The Royal Affair

by Barrett, Gail

  Time to prove him wrong.

  Maya quickly unwrapped her sari, shivering in her skirtlike petticoat and midriff-baring top. She looped the long strip of silk around the railing, then handed Gina one end of the cloth.

  “All right, listen,” she said, keeping her voice low. “We don’t have much time. Climb over the railing and sit on the edge of the balcony.” She pointed to the stones just beyond the rails. “Just hang on to the cloth. When I tell you to go, push off. That’s all you have to do. Just hold on, and I’ll lower you to the ground.”

  Assuming the fabric held.

  Pushing aside that worry, she motioned toward the servants’ entrance below. “The gate’s right around the corner. Don’t wait for me. As soon as you get to the ground, run. I’ll meet you back at the shelter.” She paused. “You understand?”

  Gina nodded, and Maya gave her a hug, impressed that even in her weakened state, the girl had the spirit to fight.

  She would need it to survive.

  Maya helped her over the railing, watching nervously as she perched on the ledge.

  “Okay, hold on.” Her stomach tensing, Maya sat on the balcony floor and braced her feet on the rails. Then she adjusted her hold on the cloth and leaned back.

  Voices rose outside the bedroom door. A heavy thud rattled the wood. Gina’s gaze flew to hers, and Maya’s own anxiety swelled. “Go!”

  The girl jumped. The cloth went tight, nearly leaping from Maya’s hands. She tightened her grip and held on.

  But it wasn’t easy. Pain bolted down her back like the sizzle of lightning. Her shoulders knotted and throbbed. She loosened her hold, trying to let the fabric out slowly so Gina wouldn’t plunge to the ground—but the cloth tore through her palms. Too fast.

  She fought to keep it steady. Sweat dripped in her eyes and stung. Her arms ached; her entire body shuddered with pain as she wrenched the cloth back and held on.

  Again. Her palms burning, she inched out the fabric. Her thigh muscles bunched from the strain. The long cloth jerked along the railing, inch by agonizing inch, still too far from the ground.

  And then it stopped. Panting, Maya played out the fabric. The rails bit into her feet. But the darned cloth still didn’t move.

  Suddenly it ripped, went slack, rocking her back against the stone floor. Below her, Gina let out a startled cry.

  Horrified, Maya pushed herself to her knees and peered through the railing, fear like a vise on her throat. But Gina got to her feet, staggered into the shadows and disappeared into the night.

  She’d made it.

  Maya slumped against the railing and pressed her hand to her racing heart. Feverish or not, Gina was a survivor. She’d get past the gate, make her way through the ancient city of Kintalabad’s warren of streets to the shelter, where she’d be safe.

  But now Maya had to get herself down. Her arm muscles cramping, sharp spasms racking her thighs, she pulled herself to her feet.

  Another thump sounded behind her. The bedroom door burst open, and she spun around. Singh’s men rushed in, their weapons drawn.

  Her luck had just run out.

  Chapter 2

  Maya had gone insane. Breaking into Singh’s palace was foolhardy, suicidal. She had to be out of her mind.

  Deven Kapur charged after Singh’s men through the doorway, his 9 mm Ruger drawn, his fear for her out of control. He’d tried to buy her time, tried like hell to delay Singh’s guards so she and the kid could escape.

  He just hoped it had been enough.

  Dreading what would happen if they hadn’t escaped, he skidded to a stop behind the guards. He scanned the empty bedroom, glanced over their heads to the balcony doors.

  His hopes tanked.

  The kid was gone, but Maya still stood with her back to the railing, defiantly facing the men. Her dark eyes were fierce with bravado, her chin raised to a challenging tilt. But her lush body quivered, and she’d closed one hand over the medallion she always wore around her neck, a gesture he knew betrayed her fear.

  She should be afraid—because no way would these thugs resist her. She was a far too beautiful prize. The low light shimmered on her exotic cheekbones, caressed the full, ripe swell of her lips. A tiny diamond beckoned from one delicate nostril, and her thick, black braid swept past her hips.

  She’d removed the outer part of her sari, and her short, tight top displayed her breasts to perfection, exposing the seductive slope of her waist. She was a fantasy, built like a Hindu goddess, all soft, sensual curves and satin skin.

  No, these guards would never resist her. And if Singh got his hands on her…

  Not an option.

  Deven locked his jaw and bared his teeth. He tightened his grip on the gun. He’d left Romanistan twelve years ago to keep this woman safe. He’d be damned if he’d let Singh harm her now.

  But he also had a mission to protect, a cover to maintain—which meant he couldn’t tip off the guards.

  “It’s her, all right,” one of the guards—a squat, bulldog of a man with powerful forearms—said. “She’s got the medallion Singh wants.”

  Medallion? Singh wanted Maya’s good luck charm? Deven frowned, wondering how that fit into his case, but quickly shook off the thought. He couldn’t get distracted. He had to focus, get her out of the line of fire while he took down the guards.

  But the other, wiry guard stepped closer to Maya. “Where’s the girl?” he demanded. “Where did she go?”

  Maya angled her head and leaned back against the railing, drawing the men’s eyes to her breasts. “I only did what Deven told me,” she said, her voice a sultry purr. “He said if I got rid of the girl, we’d be alone.” She met his eyes, affected a pout. “You didn’t say you were bringing friends, Dev.”

  His gut went cold. Did she have any idea what she’d just done? She’d used his real name and demolished his cover, put both their lives on the line.

  He couldn’t avoid a bloodbath now.

  The two guards swiveled to face him.

  Maya tumbled over the railing, then jumped.

  Deven fired, taking out the heavyset guard closest to the balcony, but a sudden heat blazed through his arm as a bullet struck home. Damn! He lunged back into the adjoining room and kicked the door shut, lurched toward the adjacent balcony doors.

  The door crashed open behind him. He spun back and squeezed off a round to pin down the remaining guard. He yanked open the balcony doors and raced to the railing, then vaulted the barrier and leaped.

  He landed ten feet below the balcony in a patch of mud. The impact jolted his legs and knocked his breath loose, but he rolled, paratrooper style, and gained his feet. His momentum pushed him into a run.

  He sprinted through the unlit garden, trying to see where Maya had gone. But a burst of semiautomatic gunfire crackled above him. He zigzagged, his pulse hammering, dodging bushes and trees. He reached the end of the building, flattened himself deeper into the shadows against the wall.

  His breath sawed. His triceps muscle burned. He ignored his injured arm, ejected the spent magazine from the Ruger, and rammed another in place. The gunfire would have alerted the security guards. They would close down the compound, turn on the spotlights. He had to find Maya fast.

  A shadow moved at the edge of his vision. He raised his gun, took aim at the running figure, but the graceful gait halted his fire. Maya. Gunfire tatted at her from the nearby guardhouse. He leaped out in a rush of adrenaline, shot back to distract the guards.

  Then he went after Maya. His head down, he raced toward a truck parked near the gate. Lead thudded into the ground around him, spraying mud over his feet. He reached the truck, dove for cover, then crouched and heaved for air.

  Sweat streamed down his cheeks. The harsh smell of gunfire stung his nose. Where was she? He squinted at the shadows, refusing to let her escape. That woman owed him some answers: who the girl was. Why Singh cared about her good luck charm. What she knew about Singh’s plans.

  He peeked out from behind the tr
uck and fired at the guardhouse. A shadow darted through the gate.

  Now.

  His energy surging, he ran to the gate in a barrage of gunfire. He slipped through, his eyes on Maya, and ducked behind a car parked outside the wall. She disappeared into a narrow street nearby.

  Deven waited, listening intently. Echoes of gunshots rang in his ears. Shouts came from the compound, drowning out the strains of a musician’s horn.

  He started to rise, but bullets whined past, pinning him down. He waited a beat, then dove toward a Tata SUV. He twisted beneath it, crawled on his belly to the opposite side. Then, keeping his head low, he sprinted away from the car.

  He spotted Maya down the block—a dark form racing through the night. Determined to keep her in sight, he followed, his feet pounding the stones. When he reached the corner, he slowed.

  He flattened himself against the brick building, ignoring the raw fire burning his arm. Breathing hard, he peered around the corner, saw her scurry around a pile of garbage. A stray dog yipped as she passed.

  More relaxed now, he waited until she rounded the block, letting her lengthen her lead. Then he followed more slowly, keeping a safe distance behind. She glanced back, and he stepped in a doorway. She ran flat out, and he resumed the chase.

  But as he trailed her through the maze of ancient streets, his admiration grew. He’d forgotten how quick she was, how stealthy. She slipped through the shadows like a pro, proof of a childhood spent surviving these streets.

  But he had survived them, too. And they were in a neighborhood he knew well, the oldest part of Kintalabad—a chaotic tangle of narrow streets where he’d spent the three best years of his life.

  His years with Maya.

  He shoved that thought from his mind, unwilling to dwell on the past. He had to focus on salvaging his mission—and keeping Maya in sight.

  She cut through another alley, and pavement gave way to mud. Low doorways dotted the sagging wooden buildings. A jumble of electrical wires dipped to the ground. Pallets lay scattered across the narrow lane, along with trampled debris from a daytime bazaar.

  Maya kept jogging, hurrying past apartments draped with ropes of garlic to a long industrial building with a metal door. He followed as close as he dared, then hid in a recessed doorway to watch.

  She glanced around at the alley, then fumbled with the drawstring of her sari and untied a key. She unlocked the door, stepped inside.

  He leaped out and hurtled the remaining distance, slamming his shoulder into the door. It crashed back against the frame.

  Maya shrieked and spun to face him. He backed her against the inside wall. He planted his hands beside her head, trapping her in place while the door behind them clicked shut.

  Their ragged pants filled the silence. Light from a nearby lamp burnished her hair. “What do you want?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.

  Good question. Vengeance. Justice.

  Her.

  He gazed down at her, his rapid breath dueling with hers. And for a moment he indulged himself, drinking in the vision of beauty before him—her creamy, pouting lips, her mesmerizing eyes, the feminine curve of her cheeks.

  He inhaled, and her scent curled around him like a forbidden memory, that erotic scent he’d fought for years to forget. And images crowded inside him, raw, carnal memories that had been forever scorched in his nerves—her sultry kiss, her husky moans, the feel of her naked skin slick against his.

  Desire shuddered through him, a deep, feral hunger he’d long suppressed. But he couldn’t have her. He could never have her. He’d learned that twelve years back.

  “Answers,” he said, his voice too deep, too rough. “I want to know what’s going on.”

  “As if you don’t know.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

  She flinched back as if he’d struck her. Sudden pain haunted her eyes. But she lifted her chin, curled her lips in a show of scorn. “Right. How could I forget? You couldn’t leave me fast enough, could you?”

  He steeled his jaw against a rush of guilt, wishing that he could deny it. But he had acted badly. He’d left with no warning, no explanation. He’d experienced heaven in her arms, then disappeared.

  But he hadn’t been able to tell her the truth. He couldn’t take the risk. It had been safer to let her despise him, better that he irrevocably crushed every tie.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she added, her dark eyes blazing. “Not now, not ever. So get out and leave me alone.”

  If only he could. He’d spent months cultivating his role, working his way through Singh’s ranks, gaining access to his inner group—only to have her blow that cover to shreds.

  Now he couldn’t go back to Singh. But neither could he abandon his goal. Interpol was depending on him to ferret out Singh’s plans.

  And right now Maya was his only clue.

  “Maya?” A woman’s worried voice came from down the hall. “Are you all right?”

  Tension still crackled between them. Maya’s eyes stayed locked on his. But then she released her breath in a huff and turned her head. “I’m fine, Ruchi. Did Gina make it back all right?”

  “Yes. I’ve got her in the kitchen. I gave her a sponge bath to bring down the fever, and I’m heating some broth for her now.”

  “Good. Try to get some aspirin down her. I’ll be right there to help.” Maya’s gaze swiveled back to his. She frowned, as if weighing her options.

  He didn’t budge.

  But his mind shuffled through impressions, working to make sense of it all. Singh ran an international export business headquartered in Kintalabad, the capital city of Romanistan, which served as a front for his smuggling pursuits—drugs, antiquities, illegal weapons. He used those profits to fund a number of terrorist groups. Interpol had hired Magnum, the private military company Deven worked for, to infiltrate Singh’s organization and determine the extent of those terrorist ties.

  One of Singh’s most lucrative sidelines involved trafficking women to the brothels in India. But over the years an underground rescue operation had disrupted that business. And earlier that evening, Deven had caught wind of Singh’s plan to lure the group’s leader—a stealthy, nocturnal operator code-named the Leopard—into a trap.

  That kidnapped girl had been the bait. Maya had rescued her. And Maya obviously ran some sort of shelter, judging by what he’d just heard.

  The pieces clicked. His jaw turned slack. He stared at her in disbelief. “It’s you. You’re the Leopard.”

  She flushed, confirming his suspicions, and he made a sound of disgust. He should have guessed. She fit the Leopard’s description exactly—determined, persistent, a champion of the downtrodden. Daring enough to take on a ruthless criminal like Sanjeet Singh.

  She sighed again, more heavily this time, then shoved her palms against his chest. “Let me go. I’ll tell you what I know, and then you can leave.”

  He waited a beat, making sure she knew she couldn’t escape him, then stepped away from the wall. She tossed back her braid, straightened her skirt, and shot him a disgruntled look.

  “In here.” She turned and led him through the hallway into a lounge.

  Still stunned by the revelation, wondering why he hadn’t made the connection sooner, he ducked under the low doorway. He crossed a threadbare rug, passed a battered desk and mismatched chairs. The smell of steaming rice and dal drifted in from a nearby room, making his stomach growl.

  She eyed his arm. “You’re bleeding.” Her words came out clipped, and he knew it cost her to be polite.

  “I’ll live.” He lowered himself to a sagging sofa, glanced at his sleeve saturated with blood. He’d deal with his injury later, after he found out what was going on.

  She perched across from him in one of the armchairs, and he shifted his gaze to hers. And without warning, her beauty struck him again—her exotic eyes, the provocative fullness of her lips, the gleam of her tawny skin.

  His body stirred, the reaction predictable. Maya had g
otten to him since he was fifteen. But he refused to let the chemistry they’d always had knock his mind off course.

  She crossed her arms, flattened her lips. “So what do you want to know?”

  How she’d become the Leopard. Who her contacts were. What she knew about Singh. “Tell me what you do.”

  She shrugged. “We rescue the women Singh’s smuggling through the mountains into the sex trade. We send other teams into India to bring back the ones we’ve missed. Once they’re here, we either reunite them with their families, or train them and help them find jobs if their families won’t take them back.”

  His eyes held hers. A spurt of admiration warmed his heart. “Just what you said you’d do.”

  “Yes.” She raised a finely arched brow. “Some people keep their word.”

  His jaw tightened as the barb hit home. It shouldn’t matter what she thought of him. She was safer if she believed the worst.

  But damned if it still didn’t hurt.

  “So how did the girl end up at Singh’s?” he asked.

  Maya pulled her thick braid over her shoulder and twisted the ends. “She has malaria. I needed to get her to a doctor and I didn’t want to wait until night. Singh’s men caught us. I got away. She didn’t.”

  She sighed and released her braid. The black strands nestled between her breasts, and he forced his gaze to her face.

  On the surface, the story made sense. Singh didn’t tolerate interference, and the Leopard had disrupted his business for years. And he never forgave a grudge, as Deven knew.

  But Deven’s instincts told him there was something else going on, another reason Singh had tried to capture her now. He stood, sending a gecko scurrying under the couch, and paced to a long bank of windows still darkened by night. His reflection frowned back in the glass.

  He’d spent years studying Singh, learning how he worked, how he thought. And one thing he’d discovered about the man—he buried his secrets deep. Even infiltrating his inner group and searching the palace compound had yielded few new facts.