No chance in hell he’d bring Interpol into this before he knew whether or not his gut instinct was right or not.
“We’ll handle it on island,” he said, never taking his gaze from the horizon, where the sunlight glinted off the water in bright shards. “Once we’ve got the thief, we’ll decide what to do then.”
“Your call,” Franklin said, then he left, closing the office door behind him.
“Yeah, it is,” Rico told himself aloud. And if this jewel thief turned out to be the woman who’d stolen from him once before…Interpol would be lucky if there was anything left of her to hand over.
* * *
“Papa, please. Leave now before it’s too late.” Teresa Coretti glanced from her father to the closed door of his suite and back again.
She was so anxious just being here on Tesoro, even her nerves had nerves. But she’d had to come. The moment she’d realized where her father and brother had gone on their supposed vacation, Teresa had had no choice.
“How can I leave?” her father asked with an exaggerated shrug and a smile. “I’ve not finished my holiday.”
Holiday.
If only.
If Nick Coretti was really taking a sabbatical from his avocation, no one at the Tesoro Castle would have lost any of their possessions. No, her father could call this a holiday if he wanted to, but the truth was he was working. As he always was.
Dominick was a shorter, older, Italian version of George Clooney. His tan was permanent, and his sharp brown eyes missed nothing. His black hair was gray-streaked, but that only seemed to give him an air of distinction. He was polished and always a gentleman. He had been a faithful husband until Teresa’s mother’s death ten years ago.
Since then, he had used his considerable charm to smooth his way into high society, where, he said, “the pickings are always worth the effort.” He loved women; women loved him. And he was the best jewel thief in the world—not counting Teresa’s brothers, Gianni and Paulo.
Her father was always on the lookout for his next job. She should have known that he would never have been able to resist the allure of Tesoro. For him, it was the mother lode.
The problem was, this fabulous hotel belonged to Rico King and that was really not a good thing.
It had been five years since she’d seen Rico and just thinking his name sent a ripple of heat along her spine. Like it was yesterday, she could see those blue eyes of his as he stared down at her. She could almost taste his mouth on hers and hardly a night went by that she didn’t dream of his hands sliding across her skin.
She’d spent so much time trying to get Rico out of her mind as well as her life—and here she was. On his turf.
Warily, she turned her head for a quick look outside to the terrace, as if half expecting to see Rico standing there. Glaring at her.
But the elegantly furnished deck was empty save for the glass-topped table, the chairs and matching chaise and a silver bucket holding her father’s favorite brand of champagne. Which, she thought, brought her right back to the problem at hand.
“Papa,” she started, “I asked you to stay away from Rico King, remember?”
Nick flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the elegantly tailored suit jacket he wore, then smoothed one hand along the side of his perfectly styled hair. “Of course I remember, my angel. And as promised,” he continued, wagging a finger at her, “I have refused all temptation to relieve Mr. King of his valuables.”