Royal Captive (8 page)

Separately, neither of the boxes would have been large enough to hide him, but next to each other, with one side taken out of each and the holes fitted together, he could squeeze in and settle into a semicomfortable position.

Which was probably still a lot more comfortable than Lauryn was, he thought, not without some guilt. “Are you okay?”

“Hunky dory,” came the muffled reply.

Probably one of those Americanisms. “And that means?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” She sounded decidedly snappish.

He thought it might be better not to annoy her any further so he remained silent. They spent an hour or so that way. In the end, she was the first to speak.

“How long do you think it’ll be before they come?”

“They’ll check on us soon. It’s almost morning.”

The sun did rise after a while. It shined right on his box, making him sweat.

Nobody came.

Finally, he heard the door open and shouting ensued immediately, spiced with a lot of Turkish swearing.

Someone kicked the shelf. Istvan held his breath. If they kicked his boxes and they slid apart…

But the man seemed to have already spent his anger.

The sound of boots running down the hallway came next.

He lifted the top of the box that held his upper body and stole a look. Then sat up and climbed out, careful not to rip the cardboard. If the men thought Lauryn and he had escaped the ship, they wouldn’t begin a search.

If they figured out the prisoners’ ruse and realized that the two of them were still on the ship, they’d mount a manhunt for sure.

He put everything back together, then went straight for those screws in the metal wall panel. “Just give me a second.”

But whole minutes ticked by before he had her out of there, then even more time passed as he rushed to screw the panel back into place. She was stretching her limbs in silence as he worked. They could hear voices by the time he was done, one of them the captain’s.

He stuck his head out the door. The hallway was empty. The men were still around the corner.

“This way.” He grabbed Lauryn’s hand and dragged her in the opposite direction.

Lauryn held her breath as she squatted behind a barrel at the end of the hallway that held the crew’s quarters. She hoped her growling stomach wouldn’t give her away if anyone was in hearing distance. She hadn’t had any food or drink in two days.

But the hallway seemed deserted.

“I’ll go and see what I can find,” she told Istvan behind her.

“I’ll go with you,” he countered.

It had been his idea to come here and look for food after they found the kitchen well-attended and impossible to get into without drawing attention. He seemed to think that the crew must have had at least some snacks in their bunks.

Ready to see for herself, Lauryn darted forward in a low crouch. The door of the first cabin was open. Nobody in there. She was inside the next second and moved to the side, keeping in cover of anyone who might step into the hallway from one of the other cabins.

Istvan was right behind her, pausing for only a moment to survey their situation before heading for the bunks. Four were crammed into the small cabin, the bedclothes he turned over smelling stale, carrying the odor of unwashed men.

Lauryn saw something under one of the bottom bunks and went for that, came up with a half-empty bottle of cola. She searched through a canvas bag next and found a fancy chocolate bar, probably a gift from one of the crew to his sweetheart back home. He could bring her another one next time, Lauryn thought and lifted that, too. Hopefully, the crew would blame each other. She moved on, but no matter how carefully she looked, she couldn’t find anything else.

She shot a questioning look at Istvan when she was through searching. He held up a bag of dried figs as he nodded toward the door, apparently ready to leave.

She followed him.

He couldn’t have cut it as a cat burglar, but he had some good moves for his size, had excellent instincts and amazing upper-body strength. Definitely not a palace weakling. Not counting his ever-present scorn for her, he was all right so far, although she would have preferred to work alone. She wasn’t used to having someone by her side, especially someone who didn’t trust her. It threw off her stride.

Under different conditions, she could and would ditch him at the first opportunity. He might have thought he was keeping her with him, but she stayed of her own will. Because during the time she’d spent walled up in the electric panel, she’d realized just how much she needed him.

Like it or not, her name was now connected to the biggest heist of the decade, if not the century. Rumors of her past
would
resurface. Worse, details of her father’s past would be dragged to light once again. Her newly legitimate position in the art world had been delicate to begin with. A shadow of doubt would be enough to ruin everything.

And that wasn’t all. The deal she had made with the FBI was good only as long as she stayed on the right side of the law. All investigation pertaining to her had been suspended. But Agent Rubliczky warned her that if he had the slightest suspicion that she stepped over the line, or was even thinking about stepping over the line, all bets were off and he would come after her with a vengeance.

If he did, she would be out in the open, defense less. A lot of her old friends had cut her off, feeling betrayed when she’d left the shady side of the business.

She couldn’t count on that world hiding her again. And not all of her new acquaintances trusted her yet. If she was under scrutiny, they might not want to associate themselves with her and come to her aid.

She was alone. She’d been alone since her father’s death.

It was a definite advantage, she told herself, as she always did when the loneliness got to her. Prince Istvan didn’t trust her. He’d prefer to see her in jail than anywhere else. Almost enjoying his company was the most outrageous foolishness.

Her thinking would return to normal once their paths separated.

But she couldn’t separate them yet.

She had to be firmly and visibly on the side of good. Personally on the recovery team, if possible. She needed to be at Istvan’s side when he brought the stolen treasure back into the country. She needed to be in the pictures, needed a seat behind the table at the press conference. She had to talk him into letting her be there.

But now was not the time. Voices came from the hallway.

She swore under her breath. The crew couldn’t have numbered over two dozen, a group that should have been insignificant on a ship this size, but it seemed they were constantly around.

She immediately stepped to an open window, larger than the porthole they’d had to deal with before, slipped outside and stood on the window frame. “Boost me up.”

To his credit, Istvan did so without asking any questions. He pushed her high enough to reach a trailing chain and hoist herself up on deck. Then she watched as he came up behind her. As much as they could, they stayed on top, not knowing the outlay of the warren of hallways, cabins and storage areas below. She didn’t like the idea of being trapped down there.

She followed Istvan, who was already climbing the nearest container. They both preferred higher ground. He kept going, not stopping until he was on top of the container that was on top of the first. From here, they had a fair view of the ship and the sea, but were nearly invisible as long as they lay flat and kept away from the edges.

She set the bottle and the chocolate between them, he put the figs out there, too, then pulled a chicken drumstick wrapped in a greasy piece of paper from his pocket. “Protein.”

“I’m a vegetarian.”

He looked at her as if she were out of her mind. “But this is an emergency.”

“Principles are still principles. Even in an emergency.
Especially
in an emergency.” Of course, he probably didn’t expect someone with her background to have any principles. She absolutely hated the fact that she was beginning to care what he thought of her.

She drank some cola first, wishing for plain water instead of the sugary liquid, then ate a handful of figs.

“Eat it all.” Istvan pushed the bag toward her. “I’ll have the chicken. If you’re sure.”

“Very.” She tended to cling to her convictions, a response to a life that she sometimes likened to a leaf blowing in the wind.

Her father, the work they did together, had defined her in her childhood then as a young adult. The change she’d had to make after his passing, the bargain with the FBI, had been more difficult than she’d expected. She had to change her life, her actions, her thoughts, everything about her. It was the ultimate paradigm shift.

She liked the person she was becoming. But from time to time, she still felt as if the ground wasn’t one-hundred-percent solid under her feet. One of the reasons why she sought to define herself with lifestyle choices, she supposed.

Istvan wouldn’t understand. He was a prince. His whole life had been defined for him the moment he’d been born. His foundations rested on a six-hundred-year-old royal dynasty. He certainly didn’t seem to be troubled with any existential questions as far as she could tell.

The morning sun was peeking in and out from behind the scattered cloud cover, warm, but not unbearably so, its heat further mitigated by the sea breeze. He took off his jacket and offered it for her to lie on. She accepted. The corrugated steel was none too comfortable, and she knew they could be up here for hours.

When she ate the figs and he finished the chicken, they split the chocolate, then drank the last of the cola. Sharing the bottle felt strangely intimate. They were almost like old friends, sitting in companionable silence. But they weren’t, she reminded herself.

“What about your mom?” he asked out of the blue, reclining on his side, watching her.

“What about her?” she shot back, caught completely off guard.

“I was thinking about how a person turns out like you. I already know about your father.”

Her spine stiffened.
People like her…
So much for the brief mirage of the two of them as friends. “I turned out just fine.” She was working on it, dammit, every single day.

“I never implied otherwise.” An amused smile played above his lip. “Maybe I meant you were self-sufficient and quick on your feet.” The sunlight glinted off his dark hair. His wide shoulders were outlined against the endless blue sea. His powerful body was relaxed, his full attention on her.

The whole scene had a surreal quality, almost as if they were on some romantic picnic, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. They were stowaways on a ship filled with armed criminals.

“My mom died when I was young.” She shared that much against her better judgment.

“How?”

She had no intention of telling him. She’d never spoken of that time to anyone, never intended to. But the way he was looking at her made it clear that he wasn’t going to let the matter drop, so she decided to give him a sentence or two to satisfy his curiosity.

“She was killed. I don’t remember much.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t like talking about it.”

Of course, that didn’t deter him in the least. He leaned forward. “Did it have anything to do with your father’s occupation?”

For a second she considered saying car accident, hoping that lie would cut off further questions. Then she decided against it and simply nodded.

“What happened?” He pushed as she’d feared he would.

She was already regretting telling him the truth in the first place. “My father had something someone else wanted. They took me and mom. He tried hard to get to us in time, but he was late.”

She braced herself for more questions, determined not to speak another word of what had happened. But instead, he simply swept the garbage from between them and silently pulled her into his arms.

The gesture startled her as much as the brief brush of his lips had back in their prison cabin before they’d broken free. She was convinced that he couldn’t stand her, yet this was the second time he wanted to comfort her and did so with an intimate gesture.

She pulled back and looked up into his face. “Why are you doing this?”

For a moment it looked as if he might pretend not to know what she was talking about, but then he said, “Damned if I know. I didn’t exactly plan it.”

“So what, you took me into your arms against your will?”

He grinned at her. “I’m a handsome prince, aren’t I? I’m used to beautiful women throwing themselves at me. Whatever I do, don’t take it seriously. You looked forlorn.”

“I’m a strong, self-sufficient woman. I don’t look forlorn. On principle.” She pulled farther away. “Don’t do me any favors.”

His grin widened. “I didn’t say it was strictly a favor.

I said I didn’t plan it.”

He was impossible. Impossible to argue with, impossible to ignore, impossibly handsome. Beautiful, cultured, high-born women probably did throw themselves at him on a daily basis. And there was no reason on earth why the thought of that should annoy her.

She turned to the sea. She needed to quit engaging him at every turn. It wasn’t as if he’d come on to her.

He’d offered a moment of solace. End of story. He probably had someone waiting for him back at the palace.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” European tabloids were always full of their princes’ exploits.

From the corner of her eye she caught as his body stiffen. She turned back to him. The grin faded from his face. She’d hit a sore spot, obviously.

“Not really.”

“She left you?” Curiosity got the better of her. “I can’t blame her. Must be tiresome to kowtow to a prince 24/7. I know I couldn’t do it.”

He said nothing, a shadow passing over his face.

“Hurts the masculine pride, doesn’t it?” She smirked. He’d been in full control from the moment they’d met, prejudiced against her and judging her without apology, so she enjoyed turning the tables on him. “Let me guess, she’s an actress or a dancer or something.”

His gaze darkened.

“No, no wait. The debutante daughter of a nobleman. Did you meet at court?”