Heart of a Thief. Gail Barrett
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Chapter 4
The gunshot ricocheted down the garderobe, thundering off the rock walls, echoing through Luke’s skull as he plunged toward earth. He crashed into the ground, then rolled, ignoring the spasm jolting his legs from the brutal impact. Rocks gouged his shoulders, his back, but he forced himself to keep rolling to get out of the line of fire.
Sofia’s body stopped him.
His heart fisted, then dove, and he shoved himself to his knees. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she hurt? “Sofia. Sofia!”
He shook her shoulder, but she didn’t respond. He shook it again, harder, and his pulse raced into his throat. “Sofia. Di algo. Are you okay?”
Her eyelids fluttered open, and he hissed out air. Thank God, she was alive. Because for a moment there…
“I’m fine. I—” She winced, then moaned. “My leg.”
He could imagine. That jackknife landing would have been agony on her gunshot wound. But they couldn’t linger here and assess the damage. The police would arrive at any time.
Swearing softly, he speared his hand through his hair. “We’ve got to keep going. Can you stand?”
“Just give me a second.” She rolled forward and struggled to her knees.
“Here. Hold on to me.” He crouched and put his arm around her waist to lift her. His hand touched bare flesh, and she flinched.
He jerked. “What?”
“I…I just scraped my side, that’s all.”
He didn’t doubt it. The stones had shredded her elegant dress, peeling it into strips. He could imagine the damage to her skin.
More gently now, he adjusted his hold on her waist and tugged her to her feet. She leaned against him, panting, one hand clutching his shirt, her soft breath caressing his ear. Strands of loose hair fell around her face, tumbling from the lopsided twist.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes, I’m—” she stepped forward, gasped, and he grabbed her again, afraid that she would pass out “—fine.” She sucked in her breath. “Really. I’m okay.”
She was lying. Pain tightened the corners of her eyes and etched lines around her mouth. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that now. He dropped his hands and stepped back.
“Which way now?” she asked.
Good question. He glanced around. They’d landed where the garderobe drained, outside the palace on a rocky slope. In fact, considering how steep the hill was, they were lucky they hadn’t rolled down.
Then again, it might have been better if they had.
As it was, they stood highlighted against the wall, trapped by the spotlights that ringed the palace, as visible as actors on a brightly lit stage. But if they moved away from the wall to escape the spotlights, they’d be seen by the guards on the roof. Guards he had put in place.
“The easiest way out is toward the front,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But the entrance will be crawling with police.”
“Down the hill then?”
He glanced at the shallow trench leading into the darkness.
“Too obvious. This is the first place they’ll look. We need to do something they won’t expect.”
Like climb down the other side. His mind flashed to the sheer slope that backed the palace. Could Sofia make it? Could he? Did they have a choice?
“Back here. Come on.” His sense of urgency rising, he scooped his tuxedo jacket from the ground and slipped it on. The dark color would help him blend with the night. “Stay close to the wall.”
“But shouldn’t we get out of the light?”
“Not yet. The guards on the roof could pick us off.”
Ignoring her quick intake of breath, he turned and led the way over the slanted ground toward the back of the palace. In the distance, a siren wailed. A second later another joined it, their off-key notes dueling in the summer night.
The hunt was on.
And that’s exactly what this was, a manhunt. Anger knifed through him, like talons clawing his gut. They’d set him up tonight. Chosen him. Baited and trapped him like some weak, defenseless prey.
And now they intended to kill him.
They could think again.
He curled his hands, thinned his lips, felt the muscles bunch in his jaw. They’d played him for a fool, flayed his pride. But he was a survivor. He’d battled his way out of the ghetto, scrapped for every crumb he’d had.
And he would fight this war to win.
His stride lengthening, he closed the distance to the end of the palace, turned the corner and stopped. The light hazed over the rock-strewn ground to the point where the slope dropped off. If they made it past the edge, no one would see them. But then they’d still have to climb down the cliff.
Sofia limped up beside him and stopped. “You want to go down this?” Her voice rose. “Is there even a path?”
His gaze met hers, and he shook his head. “It’s not as steep as it looks. We’ll stay to the side where the bushes are.”
She gnawed her lip. Her eyes stayed frozen on his. Then she jerked her gaze to the cliff.
“They’ll have the other routes blocked. There isn’t another way.”
“I know.”
He knew she was scared. He didn’t blame her. The descent would be tough in the dark.
But then she lifted her eyes to his. “So who goes first?”
And without warning, a sliver of warmth stole into his chest. She’d been shot, chased, injured, scraped—but she was still willing to climb down that cliff.
Oh, hell. He yanked his gaze away. He didn’t want to admire her. He didn’t even want to like her. And he sure didn’t want to feel that connection to her again, that link.
The physical attraction was bad enough. But he could handle that. He could keep those feelings cornered, contained, battened safely in a distant place.
But that fusing of minds, that need…Never again. No way.
Furious at himself, he wrenched his mind back to the cliff. “I’ll go first.” The words came out harsh, and she blinked. “Wait until I’ve started down, then run to get past the light. And try not to make any noise. We don’t want to attract the guards.”
Someone shouted from the rooftop then. The sirens grew closer, then cut off abruptly. His body tensed. They had to do this now. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.” His adrenaline surging, he crouched and sprinted to the edge of the cliff. Then he slowed, grabbed a bush for balance, picked out a path, and stepped off. Stones slid beneath his feet, but he kept moving, dropping from one foothold to the next, lowering himself away from the edge. When he’d passed safely beyond the light, he stopped.
His breath sawed the air. His pulse drummed a ragged beat. He’d made it. Now it was Sofia’s turn.
He watched her as she hurried toward him, doubled over and limping badly, anxiety and pain carved on her face. She slowed and gripped the same bush he had, pivoted to start down. But then her injured leg buckled. She stumbled toward him and gasped. His heart thudding, he leaned forward to block her fall.
“Easy,” he murmured as she thumped against him. Pebbles slid loose and bounced around them, and he struggled to keep them from plunging down.
“I’m all right,” she whispered when she’d