Barbara Dunlop - A Golden Betrayal

Raif searched her expression for dishonesty … Instead he found himself drinking in her beauty.

“Ann …” he breathed.

When she spoke, the anger had unexpectedly left her tone, replaced by what sounded like wariness. “What do you want me to say, Raif?”

It wasn’t what he wanted her to say. It was what he wanted her to do. And that had nothing to do with his family’s statue.

“How can I end this?” she asked.

He pulled his thoughts back from the brink. “Give me my statue.”

“That’s impossible.”

Raif took a step closer, crowding her, determined to get this farce over with. “In Rayas we would not ask so politely.”

“We’re not in Rayas.”

“Pity.”

“Why? If we were in Rayas would you throw me in a dungeon?”

“If we were in Rayas I’d tie you to my bed.”

A Golden Betrayal

Barbara Dunlop

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA DUNLOPwrites romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada’s far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website: www.barbaradunlop.com

Recent titles by the same author:

AN INTIMATE BARGAIN

A COWBOY IN MANHATTAN

A COWBOY COMES HOME

AN AFTER-HOURS AFFAIR

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my husband

* * *

THE HIGHEST BIDDER

At this high-stakes auction house, where everything is for sale, true love is priceless.

Don’t miss a single story in this new continuity!

GILDED SECRETS by Maureen Child

EXQUISITE ACQUISITIONS by Charlene Sands

A SILKEN SEDUCTION by Yvonne Lindsay

A PRECIOUS INHERITANCE by Paula Roe

THE ROGUE’S FORTUNE by Cat Schield

A GOLDEN BETRAYAL by Barbara Dunlop

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

One

Ann Richardson supposed she should be grateful the Interpol agents hadn’t strip-searched her and slapped on the handcuffs. But after her sixth hour in the small, stuffy, gray-walled Federal Plaza interrogation room, she couldn’t muster up anything but annoyance.

Agent Heidi Shaw was back, a half-filled cardboard coffee cup in one hand, clipboard tucked under her opposite arm with a sheaf of papers Ann assumed were some kind of investigative notes. Agent Shaw was playing bad cop to Agent Fitz Lydall’s good. She was five feet even, maybe one hundred pounds soaking wet. While Fitz was two-twenty of solid muscle with a face like a bulldog and the shoulders of a linebacker. Privately, Ann thought the roles should be reversed, but she hadn’t offered up that suggestion.

Either way, since she’d watched a few detective dramas in her time, it was easy enough to see through their textbook ploy. The fact that she was innocent was also going to mess with their strategy. Psychological tricks and circular questioning were not going to trip Ann up and make her tell them she was selling a stolen antique statue on behalf of her employer, Waverly’s Auction House.

She’d learned a lot about Rayas’s Gold Heart statues in the past few months. Three statues had been commissioned by King Hazim Bajal in the 1700s. They were said to bring luck in love to his daughters, who’d been required to marry for the convenience of their royal line and their country. One of the statues was still safe in Rayas with a modern branch of the Bajal family. The other had been lost at sea when the Titanic sank. A third had been stolen five months ago from another branch of the Rayasian royal family, the one that included Crown Prince Raif Khouri. Prince Raif was convinced Roark Black had stolen the statue on behalf of Waverly’s. The accusation was preposterous. But the crown prince was a powerful, determined man, and he had both Interpol and the FBI dancing to his tune.

Heidi set her clipboard on the scarred wood table, and scraped back the metal folding chair to sit across from Ann. “Tell me about Dalton Rothschild.”

“You don’t read the tabloids?” Ann countered, giving herself a moment to consider this new line of questioning. Dalton was the CEO of Waverly’s rival, Rothschild’s.

“I understand the two of you were close.”

“We were friends.” Ann paused. “Were being the operative word.” She’d never forgive Dalton for betraying her and destroying her professional reputation. His lies about their supposed affair were one thing. But his attack on her integrity was at a whole other level.

“Friends?” Heidi mocked with obvious skepticism and disdain.

“So, you do read the tabloids.”

“I read everything. So I know you never denied he was your lover.”

“Would you like me to deny it?”

“I’d like you to answer the question.”

“I just did,” Ann pointed out.

“Why are you being evasive?”

Ann shifted her body on the hard metal chair. She was being honest, not evasive, and she resented the agent’s new barrage of questions. She articulated her next words slowly and carefully. “We were friends. He lied about me. We are no longer friends.”

Heidi stood.

Ann longed to do the same. But every time she’d tried to rise from the uncomfortable chair, someone had brusquely ordered her to sit back down. Her legs were starting to cramp from inactivity, and her butt was killing her.

“Where’s the statue?” Heidi fired at her.

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s Roark Black?”

“I have no idea.”

“He works for you.”

“He works for Waverly’s.”

Heidi smirked. “Semantics.”

“‘I don’t know where he is,’ is not semantics. It’s a statement of fact.”

“You do know it’s illegal to lie to Interpol.”

“You do know I’m capable of calling a reporter at the New York Times.”

Heidi braced her hands on the table, making triangles out of her thumbs and forefingers, and leaned forward. “Is that a threat?”

Ann realized her nerves were getting frayed, and her temper was starting to boil. She allowed for the possibility that she was no longer acting in her own best interest. “I’d like to call my lawyer.”

“Guilty people say that all the time.”

“So do women who’ve been denied a restroom for five hours.”

Heidi’s expression turned smug. “I can hold you for twenty-four hours without charging you.”

“And without a restroom?” Ann taunted.

“You think this is a joke?”

“I think this is ridiculous. I’ve answered every question six times over. I have complete faith in Roark Black. There are two statues at play here. And Waverly’s is absolutely not trading in stolen antiquities.”