Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“What the fuck are they?”
“Bichon frises. One actually just won the Westminster Dog Show this year. Fun, playful little dogs.”
Royce continued to stare at Marc, surprised that he’d been able to supply that information. He didn’t realize he’d been staring until Marc shook his head and said tartly, “Not all of us have hot dates lined up for Valentine’s Day. Some of us stay home and catch the dog show.”
He smiled at Marc and for a heartbeat, he forgot about the fact that they were in Oscar Schmid’s Tuscan estate, stealing a priceless painting that had previously been stolen by the Nazis. He forgot about his mother and the sibling trying to kill Marc. There was just a man kneeling opposite him with a tender heart. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Marc would watch the dog show with him next year. He didn’t give a damn about the show, but he wanted the promise of being with him for Valentine’s Day.
Angelo appeared between them before Royce could speak. “How’s it going?”
“Where are the dogs?” Royce demanded. He twisted around to see six little white fluffs stretched out on the floor.
“Sleeping. I drugged the treats.”
“You knew there were dogs?”
“No, but I always plan for them.” He grinned up at Royce. “Not only gorgeous—but smart.”
Royce started back toward the door while Angelo resumed helping Marc with the frame, but he didn’t get far when car headlights splashed across the front of the house, sweeping broadly through the room. Swearing silently to himself, Royce hurried over to the window and watched a sedan pull around to the back. Someone had returned, which meant one or more persons wandering through the house.
“How close are you?”
Marc shook his head, not looking up. “I need at least another five minutes. The painting is incredibly old and delicate. If I try to rush, I could damage it beyond repair.”
“If I’m not back when you get done, I want you to leave and go straight to the plane.”
Marc’s head snapped up with those instructions. “What?”
“Angelo, get it done.”
The thief nodded. Marc simply stared at him, his handsome face hidden by the damn mask. It was too dark to clearly see his eyes, but he could feel the worry. If something happened to Royce, he knew that Marc would make sure that his mother was rescued.
Stepping over the dogs, Royce hurried down the hall and along the curving staircase to the first floor. He paused in the main foyer, listening for any sounds of the newcomer. The car was parked in the rear, so it was likely the person would use one of the back entrances. Pulling on more than a hundred hours of training with two ex-Rangers, Royce silently moved through the house while keeping low and sticking to the heaviest shadows. The training helped to calm his mind and slow his rapid pulse. Rowe made sure that his men knew how to handle tense, high-stakes situations.
As he neared the end of the hall, he heard a door open and close before a bright light flicked on. He paused, crouched low against the wall, staring at the large patch of yellow light spilling across the parquet floor. There were no voices coming from the room, and it sounded as if there was only one set of footsteps.
Edging closer to the doorway, Royce peeked around the corner to find a large, broad-shouldered man moving around a kitchen. There was a bottle in a bag and another bag that looked to contain some takeout. Apparently, Schmid’s bodyguard had popped out for a drink and dinner, leaving his employer briefly vulnerable.
With a grin, Royce straightened and lifted his gun as the man turned his back to Royce and started toward the counter with the food. Exhaling, he squeezed the trigger. A loud puff of air was the only sound as the gun shot the tranquilizer dart across the room. The man cried out in pain as the dart embedded in the back of his neck. Royce chambered a second dart as he watched the big man swat at the air like he was shooing away a bee or wasp until his stubby fingers landed on the dart. He pulled it out and seemed to stare at it for a second.
Royce shoved his gun into the holster at the small of his back as he rushed forward. Soundlessly, he slipped into the kitchen behind the slumped bodyguard and wrapped his right arm around the guy’s neck. Grasping his left bicep with his right hand, he squeezed, cutting off the man’s airway and closing off the blood flow to his brain. The man attempted to struggle for all of three seconds, but Royce had the rear naked choke hold locked in. Between that and the tranquilizer, the bodyguard didn’t have a chance.