To Catch a Princess (Entangled Ignite)

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Still, the man had risked his life and his freedom to help save Tatiana and all the other people who might have been killed by the bomb blast. Those actions tempered his irritation. But it also placed him in a rather difficult predicament.

  As the thief stirred, Peter leaned forward. The man turned his head, his gaze unfocused and slightly disoriented for a moment. Then awareness kicked in.

  “I’m alive.” He looked amazed.

  “The doctors say you’ll make a full recovery, although it will take some time.”

  The thief turned his head away and studied the ceiling tiles, the muscles in his jaw tight. “You and I both know I don’t have that kind of time. They’ll figure out who I am any minute now.”

  Peter considered the man’s words, torn by the choices he had to make, neither of which sat well with him. “The authorities have not been here yet,” he said. “Tatiana called an hour ago and said they’re still gathering evidence and interviewing people about Prince Sergei’s actions.”

  The thief swallowed. “I didn’t know what the bastard had planned. I don’t hurt people. That’s not my style.” The man grimaced in pain, and the heart monitors raced a bit before settling down again.

  “I know that,” Peter confirmed. Every piece of information he had on the Thief of Hearts confirmed that he and his team were never violent.

  The thief looked at him, his blue-eyed gaze alert, but with a hint of resignation. “So what do we do now, Prince Pyotr?”

  As good a question as any. At that moment, Peter’s gut told him there was only one right thing to do.

  He rose, took his cell phone from his pocket, and slipped it into the other man’s hand. “Tell your people you’re in room D7, fourth floor.”

  Surprise swept across the man’s face and he looked down at the phone, but before he could speak, Peter said, “I owe you for saving Tatiana’s life, her parents’ lives, and so many others. But if I ever see you again, I’ll do what I should have done tonight.”

  He whirled and stalked out of the room, aware of what the thief was likely to do with the phone, but certain he had done the right thing.

  …

  Shea gaped as the detective left, and wondered if it was for real or some kind of cosmic joke. He was a cop, for God’s sake, and he was just going to let him walk?

  But the feel of the smartphone in his hand was very real, and from what he had seen of the prince, he was nothing if not honorable. And the other man had been conflicted about what to do. That much had been clear to Shea. So before the detective could have a change of heart, Shea had to act.

  He forced himself to sit up and gritted his teeth against the agony that burned through his side and midsection. Not even the pain meds dripping into the IV were enough to dull the pain. He shut off the heart monitors, unplugged himself, and, using the IV as a crutch of sorts, got to his feet. He shuffled to the door and confirmed the room number. He was also glad to see there were no police officers guarding him. Yet.

  He raised the phone, shuffled back to the bed, and lay back down, sweat poring off his body from the pain and his exertion. He dialed the number of the prepaid cell phone that would be ditched once this job was finished.

  “Hammer, I need you to come get me,” he rasped as soon as his team member answered.

  “What happened, Heartman? It’s all over the news.”

  “I’ll explain later. I’m in the hospital. Room D7, fourth floor. Bring a change of clothes and hurry. I don’t have much time before the cops get here.”

  “Roger that, Heartman. Fly and I are not far away.”

  “Thanks, Hammer,” he managed, and ended the call.

  He lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about Mouse, and asking himself how he had not seen what was happening. How someone he had trusted, whom he’d thought a friend, could have betrayed him as badly as Mouse had done.

  He also wondered what to do about Prince Sergei. He suspected the prince wouldn’t be satisfied with tonight’s outcome.

  Long minutes passed while he was lost in thought. A knock came at the door and Hammer shoved into the room, pushing a wheelchair. Or at least he thought it was Hammer beneath the curly red-haired wig and red beard he wore along with hospital scrubs and an ID badge. A baseball cap sat on the wheelchair beside a wrapped package he assumed contained the clothes he’d requested.

  “What the hell happened?” Hammer asked and helped Shea change into loose-fitting jeans, shirt, and jacket. Every motion sent shards of hurt throughout his body.

  He let out a pained sigh. “Mouse wired the place to blow. Our client offered him a better deal I guess, but then canceled it by killing Mouse.”

  As Hammer swore and helped Shea into the chair, Shea wavered, lightheaded and weak. A fine sweat coated his body, warning him he should not overdo.

  “That sucks, boss. I thought we could trust him after all these years,” Hammer said, and wheeled Shea out of the room and down the hallway.

  “I thought so, too,” he said, sad and weary and disillusioned. Ironic, considering he made his livelihood by deceit and thievery.

  They passed through the halls without attracting any attention. At the lobby area, a uniformed security guard even held open a door so Hammer could wheel him out to the sedan waiting at the end of the drive, far away from any of the security cameras.

  He slipped into the backseat and stretched out as best as he could. It was too painful to sit upright, but even lying down, each jostling motion of the car brought agony. One heavy bump dragged a moan from him. Hammer looked back from the driver’s seat and asked, “Do you want to stop?”

  “No. We need to get as far away from here as possible tonight. You know where our safe house is in Positano. You can leave me there and then scatter.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself, Heartman?” Fly asked, and examined him in the rearview mirror.

  “I’ll live,” he replied. His body, his soul, and his ego might hurt like a bitch right now, but he’d survive.

  He always did.

  And he always repaid his debts.

  Prince Pyotr might think they were even, but Shea wouldn’t be satisfied until Prince Sergei was either locked up or six feet under.

  …

  Tatiana was standing in the lobby talking to a couple of men who bore that universal something that screamed cop. At her nod the two men left, and she turned. She saw Peter and smiled.

  Her smile soothed Peter’s heart and healed the anger inside him. He walked toward her, admiring the strength in her, despite her disheveled hair and slightly bedraggled appearance. Her evening gown had also suffered over the course of the night. One sleeve was torn and the hem was ragged. Smudges of dirt marred the front of it and a small streak begrimed one of her cheeks.

  When he reached her, he swept away that smudge with his thumb, bent, and kissed her. “Please tell me we’re done for tonight,” he whispered, and stepped back to gaze around the lobby where things seemed to be going back to normal.

  “We’re done. I’ve answered as many questions as I can for the police. They’ll want to speak to you and the man in the hospital tomorrow.”

  A pang of guilt gnawed at him. “I’ll be around, but I’m not so sure about our friend.”

  Her smile dimmed and she regarded him. “Do I want to know what happened at the hospital?”

  Peter shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “I left him resting. Whether he’s still there in the morning is anyone’s guess.”

  Tatiana nodded and slipped her hand into his. “Let’s go to our suite. I’m exhausted, and I’m sure tomorrow won’t be much easier.”

  He squeezed her hand and pulled her close for another kiss before they headed for the elevators. As they walked, he said, “Have the jewels been secured?”

  “All except one necklace, which must have been Prince Sergei’s target. It was swapped out for a replica.”

  If there hadn’t been a bomb scare, the exchange might have gone unnoticed for some time. “A
ny news about Sergei?” He refused to honor the killer with any kind of title.

  Tatiana shook her head. “Nothing yet, but his face will be all over the news in the morning. The authorities throughout Europe will be on notice to apprehend him if he does pop up anywhere.”

  “I guess that’s all we can hope for at the moment.” They stepped onto the elevator and Peter wrapped his arm around her waist and hugged her hard.

  The ride to the penthouse suite seemed overly long, maybe because of his desire to be alone with her, out of the hubbub of activity still going on in the lobby. When they entered the suite, a serving cart sat in the dining area. “Stay here,” he told Tatiana, and went to investigate. He didn’t trust that Sergei wouldn’t find some other way to harm them.

  He inspected the cart, but found nothing out of the ordinary. A handwritten note sat by the plates. It was from Tatiana’s mother.

  WE FIGURED YOU DID NOT HAVE A CHANCE TO GRAB A BITE WITH ALL THAT’S HAPPENING, SO WE ORDERED SOMETHING THAT WOULD KEEP FOR YOU.

  He waved the note in the air. “All clear. It’s dinner your mom had delivered.”

  Tatiana offered him a tired smile and walked over, rubbing the back of her neck.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m starting to feel a little achy. One of the officers tackled me when he saw my gun.”

  This on top of the bruises she’d gotten climbing down that mountain yesterday. Sympathy washed over him.

  “Poor sweetheart. I was wondering why you looked like you’d rolled around in the gardens. How about a nice hot shower? I’d like to get clean, too.” He glanced down at his ruined shirt and tuxedo, then up at her, and grinned. “Among other things.”

  …

  Tatiana narrowed her gaze and considered Peter. She suspected it might take a while to get to the cleaning part. Not that she’d mind. “I’d like that,” she said, and quickly headed for her bedroom, Peter following.

  Inside the room, she quickly peeled off the gown and her under-things, and by the time she was done, Peter was already in the bathroom fiddling with the shower dials to get the water just right. Steam poured off the water spewing out of the half dozen jets in the luxurious shower stall.

  He stepped in, turned, and held out his hand to her. She didn’t need an invitation. All she could think about was being in his arms with the heat of his body and of the water driving away the assorted aches and pains, along with the fear of nearly losing him.

  She stepped in and wrapped her arms around him, bringing herself fully against his body. Against his solid strength and unwavering presence. “I was so afraid I’d lose you tonight,” she said with her head pillowed against his chest, his steady heartbeat beneath her ear.

  “You can’t imagine the thoughts that went through my brain when I saw that bomb and realized you were right above it.” He shuddered and tightened his hold on her.

  “But we made it. And we’re together.”

  He skimmed a kiss across her forehead and tipped her face upward with a finger beneath her chin. Water streamed down his hair and face, and sluiced along the broad plains of his shoulders and chest. “I don’t want to wait to be your husband,” he murmured.

  In truth, she didn’t want to wait another day to be his wife, either. “My parents are already here. Kathleen, Alexander, and the baby are on their way despite my objections. Vanessa and Jim also. Alexander thought they’d be a big help.”

  “My father could be here in a day. I’m sure we could get the local priest to post the banns right away. I know you probably wanted a big wedding with—”

  She laid her hand across his mouth to silence him. “All I’ve ever wanted was for someone to love me with all his heart. To love him back the same way. I have that with you.”

  Beneath her hand, a broad grin came to his face. “You have that and more. Our wedding day can’t come quick enough for me.”

  “For me either,” she said, rose on tip-toes, and kissed him, sealing her promise of love with her kiss and the press of her body along his.

  His big hands splayed across her back and gently held her. Their kiss lengthened and grew deeper. Passion rose and she rubbed her hips along his erection, coaxing him to join with her, but Peter was obviously in no rush.

  He lathered his hands with the fragrant cherry blossom shower gel and then spread that all over her body, lavishing attention to every inch of her. Sliding his hands across her breasts and bringing her nipples to hard peaks before dashing water across them so he could take them into his mouth. While he treasured her with his lips, he slipped a soapy hand down between her legs and found her center. Stroked her until she was shaking in his arms, then wrapped one powerful arm around her buttocks and lifted, so he could plunge inside.

  She wrapped her legs around him and kissed him. Urged him on with words of love and the shift of her hips while she rode him.

  He kept one arm tight around her waist and another braced against the wall until with one final thrust they both came, aware that life and love were fragile things they had almost lost that night.

  Afterward, they leisurely showered, dried off, grabbed the plates with the food, and took them to bed where they ate and rested together, allowing peace to replace passion. They talked about their plans and all they’d have to do to be ready to wed as soon as possible. Tatiana settled into his arms and sleep was finally impossible to fight. She breathed her first sigh of relief in hours.

  Together they had survived.

  Together they’d face whatever life threw at them.

  Chapter 26

  FIVE DAYS LATER - POSITANO, ITALY

  The late afternoon sun warmed Shea’s skin as he lay on a chaise lounge sipping a glass of red wine. Fly and Hammer had left him enough pain killers to numb a horse, and combined with the wine, he was feeling no pain. Not that he was running anywhere anytime soon.

  Although his wounds were healing, he was still incredibly weak, and moving around brought a wealth of discomfort. He was grateful that his team members took turns bringing him food and the daily papers. He had been reading them keenly and watching the TV news on the different channels to see what was being said about the bombing incident, and Prince Sergei. If the police were making a connection to the Thief of Hearts and his team, they had yet to say so publicly. The photos they flashed of Shea and Hammer leaving the hospital were so grainy and indistinct even he’d have had trouble identifying himself. The same for the screen captures from the hotel’s video feeds they’d showed on the newscasts.

  Of course, that could just be a ploy to draw him out. But he had no intention of going anywhere just yet. For starters, he was in no condition physically. Then there was the issue of Prince Sergei. Pictures of him had been plastered all over the papers and television as a wanted suspect. But there were people who’d assist the prince in hiding his identity for the right amount of money. Shea had already put out feelers to his many contacts, trying to determine who might be helping him and where he might have gone.

  The police reports had also mentioned that the prince had been injured during his escape, which meant he might seek medical care.

  Shea had likewise reached out to the medics he knew of willing to treat a wanted man, but if anyone knew, they weren’t saying. Not yet, anyway.

  In time, Shea would find Sergei and deal with him.

  He picked up that morning’s paper. Over the past couple of days the brouhaha about the theft and the bomb scare had been replaced with news of the impending nuptials of Prince Pyotr and Princess Tatiana.

  He smiled at their official engagement photo gracing the front page of the paper. According to the story, they’d be married later today in one of the hotel’s ballrooms, attended by only a small gathering of family and friends.

  Shea wished them well, and raised his glass of wine in a toast.

  To love.

  …

  Peter stood at the front of the ballroom where a makeshift altar had been built by the hotel craftsmen, the local
Russian Orthodox priest, and church members. Not that it looked hastily put together. The wood altar was polished to gleaming life, draped with luscious fabrics, and laden with precious icons moved from the church for the occasion. Lush bundles of fresh flowers in heady bloom completed the decorations at the altar and also complimented the end of each of the aisles filled with family, friends, hotel staff, and the church members who had been so gracious to help with the preparations.

  Beside him, Tatiana’s brother and his best man, Prince Alexander, teasingly said, “I’m glad you decided to make an honest woman of my sister so quickly.”

  “Believe me, Sasha, I’ve been waiting for far longer than you’d think for this moment.” He had been attracted to, and possibly even in love with Tatiana from the moment he had first laid eyes on her.

  Alexander chuckled and clapped him on the back. “I know, Peter. Believe me, I know.”

  Peter smiled. The soft chamber music that had been playing stopped and he knew it was time. He looked down the aisle, his gaze fixed on the doors through which Tatiana would enter, excited to see her. She had insisted on leaving him alone last night while she prepared for the ceremony. Even that short separation had been far too long.

  A heartbeat later, the orchestra began to play again. Vivaldi’s Rites of Spring. Appropriate, since he and Tatiana were starting a new life together.

  The first people who came down the aisle were the Ivanov parents, broad smiles on their faces as they walked to the first row and stepped in to wait.

  Peter’s father came next, with Kathleen at his side holding one arm while she held her newborn baby in another. His father’s gait was slower, far less certain than he remembered, a testament to his father’s declining health. Peter was glad things had worked out as his father had wished, and that he’d see his one and only son married. And more importantly, happy.

  His father was followed by at least a dozen children from the local church who eagerly tossed gaily colored flower petals along the deep merlot-colored rug leading to where Peter stood. When the children reached the front, they scattered to the sides where their parents waited in their seats.