Page 6 of Princess of Thieves

What is this,Beauty and the Beast? Still, I get to my feet.

“Thank you,” I say reflexively, even though I’m not really sure I have anything to thank him for. I take a step, then two, before Guy cuts in front of me, and I’m face-to-face with his broad chest. The cool scent of his cologne fills my nose.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.

What does he want, a kiss goodbye? I try not to shudder. “I don’t think so.”

He takes a step back, just the barest amount of personal space between us, and holds out his hand. I stare at him.

“Your phone,” he says.

My heart sinks.

“I don’t want any misunderstandings, Maren,” he continues. “Until you really understand my intentions and what you’re doing here, I think it’s best if you don’t try to make any contact with anyone...undesirable.”

I shuffle my weight from foot to foot, feeling helpless. “I don’t have a phone,” I try weakly.

He smiles flirtatiously and gives his head a little shake. “Oh, Maren, I’m a prosecutor. I know when people lie. Now, give it.”

There’s no flexibility in his tone. Slowly, hesitantly, I pull the phone from my back pocket and hand it over, my mind spinning with plans of how I could sneak out, figure out where he’s left it, get it back, use it to signal for help, or plot a way home—or at the very least, Google how to get out of this situation.

The flat sound of plastic cracking interrupts my thoughts. He’s dropped the phone on the tile floor, smashing it. It’s broken. Dead. The light is gone.

“Don’t worry,” he says, smiling. “I’ll have Rosa tidy this up. Now why don’t you go get some sleep?”

Chapter Three

Iended up sleeping in my clothes.

Of course, as soon as I got to the private wing and was reasonably convinced that I was alone, I did a sweep—checking the vents in the walls, the lamps, the power sockets—anywhere a camera or microphone could be hidden. I tugged at all of them with my chipped fingernails, but I either found nothing, or just couldn’t get the faceplates off.

The whole room—suite, really—that I had been granted was decorated in perfect modern southern farmhouse charm, comfortable with muted tones of dusty pink and beautiful Chippendale-style furniture. Not too girly for a bachelor, but with enough gentle touches to work well as a guest room.

Again, it reminded me of how Mama liked her house back in the day.

But I couldn’t focus on that now.

Once I was sure—or as sure as I could be—that Guy couldn’t spy on me here, I flew to the windows.

The curtains were gauzy and heavy at the same time. I shoved them out of the way to tug on the sash. It was stuck fast. I looked around for a lock, a little brass knob to twiddle or twist, and still found nothing. I moved to the next window, and then the next. All the same—completely stuck.

No, not stuck—locked.

To my right was an en suite bathroom decorated in cool seaside blues and greens, with one porthole-shaped window. I doubted I’d even be able to squeeze out of it, but I rushed over and gave it a try anyway. Nothing.

“Fuck,” I whispered. I thought about trying to punch through one, maybe leveraging the heavy brass doorstop, but peering down below, I could tell it was at least a twenty-foot drop. I didn’t like the odds of getting away quickly enough after a fall like that.

But the final straw came when I stepped outside the bedroom door in one last-ditch attempt to see if I could simply stroll out. No sooner had I swung the door open than I came face to face with Rosa, who averted her dark brown eyes as soon as she saw me and gave a curtsy.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered in a low voice. “Mr. Guy has asked me to...watch over you.”

Something about the hesitancy in her last few words gave me pause.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said quickly. “I’m fine.”

She still didn’t meet my gaze, but I saw her swallow and noticed a flush creeping across her bronze skin.

“He said I’m towatch over you,” she repeated. “It is my responsibility to make sure you stay here and stay comfortable.”

---