To Catch a Princess


TO CATCH A PRINCESS
Available August 12, 2013
Re-Released June 2015

Amazon Kindle: https://amzn.to/3dTvghk
Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/3gJJd3d
Apple Books: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1013732223
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/CatchaPrincess
Kobo: Kobo

Reviews


4 Stars RT Book Reviews: “From the first page, the pacing is strong, the action plentiful and the characters interesting enough to hook you in.”

Teaser

Princess Tatiana is a modern woman who has no need of an arranged marriage . . .

But her parents have a different idea and have betrothed her to the son of one of their lifelong friends. Tatiana wants nothing to do with the son of the Grand Duke, especially since she’s focused on everything going right for her exclusive charity event at the Ivanov family’s casino in glamorous Monaco.

Police Detective Peter Roman has been keeping a secret that has burdened him for years. . .

Peter has been hiding a secret identity and his love for his best friend Prince Alexander’s little sister Tatiana for years. He’s been hoping that she will notice him for the man he is rather than the title he does not wish to reveal. Little does Tatiana know that he is the Grand Prince that her family has arranged for her to marry.

A series of high profile jewelry thefts threaten Tatiana’s upcoming event . . .

Peter and Tatiana are thrown together to help prevent the theft of some very expensive bling from several Russian royal families. Little do they know that the thefts are a smokescreen for something far more dangerous that will put their lives in jeopardy. When Peter’s secret identity is revealed, Tatiana must decide if she can trust the man who has stolen her heart to help her catch the notorious jewelry thief.

Excerpt

The heist had been so easy, it was almost insulting.

Shea Brady handed over a padded envelope to the man across the table. He and his contact were tucked into a leather booth at the back of a dimly lit pub in London’s Kensington district.

The older man opened the envelope and shot a cursory glance at the contents. With a satisfied smile, he said, “Well done, Mr.…?”

“Smith,” Shea filled in, although they were both well aware that wasn’t his real name. All his contact had to know was the number for the Swiss bank account where he would deposit the monies for the work he had done, and the e-mail address where he could be reached.

“Mr. Smith. My client was quite impressed with how quickly and quietly you completed your task,” the other man said in tones that bespoke of upper-class British schooling. But there was another accent, more foreign, beneath those tones. His clothing screamed elegance and money, although it was staid. Better suited to a banker than someone dealing with a man like Shea.

Although some might consider bankers not all that much different from a thief.

“I’m glad he’s pleased,” Shea said and signaled the waitress for the check. Considering how much he was being paid for the rather simple job, the least he could do was to pick up the tab for the pints they’d had. He could well afford it after his many years pulling high-end heists of some of the world’s most expensive and sought after jewels.

“Not so fast, Mr. Smith,” the banker-type said and waved off the waitress when she approached. Shea examined the other man, wondering what it was that he wanted. Growing uncomfortable, he considered that he might have somehow fallen for an Interpol sting. After all, Shea had been on their list of Most Wanted for nearly three years now—not that anyone had ever gotten close enough to even snap a photo of his real face for their mug shots. Even today he was well-disguised by the latex prosthetics that hid his features.

“Is something wrong, Mr.…?”

“Jones,” the banker said with a wry smile before continuing. “My client is interested in building his collection and believes you can assist him. If you’re interested, of course.”

Shea considered how much he had been paid and how easy it had been. Actually too easy. The Hollywood couple who had been in possession of the multi-million dollar necklace hadn’t been particularly careful about safeguarding it.

Maybe because the money to purchase the jewelry had come too easily to them.

Unlike how hard he’d had to work just to survive in his lean childhood years. One too many nights spent hungry despite hours of back-breaking labor had made him find a much more profitable way of earning his keep. If the rest of the jobs Mr. Jones’s client proposed were as easy as this one, it would literally be like stealing candy from a baby. While he wouldn’t mind such an easy gig, it was almost too easy. Almost as if someone wanted him to fail.

“I appreciate the confidence in my abilities, but you really don’t need someone of my caliber for jobs of this nature.”

Mr. Jones’s smile turned harder and formed a thin slash across his face. “This was just a test, although I do wish it had been slightly more arduous.”

Shea lifted a brow, but it barely shifted the fake nose and forehead he wore despite how form-fitting they were.

Still, Jones noted his displeasure and said, “I suppose you don’t consider scaling a twenty-foot cliff to reach their home arduous?”

With a smooth bob of his silvery-grey head, Jones apologized. “Of course, Mr. Smith. It’s just that the security systems at the location were rather barbaric.”

“And I suppose the next job—”

“Jobs,” Jones quickly corrected.

Shea nodded. “Jobs. I suppose they’re more of a challenge?”

Jones smiled, but it failed to reach his eyes, which remained a clear, steady blue beneath bushy gray eyebrows.

“Quite. Especially the last one. We’re talking high-end security, armed guards, the rich and famous, including some royalty. Pull it off and the papers will have a field day with your achievement.”

Shea tapped his finger against his mouth. The big heist he described was definitely a challenge worthy of his talents, and if the payoff was anything like what he was receiving for the job he had just completed, he might even be able to retire.

“Let’s just say you’ve piqued my interest, Mr. Jones. You know how to reach me with details of the other jobs.”

Jones nodded and smiled, but there was a look about his smile that Shea didn’t really like. Deadly and decidedly dangerous. Mr. Jones was obviously keeping a great deal to himself about his future plans. “We’ll send you information on each job when appropriate. When we’re satisfied you’re the man for our last assignment, we’ll let you know the details.”

Before Shea could utter another word, Jones rushed from the pub bench, amazingly speedy for a man his age.

Although maybe Jones was likewise in disguise, Shea considered. The warning bells that had served him so well in the past were ringing, but were silenced by the imaginary sound of coins dropping into his bank account. Lots and lots of coins.

With that much money, he could find himself a quaint home along the Italian coast. Settle down and start a family.

He was still young, after all, barely in his thirties.

Plenty of time to have the kind of life his profession hadn’t allowed him.

Until now.

He settled the bill the waitress had left earlier by tossing the money and a nice tip on the tabletop and hurried out of the pub. He caught sight of Jones half a block ahead.

There was something besides his natural condescension that rubbed Shea the wrong way. Because of that, he followed cautiously as Jones turned the corner and walked down several blocks to where a limo waited.

As Jones approached, the driver-side door opened and a uniformed chauffeur walked around and opened the door for him.

Shea wasn’t close enough to hear, but he could read the driver’s lips as he gave a practiced bow and said, “Good evening, Prince Sergei.”

A prince, huh? Shea watched intently as “Jones” slipped into the backseat of the Rolls Royce.

He waited until the Rolls pulled away, then headed to the underground to reach his home.

He never did business too close to it. You didn’t shit where you lived. He passed through the turnstiles of the underground with his doctored Oyster payment card, his mind already looking forward to the big job Jones had mentioned.

No, not Jones. Prince Sergei. Another royal. He hated the fucking royals with all their money and airs.

Stealing from them would definitely be a job he would enjoy, especially if he could find a way to deal with the uppity Prince Sergei also.

Not a double-cross—even thieves had standards. But he would like to see the man taken down a peg or two.

All in good time.

He hurried to his empty home, dreaming of the possibility that he could finally leave his thieving ways and settle down.

Hopefully sooner than later.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Please prove your not an evil alien robot! * Time limit is exhausted. Please reload the CAPTCHA.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.