his early fifties, he was of average build but in great shape. Easily good-looking, handsome really, with a kind face and ginger hair that was greying around his temples. The man laughed, effused with warmth and affection, and then raised a hand to his chest in apparent surprise as he glanced across at his companion. Surprised to be laughing?
He should be, playing two women like a stacked deck of cards.
“Stop looking,” Frankie said quietly, pressing him with her knee.
He swirled his glass, ice clinking. “Who is he?”
“The woman he’s with is Isadora Moretti. Filthy rich, widowed, and missing her daughter who recently moved out of home to attend college at Cambridge. She’s a woman who can afford the penthouse suite at the most luxe lakefront hotel in Kiraly but wants to experience a taste of local life.”
Hence her presence in an average bar on a Monday night.
“Okay,” Kris said.
“You see how endearing he is, how genuine,” she said, fingers moving in little starburst gestures, so anyone watching would see her animated conversation. Her stare, however, was focused on Kris’s chin and it occurred to him that she wasn’t blinking enough. “By the time she returns to Italy in another three weeks, she’ll find herself short several hundred thousand dollars. I’m not sure of his sob story, and a smart woman like her will probably take a night to sleep on his request, but she’ll transfer him the funds he needs. And she’ll never be able to track him or the money.”
His brows rose. She dug fast. “How does he connect to—everything?”
She laughed, airy and light. “The woman he was with earlier is Clare-Marie Bromley. She was a principal ballet dancer with The Australian Ballet for over ten years and is now artistic director. She will also return home to find the generosity she showed her international lover will never be repaid.”
Incredulous, Kris leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Wait a second.” He lowered his voice. “He’s a con man?”
She seemed to reel, just a little, at his words. A hand rose to toy with the scarf above her ear. “Yes.”
“Is this all he does?” He swirled his whiskey as casually as he could. “Romance scams?”
“No,” she said, very quietly.
“Has he ever been caught?”
“Once.” Pausing, she raised her glass and sipped. Then sipped again. “About ten years ago. A minor swindle that saw him serve two months in prison. A disgrace, really, for a man of his skill to be caught like a gutter grifter.”
“So he’s good?”
Now he was sure she wasn’t blinking enough as she stared at the brim of his hat. “Very.”
“Someone like that could have easily got into the palace.” It made sense. A master manipulator made an effective criminal. Why break in or sneak around when he could be invited in the front door? “If he’s played the right people, he could have accessed almost anything. Anyone.” A revolted kind of fascination had Kris sweeping another glance at the booth. The man was seated at the front window, shamelessly courting another woman in plain view. Or not shameless—rather, so sure of his plans and the people twisted around his finger, he knew the ballerina would not come this way. Knew he wouldn’t get caught. “Do we know how he feels about the monarchy?”
After a beat, she nodded.
Kris blew out a rough breath. “How did you find him?”
“I’ll explain when he’s gone.”
“Gone?” Urgency pushed him farther forward. “You’re just going to let him leave?”
“I’d happily kick his ass on the way out, but yes, for now.” She picked up her wine—and finished it in several long swallows. Despite her sophisticated air, her nerves were starting to show. Did she suspect how this con man fit into the investigation but lacked enough evidence? When she set her glass down, Kris swiped up her hand and found it trembling.
“You okay?” he asked, tracing a line along her wrist.
Her eyes darted over his. “No.”
“I still want you to talk to me after.” About why she thought she didn’t deserve to be part of the royal guard, or more importantly, with him. Her pulse skittered beneath his fingertips. “Where do you want to go?”
“Oh.” Her eyelashes fanned over her cheeks as she looked down to where he held her. The curve of her mouth was shy, as if discussing his advances, but her voice was thin with vulnerability. “I don’t think we’ll need to go anywhere.”
He frowned. Was she backing out? “If you’re nervous, don’t be,” he said. “Whatever