Page 10 of Stolen Princess

“This is not what I had in mind.”

“Too late for that.”

We reach the top landing, and I note a large studio space followed by a bedroom that I can’t see much of before I’m shoved into the bathroom and the door slams shut behind me. A key goes into the lock, and I didn’t think you could lock a bathroom door from the outside, but evidently you can when it’s one of those ancient keyhole locks.

“Gene—”

“I mean it. Be quiet. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”

Then she’s gone, the sound of her footfalls growing distant. I try the door, but the lock is solid, and the door is too. I glance around. It’s a spacious room with a separate tub and shower and large vanity. There’s a window beside the toilet, and I go there, about to open the pane, when a woman walking through the garden stops me dead.

Her face is cast down, only giving me a view of her mass of wild dark curls with strands of gray. There’s something about her. Something familiar, and when she glances up at the tower, I duck back while angling myself to see her.

Because fuck me, I know her.

She hired me to steal the tiara three years ago, and I did. I was fresh in the country and looking for bigger jobs than I’d had in Belgium or France. I was done with the UK. It took me four weeks to track it down. The person who had it wasn’t easy to find because she didn’t want to be found. It was a woman living under the name Evia.

I tracked her pattern for a week before I broke into the place she was staying when she wasn’t home. I nicked the tiara from a bloody drawer she had it in. It wasn’t even locked. It was easy as sin. Almost too easy.

When I went to make the trade—twenty thousand euros for the tiara—the woman tried to kill me, and I got away with the tiara. I’d held onto it until a woman stole it from Sven and Lars’s house a few months back. The police—whom Lars and Sven were not excited to have in their house—claimed they had no suspects, but they did accidentally drop two she pronouns when describing the perpetrator.

They knew something and weren’t sharing.

At the time, I questioned if it was her. If she’d finally found me and come for the tiara she never got.

Lars and Sven had no clue what was in the safe other than cash, and I wasn’t about to make my presence known since Rhys Stephan is a wanted man with several warrants on his head.

So this is her mother. Absolutely fascinating.

Suddenly, I’m not so anxious to go.

4

GENEVIEVE

Islip the key into my pocket, gather my breath, then head downstairs to greet my mother. She’s early. I wasn’t expecting her for another two hours. The busted remote is on the kitchen floor, and I pick up the pieces, dispose of them in the trash, and busy myself by setting things out to make cassoulet.

“Genevieve,” she calls out as she reaches the door.

“Coming, Mother.” I open it for her even though I never locked it again after I dragged Rhys inside.

“Well, well,” she says, giving me a once-over. “Not quite dressed, I see.”

I grit my teeth. I’m in a tank top and shorts because it’s hot as hell outside. I was planning to change before she got here. I have no idea why she cares what I wear when I’m the only one here, but for some reason she does.

“Sorry. You’re early.”

Her lips purse to the side as she enters, dropping her overnight bag to the floor. I gather it up and walk it down the hall to her room. I set it on her bed and return to make her a drink.

“The perimeter alarm triggered.”

Crap. That’s why she came early. She got the alert. “Yes. Uh, it was another deer. I cut him free.” I point to the shears still by the door. “How was your journey?” I ask, steering her away from the alert.

She waves me away. “Horrible as always. I managed to get you duck and sausage for the cassoulet.” I never know where she comes from, only that wherever she was, it was awful and harrowing. “Be thankful you’re here. I won’t tell you of the bloodshed I witnessed today.”

I frown and tuck my head to hide it, picking up the large bags filled with food so I can put them away. She takes a seat at the table, but I can feel her eyes on the back of me.

“Why are you jittery?”