him lacking. In the world of TV detectives, Peter was the rumpled and shaggy Colombo while this man was the very smooth and elegant Remington Steele.

Tony would be shocked and soon. Like his TV counterpart, Peter greatly enjoyed the moment when others realized they’d totally underestimated him.

After they slipped into the back of the limo, Tony opened a briefcase on the seat beside him and pulled out the Sig-Sauer that Peter had requested, along with a slip of paper. The carry permit.

Peter eased the gun into his ever-present shoulder holster and tucked the paper into his wallet.

“What can you tell us?” he asked, earning a moue of annoyance from Tatiana.

Tony turned to her for permission to respond and she nodded. Peter banked his own irritation. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone questioning his authority. He wasn’t the Head Detective in Charge of his field office—yet—but his bosses trusted him implicitly and normally left him to use his own judgment on his cases.

“Everything is going according to plan,” the security chief advised. “You can see for yourself in a few minutes.” He then focused his attentions on Tatiana once again.

“A tour would be perfect, Tony. Afterward, we can take a moment to freshen up before dining. Will your
wife
be able to join us?” she asked pointedly, and Peter barely contained his amusement.

Her subtle reminder about his marital status controlled the man much more effectively than the punch Peter had been thinking about.

Tony forced a smile and worked a finger beneath the collar of his expensive shirt, tugging at it. “I will call and ask, Your Highness,” he replied with a deferential nod.

“Wonderful,” she murmured, and shot a glance at Peter, making it clear she was more than capable of handling herself. Making it clear she’d handle him also, if need be.

Peter settled back to enjoy the sights during the very short trip to the Jewel of Russia casino. Beyond the heliport, a marina was home to boats of various sizes, including sailboats and luxury yachts nearly as big as cruise ships. Beyond the gleaming chrome, rich teak, and white fiberglass, the cerulean surface of the Mediterranean sparkled with morning sunlight. All along the road, high end condos rose up overlooking the harbor, then climbed up toward the rocky hillsides that housed Monaco’s fabulous gardens and the Rock of Monaco monolith. A few minutes later, the limo stopped before the Ivanovs’ Jewel of Russia building, which housed not only their casino, but an over-the-top hotel that only the very wealthy could afford. Very different from their Atlantic City location that catered to a varied collection of patrons.

As soon as Peter stepped from the limo, he smelled it. Money. Shitloads of it. He glanced around the area that housed most of the casinos in Monte Carlo. It was like a scene from a motion picture, with the ornate and elegant Belle Époque buildings, the Riviera’s signature palm trees, and perfectly manicured gardens. A world away from his current and very average life.

A world that had once been his, before he walked away from it.

A twinge tightened his gut. Regret? No. Nothing that simple. More like uncertainty over everything that hadn’t happened—both good and bad.

“Something up, Peter?” Tatiana asked, putting aside her earlier anger and laying a hand on the arm of his wrinkled suit.

He smiled tightly. “Nothing. It’s just been a while since I’ve been here.” If it weren’t for his desire to protect her, it was the kind of life he wanted to avoid. Much as Alexander did, or for that matter, Tatiana. Outwardly, she might be a little more regal than her brother, but Peter knew that in private she’d ditch the elegant suit because she was a jeans kind of girl.

“We can go for a walk later, if you feel like it,” she said. He again placed his hand at the small of her back, earning a raised eyebrow from Tony. Unlike earlier, she didn’t protest his action, bringing hope that she was handling the big reveal of his real identity.

Inside the Jewel of Russia’s lobby, Tony instructed the bellhops about the bags and handed Tatiana their keys. “The Royal Suite, Princess.”

A suite? The two of them stuck so close together? Peter was about to protest, but Tatiana beat him to it.

“I didn’t ask for a suite, Tony. We were supposed to have separate rooms on the same floor.”

Tony stammered, “I’m s-sorry, Princess. I received the instructions directly from Prince Alexander and he was quite specific—”

Her lips thinned. “I understand, Tony. But this is not acceptable. The paparazzi would just love to dish about his arrangement. Please ask the manager—”

“I’m sorry, but we’re fully booked, Princess Tatiana,” he said, coloring to a deep crimson at having to tell her the news.

A pained inhalation came from Tatiana, and with a quick look at Peter from the corner of her eye, she forced a smile. “It’s okay, Tony. It’ll make it easier for us to coordinate what needs to be done. Peter and I will simply have to be discreet.”

Peter resigned himself to never sleeping, since he would be aware of her every move in the next room. He strangled thoughts of being so close, and hoped he could handle the temptation. Of course, he only needed to remind himself of what being involved with Tatiana meant—namely, getting pulled back into a world he had worked so hard to avoid for so long.

“Thanks, Tatiana,” he said, and silently added, “I think.”

Peter barely contained a laugh at Tony’s upturned nose and sniff before the security chief swept a hand out and said, “Shall we start our tour? The ballroom is straight ahead and to the left.”

Tatiana obviously knew the way and led them there.

Peter fought his awareness of her, from the sexy way she walked to the still fresh smell of her hair, and turned his attention to what he was there to do: Protecting the jewels and Tatiana.

They walked across marble floors polished to mirror brightness, and walls holding priceless artwork highlighted by ornately carved and gilded wood. Patrons as elegant as the environs strutted and sashayed beside them, foreigners one and all since the Monégasque citizens were forbidden to enter or work in the casinos.

At the end of the hall they stopped at the door of the ballroom, where two large, armed security guards were posted. They glanced at Tatiana and bowed their heads respectfully, but waited for Tony’s approval to allow them entry. “Everything all right, sir?”

“We’re fine,” the security chief said, and one of the men stepped forward to open the door.

Once they were inside and the door was locked behind them, Tony paused and said, “If there’s an issue and you need help from Security, the response to the guards should be, ‘We’re golden.’ As it is, your weapon has already been noticed by the metal detectors we passed through at the main entrance. I should receive a call any—”

Tony’s cell phone rang and he immediately answered. “He’s clear. He’s with me.”

Peter nodded his approval. “Good work.”

With that taken care of, Tony showed them the various preparations that were already underway. It all looked efficient and well thought out. Despite Peter’s reservations about the man on a personal level, professionally he was top notch.

If the thief was planning to hit this place during the charity auction, he’d definitely have his work cut out.

…

Tatiana listened intently to all the preparations for her important event. Peter walked beside her, mostly silent, but as she caught a glimpse of him every now and then, his cop’s eyes were keenly observing every detail and filing it away. She hoped that once they were upstairs in the suite, they could discuss those observations away from Tony. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her security chief, she just wanted Peter to be able to speak freely about the preparations and see if he had any suggestions for changes.

She might doubt his trustworthiness as an individual, but she completely trusted his professional abilities.

She also wanted to discuss with him the issue of the suite. She was royally pissed off with Alexander’s games. She suspected he wanted to play matchmaker, but she didn’t appreciate being put into such a difficult position.

After the tour through the ballroom, Tony walked them through the casino’s amphitheater where the fashion show would be held, the backstage areas that would be used for dressing the models and holding the assorted gowns and outfits, and the runway that had been built out from the stage for the event. As they were standing on the stage, Tony received another cell phone call and he excused himself for a moment.

As they stood there, Tatiana asked, “So what do you think?”

Peter examined the audience area and then the catwalks above the stage area. “There are lots of areas to secure, but it looks like that’s under control. I’d love to get blueprints of this section to review, if you don’t mind.”

“Not a problem. I’ll ask Tony to get them for you.”

Tony returned at that moment and grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I have to cut our tour short. There’s a problem in one of the gaming areas that requires my attention.”

Tatiana nodded. “No worries. I’ll show Peter around the rest of the casino and the hotel. It’s only a couple of hours until dinner anyway, and I know I’d like to freshen up.”

“Thank you, Princess,” he said, and with a short bow of his head, he left.

“Want to go up to the room now?” Peter asked. “I could walk around by myself to get a feel for the place.”

She shook her head. “You must be tired, too. Let’s just do a quick walk through the lobby and main casino floor and then head up to the suite.” She grimaced at the thought of the accommodations, still angry about the situation.

“While I’m pissed at Alexander’s meddling in our lives, there’s a great hot tub in the suite. I’d love a long hot bath and fresh set of clothes before we eat tonight.”

With a bow that mimicked Tony’s earlier action, he replied, “Of course.”

“Please don’t do the bow thing with me, Peter. You’re not an employee,” she said quickly, annoyed by his actions. Although Alexander had offered to pay him, Peter had refused any compensation for his assistance. Now she understood why.

“Thanks, Tatochka,” he teased with a grin.

“Now you’ve gone way too far. You’re not a friend or family,” Tatiana shot back, not feeling the least bit lighthearted about the situation they were in.

But Peter obviously couldn’t resist baiting her. His grin broadened, displaying an endearing and enticing dimple on one side. His gold-green eyes glittered with even greater amusement. “Sure thing,
solnyshko moyo
.”

She wrinkled her nose. “My sunshine? Do you think that’s the way to win a girl’s heart?”

He shrugged and walked off the stage in the direction of the lobby. “Actually, if the girl’s got half a brain, she won’t fall for such bullshit.”

“Really? So what will she fall for?” she asked, intrigued despite all the reasons it made no sense to be attracted to him. Trying to fight his allure, because even though he had betrayed her trust, she did find him incredibly hot and sexy.

He winked at her over his shoulder. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Chapter 7

As he had during their first meeting in London, Prince Sergei barely glanced at the contents of the padded envelope containing the bracelet and tiara before slipping them into the briefcase sitting at his feet.

Shea couldn’t hold back his annoyance—or his concern at the emotionless reactions of the prince. Only psychopaths could be that cold-blooded, which made him wonder if there wasn’t something else going on with the prince. A deadly and dangerous something else.

“For a man who is so eager for my products, you seem quite disinterested in the quality of what I’ve delivered to you.”

The prince took a sip from his glass of wine. “I trust you, Mr. Smith.” He picked up his knife and fork and resumed eating the cassoulet for which the little bistro on Île de la Cité was known. He ate mechanically, as if he ate because he had to and not because he enjoyed what he was tasting.

Shea wondered if he was always so detached, and decided to push a few buttons.

“Seems to me, Prince Sergei, that someone who has gone to such great lengths to regain their family history—”

“Silence,” the man said, glaring at him with cold venom. The cutlery rattled against the terracotta bowl as his hands trembled with rage. “How do you know who I am?” he demanded.

Shea lifted a corner of his lips. “I told you. I’m very good at what I do. Knowing who I am dealing with is part of being very good.” He tilted his head. “So is absolute discretion.”

The prince ground his teeth, then resumed eating. “Besides, what can you know of family? I may not know your real name, but I know what breeds men like you. Motherless, fatherless curs, no better than one of the mongrels running loose along the Seine.” He jerked his knife in the direction of the river flowing nearby.

Shea’s anger rose up, in part because he was so right. His father had run out on them when Shea was only a few years old. He barely remembered what the man looked like. His mother had worked herself into an early grave, and at fourteen, Shea had found himself out on the streets, surviving in any way he could, much like one of those mongrel dogs. But he had learned a great deal in all that time, and one of those things was never to let an enemy see you react.

He was certain Prince Sergei was no friend.

He casually picked up his wine glass, leaned back in his chair, and forced his pose to appear relaxed. With a calm smile, he said, “We all carry our crosses, Your Highness. The question is, do we so with honor or complaint? I’ll take honor any day.”

Prince Sergei laughed harshly and stabbed at a piece of duck in the cassoulet. “Honor among thieves? Do you truly believe that’s possible?”

He had up until that moment. After all, hadn’t he just been more honest than caution dictated? But something in the other man’s tone warned him something was up. Something beyond the theft of some jewels the prince coveted because they had at one time belonged to his family. Or rather, to the family that had refused to accept a bastard son like Sergei. Shea suspected the prince had another agenda. Maybe he intended to exact some other kind of revenge on the family gathered there. The deadly kind of revenge.

Not wanting to give away his growing unease, he smiled and said, “I truly do believe, Your Highness.” He held up his glass in a toast. “To honor.”

Prince Sergei seemed surprised for a moment, but then he raised his glass and repeated, “To honor.”

Shea smiled and took another sip of his wine. He had planned on staying in Paris tonight at a very quaint hotel run by a woman who asked no questions when he arrived on her doorstep and knew just how to make the night memorable.

Sadly the vibes coming off the prince warned him not to dawdle in Paris.

Better to get in his car, drop off the bracelet with the fence, and head to Monte Carlo. There was a deal arranged with a private buyer, but if the deal fell through, the Parisian fence could break apart the bracelet into marketable jewelry. In its original form, it would be too difficult to sell to anyone but a discreet private collector. But broken down, the jewels and platinum would bring a nice sum.

As would his final heist in Monaco.

Rising from his seat, he offered his apology. “I must run. I’ve got some errands and I want to prepare for our last assignment together.”

Prince Sergei nodded, visibly annoyed. “Of course, Mr. Smith. I look forward to our next meeting.”

He didn’t rise or offer his hand at Shea’s departure. Shea was, after all, beneath the prince.

That alone spoke volumes about the kind of man the prince was. Obnoxious. Arrogant. Corrupt. Dishonorable.

Shea had no doubt about the latter, which meant he must be very careful on his last assignment. The prince was up to something, he was absolutely certain. He had no idea what it might be, but he could feel it in the very air surrounding the bastard.

Shea had to be on his guard. He didn’t want to end his career with anything less than a clean job. He was the Thief of Hearts, and he meant to go out with his honor and his life intact.

…

After a telephone call where Tatiana gave Alexander a piece of her mind and warned him not to interfere again, she and Peter had arranged a neutral zone of sorts where they could work together, and agreed that any other areas in the suite were private and off limits.

Peter left Tatiana in her off limits section, sat at the shared dining room table in the demilitarized zone, and reviewed some papers. The sound of a popular Top-10 tune was muffled by the thick wood of her closed bedroom door. It reminded him that despite being both a princess and a businesswoman, beneath it all she was just a twenty-five-year-old who liked to have fun. To let her hair down with friends, like Vanessa.

He was satisfied she would be fine for an hour or so, especially since he had called down and asked Tony to put guards on their door and beneath their balcony, just to be on the safe side.

Now it was time for Peter to prepare for the coming week, but first he had an important call to make.

He speed-dialed and waited, but Alexander answered almost instantly. “Is something else wrong?”

“You tell me. What were you thinking, sticking us in the same suite?” Peter challenged. He had kept silent while Tatiana tore into her brother, almost feeling sorry for his friend, but he had to let Alexander know he also didn’t appreciate his matchmaking.

“I was thinking you’d make sure my sister was safe, just in case this thing is about more than a jewelry heist. You never know what some crazy will want to do,” Alexander answered smoothly, although a slight trace of irritation colored his tone, confirmed by his next words. “Do you have any idea what time it is and that you woke up the baby?”

He listened more carefully and heard the muffled wail of the baby in the background.
Oops
. “Sorry, Sasha. I didn’t mean to wake the baby or inconvenience Kathleen.”

“Obviously you didn’t care about bothering me?” Alexander said wryly. “What do you think of the security preparations?”

“They’re good, but I’ll double check them just to be safe. I’ll let both you and Tatiana know so you can make decisions about what to do,” he said, and they ended the call.

He wanted to do his walk around before they ate. Before he did that, however, he had to look the part of someone who belonged in this exclusive environment.

Much as his slightly disheveled, wrinkled appearance let him blend in along the Atlantic City boardwalk and the places he had to visit as a detective, he needed to upgrade his style for this posh location. For the first time ever, his background helped his undercover work. Once a prince, always a prince. He frowned. Although, strictly speaking, it wouldn’t be undercover. For once, it was the real him.

A scary thought.

First stop, the barber shop in the hotel’s lower level. The shop was a throwback with its striped barber pole and straight razor shaves. Peter didn’t do fancy hair salons, but a good old-fashioned shave might be relaxing and the haircut would go a long way toward turning him back into a blueblood.

As the barber wrapped his face with a warm towel to soften his beard, Peter closed his eyes and let himself unwind. Something he rarely did. Always being on was both a curse and blessing of his job, since it made him a good detective, but was also way lonely on account of the time he spent working.

In fact, if it weren’t for Alexander and his fellow detectives inviting Peter to various parties and family gatherings, he was the male equivalent of a spinster. Although he still had lots of his life left and he didn’t regret his choices. At thirty, he still had plenty of time to settle down. If his father, the Grand Duke, had his way, he’d settle down much faster than he had thought. Of course, there was no way he was going through with the marriage bargain between his father and Tatiana’s parents. His attraction to Tatiana wasn’t enough to make him want to publicly reveal the identity he had worked so hard to hide.

As the barber used the hair dryer to blow away the last strays of clippings from Peter’s neck and brushed on some powder, Peter glanced at himself in the mirror and smiled. He rubbed a hand across the smooth skin of his face and nodded.

“Nice job,” he said, rose, and handed the barber a handsome tip in addition to payment for the shave and haircut.

When he exited the barber’s, he took the long way around to the shops on the lower level of the casino and hotel complex. It was an exclusive mini-mall of sorts for hotel guests, with a high-class boutique for virtually every amenity they might need. Later tonight he’d walk the same path on the floor above and check out the blueprints to see which of the shops might lie over the ballroom and amphitheater areas for the auction and exhibition.

More than one heist had been executed by either digging or blasting from a seemingly innocent location to a more secure one.

At what was clearly the fashion end of the mall, he purchased a trio of suits, half-a-dozen shirts, and socks to match. That should keep him for the first few days. Thankfully, he was an off-the-rack size, although the pricey designer suits were anything but off-the-rack. Each cost him the equivalent of a month’s pay—if he’d had to rely on his detective’s salary. Although he lived off of what he earned himself, he had a large, inherited trust fund he rarely touched. Over the years, he had also saved quite a bit from his detective’s salary and invested it well. There’d be a nice nest egg for his future kids to inherit.

Damn. Where had
that
crazy idea come from?

“We can do alterations, sir,” the salesperson insisted as he rang up the sale, yanking Peter out of his unexpected thoughts.

“They’re fine, thanks. But I will need something for the fashion show. Maybe you can bring in some tuxedos or dinner jackets for me to try on in the next few days?”

“Of course,” the man said and offered to have everything run up to his room.

“That’s great,” he said, then headed out to the shoe shop next door, where he indulged in a buttery soft pair of Bali cap-toe dress shoes and ever-classic tasseled loafers.

He grabbed the bag with the shoes and rushed back to the room, eager for a shower before it was time for his dinner engagement with Tatiana.

Despite his rush, he took time to memorize everything about the location, from the minutes it took for an elevator to move from the lower level to their penthouse floor, to what the hallways looked like on each floor. He memorized the details, wanting to build a complete picture in his mind in the event something went wrong.

When he reached the penthouse suite, the porter from the clothing shop had just arrived, and the security guard at the suite door was clearing him for entry.

“No need. I can take the garment bags,” he said, and grabbed the suits and a bag with his shirts and accessories. After tossing the items inside, he took another look around the large living area of the penthouse, reviewing the items he could use for defense, like the heavy marble candlesticks on the sofa table and a silver letter opener sitting on an antique secretary at one side of the room. He also considered where someone might be concealed for a possible ambush, and was satisfied that would be hard to do. The space was open and large with few areas to hide in. He’d done it earlier, but he always double-checked everything.

If someone intended to do harm to Tatiana in addition to the jewel theft, it wasn’t going to happen inside their suite, that was for damned sure.

He walked out onto the balcony that ran the length of the suite and likewise did a quick reconnoiter. Tatiana had drawn her privacy curtains, but he wasn’t happy that the French doors leading from the balcony to her room could be opened very easily. The one thing that helped ease his mind was the guard positioned in the gardens several floors below, vigilantly watching the balcony.

The man acknowledged his wave with a nod, confirming that he was paying attention.

Satisfied that things were under control, at least when it came to security for the penthouse suite, Peter hurried to his bathroom for a shower. A nice long soak might help revive him for the long night ahead.

…

Tatiana smoothed a hand across the satin of her dress at her waist and glanced at herself in the mirror. The dress was elegant, but understated. Just the kind of look she hoped would make Peter feel not so out of place. She suspected that on his detective’s salary, he couldn’t afford many of the things she tried not to take for granted. Of course, he wasn’t just a detective, she reminded herself. He was the prince she was expected to marry. Surely, he had family money he could use to spring for a decent suit. She hoped.

She examined the assorted jewelry she had laid out on the surface of the dresser. A collection of diamonds, sapphires, and aquamarines in various pieces were personal favorites because they accented the deep sky blue of her eyes. One of her better features, she had been told.

Understated
, she reminded herself, and went with a simple strand of pearls and matching earrings.

As she finished securing the jewelry, her smartphone beeped with the ringtone for Vanessa. She answered with a friendly, “You’re up late.”