To Catch a Princess (3 page)

“We agreed when we first started—” he began, but the prince silenced him with an imperial wave of his hand.

“Things have changed since we first started.”

“Not in my book they haven’t. You want to go ahead with this job, you’ll let me pick my own team.” He pointed to the prince’s associate. The man’s ill-fitting suit failed to hide the large weapon tucked beneath one arm. “That goon isn’t fit for my team.”

Bright red blossomed across the man’s features and he clenched and unclenched his fists. Neck muscles straining, the man said in a thick, guttural accent, “You think I’m not fit?”

“Prove it,” Shea said.

The man charged him.

His mistake.

Shea bent and used the man’s momentum, sending him up and over his back to land on the thick carpet with a thud that shook the floor beneath their feet. The impact drove the air from the thug’s lungs, stunning him, and Shea moved in swiftly, whipping the gun from the man’s holster before grabbing hold of his arm and flipping him onto his stomach. With one knee pressing against the man’s spine and one hand twisting his arm upward, he put the gun to the man’s head and said, “Bang.”

“Motherfucker,” the man said, and rolled from side-to-side in an attempt to break free, forcing Shea to increase the pressure on his arm until with a snap, his elbow popped out of its socket.

The man howled with pain and finally ceased his struggles.

Shea shoved to his feet and for safety’s sake, tucked the gun in the gap at the small of his back and covered it with his jacket. He would store it somewhere secure later. He wasn’t a fan of weapons in general, much less on one of his jobs. They created too many possibilities for escalating the risk to unacceptable levels.

Facing Sergei, who sat on a rich embroidered sofa, he tapped his chest and said, “My team or this is a no-go.”

A muscle jumped in the prince’s jaw and, like his associate, a flush of color spread across his face. “You would pass up that much money over this?”

Shea shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve got no vested interest in this event, unlike you. And there will be lots more opportunities for me to steal whatever jewels I would like. Besides, Interpol is probably starting to connect the dots. The heat will be on for any future jobs, especially the Ivanov gig.”

“Interpol doesn’t scare me and I didn’t think it would faze an infamous thief like you. As for stealing other jewels, there will not be another opportunity like this, Mr. Smith,” Jones said with deadly calm.

Shea was hard-pressed to argue with him, not that he would admit it and weaken his hand. In addition to the monetary payoff the prince had promised, the prince only wanted one piece from those at the event. If Shea wanted, he could steal some of the other jewelry for himself. He considered the value of the haul. It would truly hurt to walk away from this deal, but he also wasn’t willing to risk his life by having goons like the one on the floor on his team.

“
My
team. I’ll pick the best people and we’ll both be very happy once the job is done,” he said, his tone placating in the hopes of smoothing over the upset.

The prince glanced down at his man. His caterwauling had faded to a series of low moans as he cradled his injured arm to his chest. With a moue of annoyance, he kicked at the man’s foot and snapped out, “Get up.”

As the man slowly lumbered to his feet, Prince Sergei likewise rose from the sofa, the epitome of grace and cool despite all that had just happened.

His detached and almost hostile calm creeped the hell out of Shea and made him wonder whether it didn’t make sense to walk away from this deal. But before he could voice that decision, the prince nodded and said, “Your team. Your way, Mr. Smith.”

Shit, Shea thought. Hiding his unease, he dipped his head, pivoted, and walked out of the library. Immediately outside the door was another of the prince’s associates, leaner and not as muscular as the one inside, but armed.

As he stepped into the foyer, the man eyeballed him and jerked his thumb in the direction of the front door, making it clear Shea was not supposed to linger.

Not that Shea intended to case the place, but it was impossible not to notice the environs of the townhouse. The furnishings and artwork screamed of money, although they lacked a personal touch, which hinted to him that this townhouse and contents were a rental. It would make sense, after all. Just as he kept his personal things separate from his business, the prince would likely do the same.

As Shea hurried from the townhouse, he kept a careful eye out, his distrust of his employer growing by leaps and bounds. It wasn’t just that Sergei had wanted to interfere with his team. It was the kind of man that he had wanted to place there. The kind of man who was born to violence.

That just wasn’t Shea’s style. In his nearly two decades of thievery, he had never physically hurt or killed a single one of his marks or anyone connected to one of his heists.

He wasn’t about to start now.

Chapter 5

Alexander lounged on his sofa like a man with no worries, but beneath the calm exterior, Peter sensed that there was a great deal of turmoil.

“I don’t like this, Pyotr,” he said, using the Russian version of Peter’s name, a sure sign of the agitation he was hiding. “I don’t like lying to my sister and my wife.”

“I don’t like it either, Sasha. I asked you to keep my secret all those years ago because I wanted to just be an everyday man,” he said and paced back and forth in Alexander’s office.

“But you’re not an ordinary man, and now that our parents have announced their desire to forge ahead with this ridiculous marriage arrangement—”

Peter whirled, faced his friend, and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Why is it so ridiculous? Do you think it’s impossible for Tatiana to care for someone like me?”

Some of the tension finally left Alexander’s body. He chuckled and shook his head. “On the contrary. I think on some level she already does care, but she doesn’t understand what she’s feeling. You have been there for her more than once, like a comfortable pair of shoes. Ready when you need them, but set aside when you don’t.”

“Ouch. Don’t spare my ego, Sasha,” he muttered, and walked over to the bar tucked into one alcove of the office. He poured both of them a scotch and sauntered back to the sofa. He handed Alexander a glass, then plopped down on the coffee table and took a big gulp. The warmth of the scotch burned a path down his throat to the empty pit of his stomach, which growled noisily.

“It’s almost time for dinner. Can you stay?” Alexander asked.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had joined the Ivanovs for a meal, but if he was going to be leaving for Monaco soon, he had some things he had to clear off his desk before going. Luckily it had been quiet in the precinct the last few days and there wasn’t anything he couldn’t turn over to one of the other detectives in the pen.

“I just need to do a few things back at work,” he said, but Alexander waved him off.

“Nothing that can’t wait an hour, Peter. If you’re going to be the man for my sister—”

“I’m not sure that’s the wisest thing. There are reasons why I’ve stayed away from being a royal,” he jumped in.

“Reasons you’ve yet to share with me or anyone else. Including our parents, apparently.”

Peter took another sip of his scotch and faced his friend. In all the years they had known each other, he had never explained why he lived under an alias or why the thought of being in the public eye was so abhorrent. Downright scary. He could face down a man with a loaded gun pointed at his face easier than he could a man with a camera.

“It would be tough for me to be undercover if my face was always plastered in the tabloids or newspapers,” he hedged.

Alexander eyed him over the rim of his glass before taking a thoughtful sip. He motioned to him with the glass and said, “I hope you can fool your suspects better than you do me. It’s obvious there’s more to it than that.”

There was, but it was a family secret that had stayed buried for many years. One too painful to share. Even with someone like Alexander, whom he trusted like a brother.

“I have my reasons, Sasha. Reasons I can’t really talk about.”

Alexander nodded, but Peter saw he didn’t agree. “You need to tell Tatiana the truth about your identity before she discovers it on her own, especially now that our parents are pressing for this marriage.”

“I know,” he said. He had been thinking of how to break the news to her, but the other part of the secret, the part about his family, he wasn’t ready to reveal. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be ready to share that part of his past with anyone.

“Once you do, you’ll learn to make time to spend with your family. Nothing is more important than family.” Alexander rose from the sofa and clapped him on the back.

“Let’s go. Kathleen is cooking tonight and I apologize in advance for that.”

Peter chuckled. “I guess you really want to test what I’m made of.”

Alexander eyed Peter’s midsection and playfully slapped it. “Or maybe what your gut is made of. Steel would be good for tonight.”

He shook his head and laughed, well aware that despite the comments, Alexander wouldn’t trade a fancy meal for dinner with his wife. It was one of the things he liked about the prince. Below his regal surface, he was really just a regular kind of guy. Peter hoped the time spent with Tatiana would also show her that he was a regular kind of guy. But coupled with that hope was fear about what might happen if she discovered his real identity before he could explain it to her.

He’d always gotten the sense that Tatiana had trust issues. He understood. When you were rich and royal, there were people who would do all kinds of things just to be close to you. Plus, he vaguely remembered that something had happened with a roommate during her freshman year that had rocked her ability to believe in others.

She would feel betrayed if she found out on her own. Could she possibly even begin to understand that he had kept it from her for so many years for a variety of valid reasons? Maybe even because deep down he wanted her to love him for
who
he was rather than
what
he was?

He shoved aside his indecision as they neared the door to Alexander’s private quarters. Peter’s one hope was that by the time this was all done, Tatiana would think of him as something more than a comfortable pair of old shoes.

…

Shea had to give it to Prince Sergei. This nighttime heist would normally be the perfect tune-up for the Ivanov job. But Shea had a totally different idea on how to steal the jewels being displayed at the fashion show.

He glanced at his two associates on the roof of the museum. They had zip-lined down from a dark rooftop to this location. Clearly the museum had not expected anyone to be able to reach the rooftop since the large skylight possessed minimal security measures. A few magnets and they created a loop that allowed them to open the skylight without tripping the alarm system.

Strapped on his harness, he glanced at his two men as they assembled the rigging system that would let him descend through the skylight opening and hover over the display cases holding the pieces they intended to steal.

“How much longer?” he asked, glancing around the quiet city streets to see if anyone had noticed their descent on the zip-line. They had waited until the early morning hours to avoid too many passersby. So far luck had been on their side, especially since it was a cloudy night, bringing deeper darkness to hide their activities.

“Just another minute,” said Fly, the team member responsible for the bulk of the rigging work. He drove lag screws into the rooftop to secure the small powerful winch that would allow him to fly down into the museum.

The second man, Hammer, was wiring in the panel for the winch and the descender controls.

While he waited for them, Shea secured the harness around his legs and tightened all the straps to make sure they wouldn’t slip while he did his flying act. He also double-checked the buckles and the small bags of sand secured to the harness. Each one was filled with enough sand to offset the weight of the jewels. The display pedestals holding the jewelry were pressure sensitive.

Lift the jewels and the alarms would go off.

He also made sure the suction cup and glass circle cutter were likewise well-secured. No smash and grab here, but precision and care to get through the display cases to the fortune beneath the glass.

“Ready, Heartman?” Fly asked and handed him the trio of cables to connect to his harness.

“You know how I hate that name, Fly,” he said with a chuckle. With a quick glance at Hammer, he said, “You’ve got the smoke ready to deploy?”

Hammer nodded and motioned to the quartet of canisters he had tied to thin wires that would be lowered and discharged before he made his descent. While the smoke would make it a little harder for him to see, it would also hide his presence and hopefully keep the guards distracted long enough for him to finish the job.

The flying act with the wires was necessary because he had also discovered that the entire floor in this area was pressure sensitive. The slightest weight on the surface of the floor would sound the alarms.

He and Fly finished connecting and testing the cables and with a nod, Shea said, “Let Mouse know we’re moving in. When I’m on my way up, call him, and have him swing around back as we planned.”

He engaged the communications gear he wore and said, “Check, check.”

Both of his men nodded. “Hear you just fine through the headpiece,” Hammer confirmed. Shea sat on the edge of the skylight and climbed into the opening, bracing himself carefully as he slowly slipped through it. When the cable held his full weight, he looked at Fly to confirm the lag screws were holding, and at his nod, Hammer set off the smoke canisters and quickly lowered them through the hole.

Clean white smoke soon filled the area beneath the skylight and wafted across the display area, hiding the canisters as Hammer lowered them.

“Let’s roll, Fly,” Shea said, and a second later, he moved downward quickly, the harness tight against his body as he stretched out vertically, hands and legs spread to keep balance. His muscles strained as he fought for balance through the descent.

“Slow, Fly,” he instructed through the headset. The smoke disoriented him for a moment and he lost perspective on how far down he had gone. But then a swirl of smoke provided a clearing, which allowed him to gauge his position.

“Fifteen feet, Fly,” he said.

His descent proceeded smoothly until he was about a foot and a half above the display cases. By now the canisters had done their job, creating a thick layer of smoke throughout the entire area, but as planned, he was close enough to see without much issue.

He worked quickly, cutting precise holes in each of the display glass tops before re-securing the tools to his harness. He removed the first sand bag and hefted it in his gloved hand, a final check of its weight.

Carefully he slipped the weight through the hole and flexed his fingers, preparing for the dangerous transfer. He’d practiced this a thousand times, and had successfully accomplished it during his heists at least a half dozen more, but it always made him sweat. With sure movements, he delicately allowed the weight to slip into place, bit by bit while he lifted the diamond and aquamarine tiara from the pedestal.

When the transfer was complete and no alarms had sounded, he breathed a sigh of relief, withdrew the tiara from the case, and tucked it into an empty bag tied to his harness.

“How we doing, Hammer?” he quietly asked.

“Getting the pinions for our escape into place, Heartman. I’ve tapped into the security guard’s transmissions. They’re still trying to figure out if there’s a fire or not since the alarms haven’t tripped. They’re disarming the floor system and sending someone in to check. I say we have another couple of minutes at most.” Shea would have to work quickly. He cut through the glass above the second piece of jewelry in the next case, removed the glass, and with no hesitation, swapped out the sand bag for the necklace.

Beautiful silence filled the air for seconds, but then came the foot-slaps of boots tramping down the hallway.

The guard on his way to check for fire. Shea had one bracelet left to steal, this one for him and his crew. He had already grabbed the two that Prince Sergei wanted for his collection.

The safe thing to do would be to call Fly and have him haul him up.

But Shea wasn’t one to play it safe.

Hands flying over the glass, he cut and worked his way in. Deftly traded worthless canvas and sand for priceless diamonds and gold.

He had barely cleared the glass with his treasure when he was calling out, “Pull me in, Fly.”

The sudden acceleration was almost disorienting, but he kept his position and trained his gaze on the spot where the guard had walked into the hall and was waving his arms around to dispel the smoke, causing ripples and giving away his location.

As Shea reached the skylight, Hammer and Fly pulled him from the opening, and together the three of them swiftly undid the cables on his harness. A second later, the guard’s excited shouts drifted up from the skylight.

They raced to the edge of the rooftop where Hammer had secured three sets of cables. Connecting to them, they rappelled over the side of the building and were halfway down when the shrill chime of the alarms sounded from within the museum.

A large garbage truck filled with foam rubber pulled up directly beneath them and Shea called out, “Drop.”

The three men released their cables and plummeted the last ten feet into the bed of the truck, which continued on its way through the back alley. Once they had recovered from the fall, they worked quickly to pull a tarp over the opening on the truck bed to hide them from sight.

“Report, Mouse,” Shea called out as the three of them settled into the foam blocks to remove their harnesses and black clothing, and switch into civilian clothes.

“So far, so good, Heartman. I’ll be out of the alley in two shakes. I hear sirens coming our way, but no sign we’ve been made,” Mouse reported.

The truck rumbled and rattled before coming to a jarring halt, which sent them flying around in the foam.

“Fuck, Heartman,” Mouse said. “Stand by.”

Shea shoved away a foam block to find his footing and grab the harness, which still had the bag with the jewels strapped to it. He jerked it free and shoved it into an inside jacket pocket. The loud scream of a siren came at them, but then blew past.

A second later, the truck started moving again. He stared at Hammer and Fly as they likewise found their footing.

“Report, Mouse.”

“False alarm, Heartman. Cops on the way to the museum.”

Shea breathed another sigh of relief, but they weren’t done yet. It would take at least another five minutes to reach the warehouse where they had left their rides. Once they were there, they would all go their separate ways until meeting up in Monaco in a week.

By then he would have had a chance to confer with Prince Sergei in Paris and make his delivery. Get paid and leave the bracelet he had swiped for himself with a trusted fence, who had already lined up a private collector who wanted the item.