To Catch a Princess (17 page)

Raising her left hand, she snapped a picture of the ring with her phone and texted it to both Alexander and Vanessa.

Then she pre-empted the call that was sure to come, and dialed her brother.

“Congratulations, Tatochka. I hope he makes you very happy,” Alexander said as soon as he answered.

“He does, Sasha. I may just be able to forgive you,” she kidded her older brother.

“I hope so. If he doesn’t treat you right, he’s going to have to deal with me.”

“I think he knows that. I love you, Sasha. Kiss Kathleen and the baby for me.”

As she disconnected, a text message came in from Vanessa.

OMFG. Congratulations. I think. Vanessa.

Thx
, she texted back.

Do u love him?
Vanessa asked, and Tatiana had no doubt about her answer.

With all my heart.

Chapter 21

Shea watched the snipped locks of his sandy hair swirl around and down the toilet.

Returning to the sink, he lathered his skull and carefully shaved off whatever was left of his hair. Toweling off the remnants of shaving cream, he examined himself in the mirror. Pleased, he walked over to the Mohawk hairpiece he had dyed a bright blue a few days earlier. He peered at it, recalling in his mind’s eye the color of the Mohawk his mark wore. Satisfied it was close, he grabbed a bottle of spirit gum and the hairpiece. At the sink, he painstakingly applied the Mohawk, smiling when he was done.

Shea had chosen his man because his general appearance, height, and weight were close to his. With his hair gone and the crazy Mohawk to draw attention away from his features, he had no doubt he could pass for the other man, especially in the rush going on backstage.

Just a few more things and his disguise would be complete.

He went to the small desk in the room and the stenciling paper on which he’d painstakingly recreated the facial tattoo the other man possessed. He had snapped several pictures of it during his surveillance of the man, and now it was time to transfer the image to his own face.

At the sink, he applied the spray that made the stencil stain his skin, then precisely placed the stencil, giving the chemicals time to transfer the design onto his face. When it was ready, he gingerly removed the paper and compared the outline to the photos he’d taken. Choosing the best picture, he taped it to the mirror and opened the body paint he had purchased.

He worked carefully, painting over the stencil lines to recreate the tattoo. His hand was steady as he stroked the paint on his skin, and the tattoo came to life on his face. He wanted to smile, but held back, fearful he’d ruin the work.

Instead, he snatched all the photos together and tore them into tiny pieces. Then he flushed them a little at a time to destroy the evidence.

Heading back to the bedroom, he grabbed the backpack with the rest of his supplies and slipped on the leather jacket, which matched that of his mark. In one pocket of the jacket were the paste jewels, and in the other a stun gun to subdue his target.

He glanced at his watch.

He still had over an hour before he had to head out to swap himself for his target—the man who’d be assisting the designer of the dress that was paired with the necklace Prince Sergei desired.

Time enough for a cup of coffee and breakfast. It was going to be a long day and he’d need the energy to keep him going. Once he had made the switch and slipped into the hotel’s clothing shop to drop off the necklace, he’d be on his way to one of the escape cars and a long road trip to a safehouse in sunny Positano, Italy, where he could lay low for a few weeks and relax.

…

From the moment they left their suite, Peter and Tatiana were in constant motion, finalizing an assortment of details so the charity event went off without a hitch.

When a problem arose with one of the designers, Peter hung back to do a final sweep of the area with Tony while Tatiana rushed off to handle whatever was upsetting the man.

Everywhere he and Tony checked, their security staff was alert and at their posts in the hotel and casino areas. Moving backstage, they walked to the stage door where a duo of security guards checked the credentials of everyone participating in the show or working the backstage area. Peter lingered a few feet away, making sure the men were using the appropriate precautions, and as he did so, Tony received a call about a possible problem in one of the gambling salons. The security chief excused himself, but Peter hung back. He wanted to get his own impressions of the people handling the dresses and jewels. He had already read through all the background reports compiled by Tony on the assorted designers, dressers, make-up artists, models, and stage hands.

An eclectic lot. He stood there, watching, and recognized some of the gorgeous models from various print and TV ads. He knew he had it bad when not one of them stirred him as Tatiana did. She was all woman with her generous curves, not a stick figure like the women who bustled past.

Two men walked by, a designer and his assistant, judging by their conversation. The designer was whining about something having gone wrong and the assistant scurried away to handle the problem, rushing over to another man wheeling in a rack with a few gowns.

Not that Peter was an expert, but his untrained eye thought they looked like the sketches of the dresses to be paired with his mother’s jewelry. The gold and wine-colored hues worked well with them.

From another side of the room, a leanly muscled man with a blue Mohawk and a facial tattoo pushed around another rack with clothing in a bold mix of colors. Something about the man called to him.

Moving away from the wall, Peter followed Mohawk Man at a distance. The punk-looking assistant seemed in no rush. He pushed the rack toward the staging area where the models would be styled and change into the various gowns before heading out to the runway.

The plan was for the display cases to be brought into this area where security guards would hand out the jewels and stand by while they were placed on the models and then eventually returned.

Without a seeming care in the world, Mohawk Man wheeled the rack into place by one dressing area and then laid out make-up and various styling accessories.

Peter walked over to him. “Excuse me, but could I see your credentials?”

The man jumped, startled, then smiled sexily after giving Peter the once over. “Of course, you can,” he said with almost a purr.

The man grabbed the lanyard holding his photo ID, unclipped it, and handed it over. “Not my best photo, but the lighting was a little harsh, don’t you think?”

Peter wanted to say that his cop radar was going off loudly, but there was no doubting that the man in the photo was a dead ringer for the person in front of him. Or was he imagining that the nose in the photo was a little more crooked and the jaw line not as strong of that of the man standing before him?

Still, the facial tattoo and Mohawk really distorted his overall appearance, making it hard to judge.

Satisfied for the moment, Peter handed the ID back and walked away, but then he turned back quickly and called out, “Richard?”

The man immediately turned his way. “Yes? Do you need something else?” Mohawk Man asked.

“I’ll be watching,” Peter said, although the man had not hesitated at all to answer to his name. Someone else might not have been as conditioned to do that, but then again, he wasn’t dealing with just any common criminal.

The Thief of Hearts wasn’t on the Most Wanted list for being stupid.

With that thought, Peter strode off to review all the other areas before he had to go upstairs and get dressed for the night.

…

Prince Pyotr—or should he say Detective Roman?—walked away, and Shea barely contained the smile on his face while he laid out the supplies they’d need for the show. He’d passed the ultimate test. The cop was sharp. No doubt about it. Shea was surprised the detective had singled him out to approach. Not a good sign. It meant the cop could possibly have made the connection between all the jewels that had been stolen, despite Shea’s efforts to hide the trail by stealing other pieces during the heists. If so, the cop might be keeping a close eye on this collection during the show.

As it was, Shea only had seconds to make the exchange when he transferred the necklace to and from the display stand to the fashion model. While he was a master at sleight of hand, he required a distraction to accomplish the task. If the prince planned on being backstage and watching him closely, that would make the exchange difficult.

He still had a couple of hours until the event. Time enough to think of a diversion. Something good to take the detective’s attention off him for those critical seconds.

…

Just looking at Peter took Tatiana’s breath away. He stood before the mirror, tugging at his bow tie to straighten the two crooked ends.

She slipped between him and the mirror and, with a mischievous yank, untied it. “Let me,” she said, and effortlessly created a flawless bow tie.

“Perfect. I may keep you, after all,” he kidded, and bent down to kiss her.

She opened her mouth to his, wishing they could skip the event tonight. Reluctantly she pulled away, swiped her thumb across his lips to remove her lipstick, and said, “I wish we could just stay here.”

“It’ll be over before you know it,” he said, and snagged her hand to pull her toward the door of the suite.

She relented, and together they walked to the amphitheater where the glitterati had started to enter and take their seats for the fashion show. The theater itself was done up to highlight the elegance of its Belle Époque styling, with lights dancing off the ornate woodwork along the walls and elaborate floral works along each row, the stage, and the catwalk.

After the show, the guests were supposed to move to the grand ballroom for an after-party featuring caviar, vodka, blinis, and other foods in keeping with the theme of the Russian aristocracy.

Hesitating by the door, Tatiana looked around to see how everything was going as guests waited to pass through their security checks. All appeared in order.

“Seems fine to me,” she said, and Peter offered a masculine grunt of agreement.

“Seems it. I’m going to take a final walk around backstage. I’ll be back before the show starts.” With a quick kiss on her cheek, he rushed away and she moved toward the line of guests waiting to enter, offering her greetings to help smooth any feathers ruffled by the short delay.

She worked the line until the very last guests had entered and were seated. There was still a good half hour or more until the runway show kicked off. Her parents had yet to arrive, and Peter had likewise failed to return.

She wondered what was keeping them, but then she spotted her parents coming off the elevators with Prince Sergei, who was surprisingly not in evening wear. As they approached, she caught the tail end of their conversation.

“So sorry you will miss the event,” her mother was saying.

Prince Sergei nodded and with a woeful expression replied, “I am very sorry also, but apparently this problem won’t keep.”

“Is something wrong, Prince Sergei?” Tatiana asked. She greeted her parents with hugs and cheek-kisses.

The prince nodded. “I just received a call from home. Apparently the burglar alarms have been tripped and there is evidence of a break-in. The police have asked that I come home as soon as possible.”

She forced an understanding smile to her face, although something didn’t ring true about his excuse. “We will miss you. I hope everything gets straightened out.”

He dipped his head, took her hand, and kissed the back of it. “
Adieu
, Princess Tatiana. I’m sorry we had so little time together. All the best on your nuptials.”

He quickly bid her parents goodbye and hurried in the direction of the main lobby and the front desk.

His touch had made her feel slimy, but worse, her gut was screaming that his burglary story was a major lie. Which made her wonder why he’d suddenly want to avoid the event. Why come at all if he was not planning to stay? She reached into her purse for her cell phone, pushing aside the gun Peter had obtained for her. She wanted to let him know of this strange development, but before she could hit the speed-dial, she caught sight of him walking down the hallway, his long strides eating up the carpet.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Prince Sergei had a call from home. A possible break-in. He’s headed there now to see what’s happening,” her father replied.

Peter shot a glance at her. “Really? Kind of convenient, isn’t it?”

“Convenient? That’s a rather odd word to use,” her father remarked.

Peter nodded, but his gaze was still on hers as he said, “I’m just a little…preoccupied. Too much to think about finishing before the night is over. Shall we go in and find our seats?” He held out his hand, inviting her parents to go in ahead of them, and lingering behind just a bit for a moment alone with her.

He bent and whispered for her ears only, “I’m going to ask security to keep an eye out for Sergei. See where he goes.”

“Good. He gave me the willies with his farewell in this creepy little voice. ‘
Adieu
, Princess Tatiana
’
as if we were saying goodbye forever.” She shuddered.

Peter’s jaw tightened with worry. “Give me a few minutes to call security and I’ll be right back.”

…

Tatiana disappeared into the ballroom, and Peter pulled out his cell. He intended to make sure Prince Sergei was doing just what he had said. Calling Tony, he instructed him to confirm that the prince had checked out, and also to have someone discreetly tail him to see where he went. Once Tony acknowledged the instructions, Peter activated the app on his smartphone that gave him access to the feeds from the security cameras in the hotel and casino.

Tatiana might give him grief for watching them during the show, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

With a final look around the foyer, he hurried in.

Chapter 22

The area backstage was a beehive of activity. People hurried from one spot to the other dressing the models, touching up make-up and hair, swapping out shoes and other accessories while security guards stoically stood by the display cases waiting to be unlocked to allow access to the jewels.

All things considered, Shea didn’t think it would take much of a distraction to exchange the necklace the young model was wearing for the paste replica.

From the stage, the muted sound of someone talking over a microphone filtered back, and the stage manager walked around, warning everyone that the show started in ten minutes. At his command, each security guard unlocked his assigned display case, removed the jewels, and walked them to the dressing area for each designer and model.

Once the jewels were on the dressing tables and the models in place, Shea approached “his” necklace, as did the other assistants working the show. He glanced at the guard to make sure it was okay to remove the first piece, and at the man’s nod, he slipped his fingers beneath the edges of the necklace and lifted it from the case.

It was heavy and ornate, more like a collar than a necklace. The gold work was intricate and held dozens of diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. He carefully walked to the model, who was already dressed in the first outfit of the trio she’d wear for the show.

He intended to make the swap during the change into her second gown and be out of there well before the last dress change.

He draped the necklace around her neck and secured it.

“It’s heavy,” the model said with surprise.
Shit
. Despite all the research Shea had done on the piece, none of the descriptions had mentioned the weight, and the replica in his pocket was not as heavy.

“It’s just your nerves, love. It’s not often you have millions around your neck,” he said using his mark’s accented voice. Although in truth, on other jobs she likely had worn jewelry that was almost as expensive.

He moved back to the case and removed earrings and a bracelet that had been lent by another royal to complete the outfit. Neither was of interest to the prince, which would help him with his distraction.

The model popped off the chair. Shea was tall, over six feet, but with her heels she towered over him. She was nearly half his weight and her body lacked the womanly curves he preferred.

He walked with her to the left wing of the stage where she took her position to wait for the speeches to end and the show to begin. From what he had seen of the plans for the show that Hammer had hacked, they had a little more time between costume changes than in a traditional runway show. The emcee was going to offer a detailed history of each of the jewels being worn, as well as of the designer and dress since the fashions were eventually being auctioned off. That auction would take place in a few months when the show was held again at Russian Nights, the Ivanov casino in Atlantic City.

Applause snapped him from his thoughts and he realized Princess Tatiana had just finished her speech and was walking from the podium to the edge of the stage where he stood with the model. She walked by and smiled. A friendly, radiant smile that held not a hint of phoniness.

She was lovely up close. Far lovelier than how she had appeared through his lens as he snapped off those intimate photos on the balcony.

“Thank you for helping out,” she said, and continued on her way to her front row seat close to the runway.

She sat down next to Prince Pyotr, and on her other side was an older couple. Her parents without a doubt. The older man had the exotic Ivanov eyes which gazed on his daughter with fatherly pride, but Tatiana took after her mother more. Even in her late fifties the woman was stunning, with midnight hair that was only starting to show the first few hints of a silvery gray.

Both women were wearing a wealth of jewels, and the thief in Shea itched to swipe them, but after tonight he was done with this life for good.

The low pulse of a bass beat started and the lights in the theatre dimmed. The emcee strolled to the podium and began his spiel, introducing the first set of jewels, the designer, and the gown.

As the model moved away from him and onto the stage, a bright spotlight fixed on her and the assorted precious stones and gold snapped to life, brilliant and glittering beneath the kiss of the lights.

Extraordinary. No wonder Sergei coveted the necklace.

With a shake of his head, he pulled himself away to prepare for the costume change.

Time to make the swap.

…

Tatiana excitedly grabbed Peter’s hand and beamed a smile at him, apparently so caught up in the event that her fear of what could happen had disappeared.

Peter wished he could let go of his concern as easily, but his gut was tight with tension. He wanted this night to go exactly right for her. Wanted them to get through it without the Thief of Hearts making off with what was probably the most priceless piece in the entire show.

The necklace was gleaming and jumping with highlights as the model strutted down the catwalk before them and paused at the end to stand there while the emcee did his little rundown about the provenance of the jewels and described the gown.

Beautiful, he thought, his gaze transfixed on the necklace. It shimmered and danced beneath the lights, almost alive.

“Rumor has it that this necklace once belonged to distant cousins of the Romanovs. During the Russian revolution it was believed lost, but has since been recovered,” the emcee said.

Recovered by someone who might not have been the original owner
, Peter thought as the emcee continued. It made him wonder if that was why Prince Sergei had run out earlier. Not an emergency, but a desire to avoid seeing something that should have been his now flaunted in front of his face.

But if that was the reason, why buy a ticket to the event in the first place? Why leave before it started?

To have an alibi
, his cop’s intuition screamed. Somewhere
not
where Sergei knew a crime was about to be committed. It was the most logical explanation.

Peter dropped his gaze from the necklace to the smartphone in his hand where several feeds were visible. He freed his hand from Tatiana’s and swiped the keypad, flipping to another set of views. And that’s when he thought he saw him.

Prince Sergei
.

But Tony’s people had confirmed that the prince left the hotel a short time after Peter saw him in the lobby.

Peter made that view larger, but there was no longer any sight of Sergei. He flipped to another nearby feed, but again, there was nothing but guests moving to and from one of the gaming salons.

He shook his head in chastisement.
Paranoid much?
He was letting his fear get the better of him.

He returned his attention to the show, but every now and then, he’d look down. Check the feeds.

Better safe than sorry.

Because his damn gut was still doing somersaults.

…

The second dress for the show hung on the rack, awaiting the return of the model.

The hair stylist hovered nearby, ready to change the model’s upswept do into a different style to match the next gown.

Shea waited for that moment also, the paste necklace carefully tucked into his sleeve. With a well-practiced motion, he’d let it slip down while placing the real necklace into his pocket.

With the muted sounds of the music and talk filtering backstage, his model returned and he went into action. He unzipped the back of the gown and gently eased the sleeves down her arms, but when he did, he made a point of scraping the sleeve along her bracelet. He had snipped several of the threads inside earlier and left them in a tangle that wasn’t visible or noticeable to the model, but he knew it was there. And just as he’d planned, the tangle of strings snagged on the ornate facets of the bracelet.

He tugged feebly, making it appear that he was trying to free it, when in fact he was making the tangle worse.

Seeing there was an issue, the security guard for his station came over. “Is there a problem?”

“The bracelet seems to have caught on something.” Shea stepped away as the guard took over, trying to undo the tangle while he walked behind the model.

“Let me get this off to avoid a similar problem with the next gown,” he said, and undid the necklace, earning a quick look from the guard, but the man immediately returned to trying to free the bracelet, aware they had a schedule to keep.

Perfect. Shea walked over to the dressing table and the hairdresser leapt into action with the model, creating even more misdirection. The guard’s gaze skipped from him to her and back to the bracelet still snared within the sleeve.

While the guard’s head was turned to his task, Shea quickly perused the area and confirmed that all eyes were on other things and that there was no sign of Prince Pyotr.

With a quick flick of his wrist, the paste necklace dropped into his hand and he pocketed the real one. He laid the fake on the dressing table, picked up a small pair of scissors, and handed them to the guard. “Maybe these will help,” he said.

The man took the scissors and with a few snips, he cleared the tangle and smiled.

Shea went to work on helping the model out of the dress while the guard returned to his position by the dressing table, his gaze fixed on the fake necklace. An almost visible sigh of relief passed over the man and Shea had to battle back a laugh.

He finished dressing the model and hung up the first gown. He waited a few steps back while the hairdresser changed out the hairstyle, and then it was time for Shea to place the necklace back on the model. He approached the dressing table and met the guard’s gaze. “May I?”

The guard snapped a sharp nod and Shea picked up the necklace, walked to the model, and once again secured it around her neck.

“You look lovely,” he said, and the model beamed a smile at him.

“I must be getting used to it. It’s not as heavy anymore.”

He smiled back and patted her shoulder. “Your nerves are gone. Now let’s go out there and kill this second set.”

He walked with her to the stage, but there were still several models waiting in front of her. The show was running with a slight delay.
Excellent
.

“I’m going to head back and prep for the next change,” he whispered to her.

He strolled backstage, but instead of going to his dressing table area, he kept on going. At the look from one of the guards at the stage exit, he said, “Bathroom break.”

The man nodded, opened the door, and Shea hurried out and down the hallway toward the restrooms. But once he turned the corner and was out of sight, he whipped the smartphone from his pocket to see what has happening on the various video feeds.

All seemed clear, but as he stepped into the restroom and into one of the stalls, he noticed movement by the clothing shop where he was supposed to make the drop of the real necklace.

Every shop had been closed in anticipation of the fashion show because of the security risk they presented. But there was someone clearly entering the clothing shop.

Someone who looked disturbingly like Mouse, his team member.

What the fuck?
He enlarged the image, but by then the person had slipped out of view of the camera.

Despite his concern about seeing Mouse, Shea couldn’t hesitate. Even with the delay, he had very little time before the model returned for the third costume change, and his absence was noticed.

He reached up and tore off the blue Mohawk wig, dropped it into the toilet, and flushed. He had already tried out a similar-sized wig in another toilet without an issue. He smiled as the blue swirled away like toilet bowl cleaner. Then he reached into his jeans pocket and removed a small pouch with make-up remover wipes. With swift, sure strokes, he scrubbed off the face tattoo, using several wipes to remove the design and flushing each wipe to eliminate any evidence of his deception.

When the last wipe came away fairly clean, he stripped off his jacket and T-shirt. He turned both inside out, reversing the black T-shirt to a bright red, and the black leather jacket to the khaki lining he had sewn inside.

Exiting the stall, he walked to the sink, washed his hands, then bent, scrubbing at his face to remove the last traces of the painted tattoo.

He rose and dried his face, pulled a black knit beanie from his pocket, and eased it onto his head to complete his transformation.

Satisfied, he strolled out of the bathroom and down the service hallway to the elevators, the weight of the necklace a dangerous reminder that something might be amiss with his plan.

What the hell was Mouse doing here?