The Prince's Gamble (4 page)

“In time. Maybe,” she offered.

The look on her face said it would take quite a lot to make her believe he was actually the good guy here. Even more for her to take him off her list of suspects.

As for anything more personal… Well, he was more used to dealing with flighty, flirty princesses than a woman whose most prized fashion accessory seemed to be the ankle holster for her spare weapon.

But he was intrigued.

Oh, yes. He was definitely intrigued.

Chapter Five

Kathleen padded past the bed, noting that the big fluffy covers had been turned down in her absence, but she ignored just how comfortable and inviting it looked.

She still had work to do.

She yanked her laptop from her briefcase, grabbed the thumb drive from her jacket pocket, and was getting settled at the desk when a discreet knock came at her door.

Tightening the belt on her robe, she strode to the door and peered through the peephole. A uniformed maid waited there. She opened her door for the woman.

“Prince Alexander thought you might find these useful,” the maid said and bustled into the room with a lap desk under her arm as well as a room service cart bearing an assortment of cookies, a carafe, a delicate china set, and an ornate silver chest filled with high-end teas.

The maid placed the lap desk on the king-sized bed and faced Kathleen. “Where would you like your tea, miss?”

Not wanting to make too much fuss, she said, “By the wing chair is fine.”

Efficiently, the maid laid out the tea service on a bistro-sized table. Kathleen scrounged through the jacket she had tossed on a chair for a tip, but the maid waved her off.

“Prince Alexander has taken care of everything.”

“Thank you,” she offered, and experienced a host of mixed feelings yet again.

Thoughtfulness or bribery?

She opted not to make any judgment call. She needed to focus her energies on the data his security chief had provided. But sitting in the comfy chair having tea and a nice biscuit would certainly be much more inviting than the desk.

Thoughtfulness, she decided.

She poured herself some tea to let it steep and settled into the wing chair, her laptop comfortably placed on the lap desk the maid had brought in, and rested her feet on a small ottoman. Within minutes she had the spreadsheets open. She skimmed through them, confirming the opinion of the other agents who had previously reviewed the materials provided by Ivanov.
Alexander
, she reminded herself.

There was no doubt money laundering going on. Whether it was tied to Vanessa’s disappearance remained to be seen.

By the time Kathleen finished her analysis, fatigue had taken a powerful hold. She could barely keep her eyes open, and a quick glance at her watch showed that it was nearly three in the morning. She needed to get at least a few hours sleep so she could prepare for a morning meeting with Alexander and his staff, as well as for a briefing with her ADIC.

As she stowed her computer, she nevertheless grabbed the photos Jim Reynolds had provided. The security chief had identified the women pictured in them as possible participants in the laundering activities. Climbing into bed, Kathleen took a moment to review each photo carefully and commit their features to memory. She tried to recall if she had seen any of them earlier that night, but didn’t think she had.

Tossing the photos to the far side of the immense bed, Kathleen turned off the lights and lay back against her pillows. With the curtains drawn, the room was incredibly dark, and exceedingly lonely due to its size.

She was tempted to turn on the television, but after the noise on the casino floor, she needed peace and quiet. She turned to gaze out the expansive windows but realized the maid must have closed the curtains.

A remote control sat on the nightstand beside her. She recollected what the bellhop had mentioned earlier when he’d brought in her bags. Snagging the remote, she pointed it at the windows and pushed a button. Slowly the curtains slid open to reveal the lively colors of the casinos, the late night stragglers along the boardwalk, and to the east, the dark expanse of the ocean.

It must be windy. Whitecaps tipped the waves as they rushed to shore. Watching them, her drowsiness grew until she slipped her eyes closed and drifted off into dreams…

Alexander was waiting for her there, dressed as he’d been earlier that night, the dark suit a perfect foil for his midnight hair and glacial blue eyes. A carefree, welcoming smile lightened his intense features, and her heart skipped a beat.

He held out his hand, inviting her to join him. Almost daring her to forget responsibility and honor to explore her attraction.

Kathleen would never do that in real life, but in her dreams…

Definitely
worth the gamble.

Chapter Six

Alexander liked waking to the first rays of dawn sneaking past the horizon and brightening the midnight blue of the ocean with their light. He enjoyed the wide open views from his windows and the endless expanse of sky and sea. Sometimes he imagined himself flying free into that vastness, unburdened by anything that would drag him down to earth.

He flipped onto his back and pillowed his head on one hand, lazing in bed as he allowed himself that fantasy. To be free of the expectations associated with who he was. Free to choose what he wanted—not that he hated what he did. He truly loved the challenge of running the casino, but it was lonely at times.

His mother wanted to put an end to that loneliness, but he had no desire to be matched with the kind of woman his mother would select. Obedient and traditional. More interested in the latest fashions and gossip than anything that interested him.

He could avoid it all by marrying someone of his own choice, but if truth be told, he had no idea what kind of woman he would care to spend his life with. He only knew whom he
wouldn’t
want. Someone like prickly Special Agent Martinez.

She struck him as much too hard, too demanding, and too married to her work to be able to give any man love and solace. Not to mention that she didn’t strike him as the kind who would be comfortable in silk and diamonds, or at the various functions a prince’s wife would be expected to attend. Nor did she seem to possess any maternal instincts. He had to admit that lately, as each year passed, thoughts of little ones running under foot came more regularly.

So if that was the case, why was he so busy giving more than a second thought to Kathleen since last night?

Pushing himself from bed, he changed into loose, comfortable shorts and a T-shirt. An hour in the gym was always the perfect thing to clear his mind. Maybe by the time he was finished, he would be able to focus on all that had to be done that day—and how he would handle Special Agent Martinez…and his unfathomable attraction to her.

…

Kathleen shouldn’t have been surprised when a call to the front desk revealed that she had access to a private fitness facility on the penthouse level. Prince Alexander and his guests would never be expected to slum with the common folk.

She had gotten barely a few hours of sleep, but a workout would help get her blood moving, and give her time to mentally process all that she had reviewed the night before.

Swiping her key at the door to the fitness center, she heard the scattered slap and thump of someone working a body bag seconds before she saw him.

Alexander drove punch after punch into the heavy bag, his upper body bare and his legs exposed below his shorts. A fine sheen of sweat glistened along perfectly smooth and tanned skin. Sleek muscles in his arms and legs bunched and relaxed as he boxed with the bag.

She wondered who he was fighting with such determination, and whether to interrupt. Before she could decide, he carefully lowered his gloved hands, turned, and faced her.

Easy girl
, she warned herself at the sight of his gloriously sculpted chest and the smattering of hair which formed a vee along the smooth plane of his abdomen and then narrowed to an enticing line that led her focus straight to—

“Good morning,” she blurted out, and dragged her gaze back to his face. The amused look there confirmed that he hadn’t missed her little visual exploration. Lazily, he scooped the towel from the floor beside him and wiped the sweat off his face and upper body, drawing her attention once again to that wonderfully muscled chest.

“You’ve risen early.” He rubbed the towel across his hair, tousling the wavy locks into tempting disarray.

“You did, too. Couldn’t sleep?” She curled her fingers into fists to keep from walking over and smoothing the waves into place.

He shrugged and his muscles rippled with the motion. He draped the towel around his neck and grabbed hold of the ends, his stance totally casual. “I sleep light and rise early. Too much to do to waste the morning in bed. What about you?”

“Me, too. I made some progress last night. Thanks, by the way.”

Another negligent shrug. “I figured you would want to review what Jim gave you, and that you might need a little pick-me-up after your long day.”

“While I appreciate the thoughtfulness—”

“It makes you uncomfortable. Is it because I’m a suspect?” He approached her, a sexy swagger to his powerful stride.

She tilted her chin a defiant inch and met his gaze dead on. “I have a job to do, and I can’t afford any distractions.”

He quirked a brow and amusement glittered in those incredible ice blue eyes. “Am I a distraction?”

Absolutely
. But she didn’t say it aloud as she stepped back from his imposing presence. “I need to get in my workout. I don’t want to be late for another meeting.” She smiled impishly.

His lips twitched in return and revealed a boyish dimple. “Good idea. You wouldn’t want to piss off the prince again.”

She met his gaze which was now filled with something besides amusement. “Why’s that?”

He slanted her a look below dark lashes. “I hear his bite is far worse than his bark.”

Her nipples tightened in anticipation of just where she might want that bite…

A spurt of anger arose at her unwanted attraction to him. Seeking a way to get over it—and him—she tilted her head in the direction of the heavy bag he had been pounding moments earlier. “Is that so? Care to prove it with something other than an inanimate object?”

He arched a dark brow in surprise. “You mean to fight me?”

“Are you not used to anyone challenging you, Your Highness?” she teased, and sauntered over to the mat by the punching bag, putting a little extra sexiness into the sway of her hips in retribution for what he was making her feel with just his mere presence.

“Why is my lineage such an issue for you?” he asked as he followed her, seemingly intent on accepting her challenge.

She stopped at a wall rack where an assortment of wrist wraps and lightweight gloves hung from pegs. She snared one wrap and prepped her wrist and hand while he walked straight to her, awaiting her answer.

“Well, why is that, Kathleen?” he pressed.

As she finished with one hand and wrapped the other, she said, “People like you think everyone else has to kowtow to them. They think they’re above the law.”

“Is that how you see me?” His voice vibrated with anger, all traces of his earlier playfulness gone.

“Maybe.”

She grabbed a glove, slipped her hand into it. Secured the strap tightly around her wrist. She did the same with the second glove, fumbling a bit with the strap, but he pulled off one glove and said, “Let me.”

“Another command?” she taunted, needing distance from her attraction to him.

“Since you’re determined to see me that way, why not?” he said, slipped on his glove once more, and met her in the middle of the mat.

Two years earlier she’d imagined having one of the Ivanovs in just such a position. Now that he was here, she intended to vent her frustration—and give him a piece of her mind while she was at it.

“Shall we?” he taunted, raising his gloves and inviting her to fight.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said and came forward, assuming a fighting stance. He had the advantage in terms of reach, weight, and strength, but she had a black belt in mixed martial arts. And the element of surprise. She hoped that would be more than enough to even the score.

He held back, gloved hands at the ready as he waited for her to make a move, and they danced around on the mat, sizing each other up.

He was the first to strike, but not with a jab.

“Tell me, why are you so determined not to trust me, Kathleen?”

She answered his question by rushing past his physical defenses and landing a solid one-two punch to his midsection. He grunted from the blows and moved away. She figured for his pain, he deserved at least part of an answer.

“Two years ago I assisted on a case involving a white slavery ring in New York City,” she said, and shifted toward him again, ducking the half-hearted punch he threw at her and driving a hook into his ribs before backpedalling from his longer reach.

“What does that have to do with me?” he asked, a hint of discomfort and annoyance in his words. The skin of his midsection and ribs was marred by the bright pink from the blows she’d landed.

“The ring was being run by some local Russian mobsters. My team was able to locate the warehouse where the women were being kept prisoner.”

Just as the moment when the dealer’s winning flop card is revealed, Alexander’s face registered surprise and loss. “My family’s warehouse was involved in that crime,” he replied woodenly, and dropped his gloved hands down, leaving himself defenseless.

She jerked her hands high, urging him back into the fight. “Don’t quit on me now, Alexander. I’m just getting started.” She wouldn’t attack the equivalent of an unarmed man, and she still hadn’t gotten the satisfaction she needed after two years of waiting to face an Ivanov to mete out justice.

He assumed a defensive position again, a grim look on his face. A determined look, she realized as she plowed forward. He truly engaged this time, blocking her blows and actually landing a punch to her side. It lacked much sting, and she suspected he was holding back. She did not intend to do the same.

His hook had exposed his midsection and she once again delivered a series of punishing blows. “We asked…for permission to search…but your law firm…refused,” she puffed out between punches.

…

Alexander’s breath exploded from his mouth and he doubled over in pain. Both physical and mental pain.

Dear God
.
So that was the source of her distrust and frustration
. He understood it perfectly. He’d felt exactly the same thing two years earlier.

He managed to lift a glove to block Kathleen’s swift shot to his jaw, and allowed himself to stumble backward, out of her reach.

“My father and I were attending a financial summit in Switzerland and the law firm didn’t want to interrupt our business,” he stated as he lowered his hands and stood there for a moment before jerking off the boxing gloves. He was done with this.

But Kathleen advanced on him, fire in her eyes, tension in every line of her body. He waited for her to throw another brutal punch, but instead she just stood there, her hands at her sides, and leaned toward him on tiptoe. He was surprised sparks didn’t fly when her nose brushed against his jaw and she said, “A woman
died
because of that delay. Other women suffered unspeakable torture for
days
longer than they should have.”

He exploded. “
Don’t you think I know that?
Don’t you think that I care about what happened?”

“Do you?” she challenged, shoving at his chest with her glove.

He snared her wrist with his hand and hauled her close. Then grabbed the other wrist to keep her from striking out at him.

“If you’re so concerned,” he retorted, “then you should already know I fired the law firm when I found out. And I fired the real estate agent who showed such negligent judgment in renting out the warehouse to those thugs.”

He knew he’d won when her mouth opened but no response came.

“I guess you didn’t bother to check. It would have been easy enough for you to do so, but your mind was already made up, wasn’t it?” he challenged. When she still didn’t reply, he stated, “I have no desire to be involved with people like that.”

“The lawyers and real estate agents?” she asked, finally finding her voice.

He shot her a fulminating glare and released her without comment. She was well aware of what he meant.

He forced himself to calmly remove the wraps from around his wrists while she stood there, anger vibrating in every line of her body. He tossed the wraps at her feet and finally raised his gaze icily to hers.

“You can keep on painting me as the bad guy in all this, but that’s not who I am, Special Agent Martinez. Or what I am. If you can’t see that, there is no need to waste my breath.”

With that, he turned and stalked out of the gym, leaving her there to chew on his words.

He had a casino to run, and he wasn’t about to let one annoyed, vengeful, and maddeningly stubborn FBI agent keep him from what he had to do.

No matter how frustrated and disappointed her distrust made him feel inside.

Because although he didn’t want to admit it, deep down, her opinion of him was starting to matter.

…

The prince and princess were seated for breakfast at the dining room table along with Jim Reynolds. Another thumb drive and manila folder sat beside Jim at an empty space. The security chief was seated to Ivanov’s right hand side, but one seat away from his boss, leaving Kathleen little choice. Either sit next to Alexander, or insult him and take a spot next to his sister.

No contest.

Kathleen took the spot next to Tatiana and earned raised brows from everyone at the table. Tough. Her pride still stung from His Highness’s contempt at the gym. And she wasn’t even sure she believed him.

As she sat, she calmly said, “Good morning. I trust everyone slept well.”

“Well enough,” the prince replied in clipped tones.

Tatiana chimed in with, “I had to stay awake late studying with a friend.”

“A friend, Tatiana? Did she stay the night?” her brother asked, his voice steady although his hand wavered slightly as he placed his fine china coffee cup in the matching saucer.

Tatiana shot a nervous look around the table. “He did, only—”

“Excuse me?
He?
Did I hear that right? You let a young man stay with you last night?” Ivanov said, the first hints of anger coloring his voice.

Kathleen shot a glance at the security chief. Had he known about this?

Tatiana tilted her head regally and met her brother’s challenging gaze head on. “Yes, I did. This is America, Sasha. I am an independent woman.”

“Sasha?” Kathleen asked before thinking, arching a brow.

“A family nickname,” he said curtly. Was that a stain of color on his cheekbones? Ignoring her, he zeroed back in on his sister. “You still have a reputation to protect, Tatochka. Every freedom comes with a responsibility, even in America.”