Prince Charming Undercover Read online

  Prince Charming Undercover

  Betting On Love, Book 1

  Debra Salonen

  Copyright © 2018 by Debra Salonen

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  Cover by Rogenna Brewer

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  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Betting On Love: the series

  Praise for DEBRA SALONEN

  Dear Reader,

  First Kiss

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Betting On Love #2: Kate’s story

  About the Author

  Also by Debra Salonen

  To my family, with love.

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  I’d also like to acknowledge the estimated quarter of a million Gypsy/Romani who perished in Hitler’s death camps. From the tears of sorrow may hope

  and tolerance grow.

  Betting On Love: the series

  Welcome to Las Vegas!

  Kingston “King” Parlier—late Las Vegas Romani linchpin--named his four daughters after royalty: Alexandra, Elizabeth, Katherine, and Grace (after Grace Kelly, of course.) Before he died, he established dowries fit for a queen.

  Their mother, Yetta, a revered fortuneteller, offered each of her daughters a prophecy to help them find the same happiness she’d enjoyed with their father.

  Grace: “You will marry a prince--but you will have to save him first.”

  Kate: “You can’t escape your destiny or avoid the past...when the two intersect.”

  Liz: “A man of darkness. A child of light. You’ll be able to only save one.”

  Alexa: “A child’s laughter can heal a wounded heart, but first you have to heal the child.”

  The Parlier sisters are smart, beautiful, headstrong, and...single. Despite--or, perhaps, thanks to their mother’s prophesies--none can claim to have found her happily-ever-after soulmate. And with so much going on in their lives, not one of them is in the market for romance...until a certain someone enters--or in Alexa’s case, re-enters--the picture.

  But even in Vegas, the odds on love aren’t in their favor.

  Praise for DEBRA SALONEN

  “Debra Salonen captures reader attention with multifaceted characters, layered conflict and fast pacing.”

  —Pamela Cohen, Romantic Times

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  “People who scoff at romances and accuse them of being

  trite, frivolous or too predictable will be very surprised,

  pleasantly so, I think—by the intensity, the depth and the

  heat of Debra Salonen....”

  —Linda Mowery, www.TheRomanceReader.com

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  “…a wonderfully written love story with loveable characters.

  The plot is engaging and certainly keeps the reader

  riveted throughout the story...just the sort of book to curl up with to while away some lazy afternoon hours.”

  —Jenna Richardson, www.HeartRateReviews.com

  Dear Reader,

  Dear Reader,

  Families fascinate me. I start every book I write by investigating the backstory of my central characters. I need to meet their siblings, parents and grandparents. Sometimes, I bump into distant relatives who like to gossip. This “history” helps me understand both my characters and their world. I love this part of the process and am always sorry to type “the end” because it means saying goodbye to the family I’ve come to love. Fortunately, that didn’t happen with Grace because her three sisters will have a chance to tell their stories, too, in my Betting On Love series.

  In researching the setting for this series, I made several trips to Las Vegas. Marc and Lisa Wolpert graciously opened their beautiful home to me and showed me around Boulder City, Searchlight and Lake Mead. Bob and Joyce Peterson helped me “discover” Henderson. My cousin Carol Gregory and her husband, Kenny, were my guides to Mesquite. Also, I need to recognize my late mother and sister Jan for introducing me to Ethel M. and nickel slots, and thank Paul for being my chauffeur on our “working” anniversary trip.

  Wishing you all the best! And Happy Reading! May all your prophesies be good ones.

  Debra

  First Kiss

  “Hey…”

  “No, hey, you. You’re a guest here. I picked you up from the airport, then didn’t see you for the rest of the day. Would it hurt you to play the friendly chatter game?”

  That sounded almost as though she was disappointed. Nick kicked off his shoes and walked to the edge of the pool. Grace looked up, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He stepped over the edge and sank down, fully clothed. His feet touched the tile bottom and he pushed off. When he opened his eyes, his face was a few inches from hers.

  “How friendly did you have in mind?”

  Her mouth opened and closed the way it had when her cousin’s kids and her niece had tried to pick his pocket. Nick had a feeling it took a lot to leave her speechless. Instead of answering, she turned to swim away, but he caught her arm.

  She tensed as if he were a threat. Maybe he was—to his own piece of mind, most certainly. To this case, very possibly. He had to stop whatever was going on with his libido before it got out of hand. And he would. After he kissed her.

  Just once. Because her lips were too tempting to resist. Even now, when her expression was one of consternation, her lips were ruddy and full. Her upper arm was soft, although the muscle seemed solid and ready to fight him off if necessary. But the slightly questioning look in her eyes told him it wouldn’t come to that if he kept things civilized.

  He kicked his feet. His jeans were heavy and cold on his skin even though the water was warmer than he’d expected. When he was close enough to detect the faint odor of garlic and spearmint on her breath, he said, “It would probably be uncouth to kiss you, wouldn’t it? We haven’t even dined together, yet.”

  She ignored his question. “I work odd hours. Sort of the split shift from hell.”

  “How ’bout breakfast?”

  Even in the faint light, he could tell that she’d read more into the offer than he’d intended. “My treat,” he added. “We could meet out front. You can take me to your favorite spot.”

  She laughed shortly, confirming her embarrassment. Oddly, this small vanity made her suddenly very human, and real. He knew without a doubt that she wasn’t Charles’s stooge or cohort. She was Grace Parlier, her father’s princess who was just trying to keep her family together.

  He’d never met a woman like her, and if he had, he’d have pushed her away. This time, he pulled her closer. Her chest brushed against his.

  “I think you might
be crazy,” she said, laughing. “And here we were worried about you being a hit man. You’re really just plain nuts.”

  “That’s one explanation. Dazzled by your beauty is another.”

  He lowered his head to kiss her, but she slipped, mermaid-like, from his hold and swam underwater to the far end of the pool. She pulled herself up and out of the pool, grabbing a towel from the back of a lawn chair. Even in the misty lighting. Nick could tell her breathing was shaky.

  She started away but stopped and turned slightly. With a smile that made him groan, she blew him a kiss and said, “See you at breakfast. Any day but Saturday— I sleep in on Saturdays.” Then she disappeared into the darkness.

  As he sank under the water, he heard the sound of a door closing. Submerged, eyes blinking against the sting of the chlorine, he shook his head. She was right. He was crazy.

  Chapter 1

  The noise level within the small, crowded detective quarters was almost enough to mask the sound of the land line, but the flashing light, which blinked in time to the pulse in Nick Lightner’s temple, caught his eye. The beat seemed to say, Going, going, gone.

  The festive celebration was in honor of his father’s long and distinguished career in law enforcement. Today was Pete Lightner’s last day as chief of detectives in Clarion Heights, a Detroit suburb that Nick’s family had called home for twenty-eight of Nick’s thirty-four years.

  In Nick’s book, “retirement” was a four-letter word. He’d seen too many good cops turn into couch potatoes just months after handing in their badges. From the minute his father announced his plan to step down, Nick had started nagging his parents to plan exactly what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives.

  His nagging had worked. Just last week, Pete had announced, “Your mom and I have decided we’re through with Michigan’s winters. We’re selling the house and moving to Portland, so we can be closer to Judy and the girls.” Judy was Nick’s sister. His parents’ real child.

  Nick knew that his adoption played no part in Pete and Sharon’s decision to move. They’d loved him and provided for him as if he were their own child from the moment they’d taken him in. They had every right to want to be closer to their grandchildren. In the offspring department, the best Nick—whose last serious relationship had ended nearly a year earlier—could give them was Rip, a five-year-old collie mix named after Richard “Rip” Hamilton, the Pistons’ star shooting forward.

  In his head, Nick knew this move wasn’t about him. But the five-year-old inside him—the little kid whose father had given him away to a friendly cop after Nick’s mother was struck by a bus and killed—hated losing anything, from a silly bet to a major case. This tenaciousness worked in his favor on the job but was hell on relationships.

  As was his habit, Nick hid his disquiet behind a short temper and withering scowl.

  He picked up the phone and growled, “Nick Lightner.”

  The slight hesitation on the other end of the line put Nick’s cop instincts on alert. “Oh, yes, of course,” a woman’s voice said. Unfamiliar, with just a hint of an accent Nick couldn’t place. “I’m sorry. Your name threw me for a moment. I’ve always thought of you as Nikolai. Nikolai Sarna. But you would have a new name, wouldn’t you?”

  Tingles of apprehension raced down his spine. No one other than his parents and the attorney who’d handled the adoption in Los Angeles knew his birth name. He’d been Nicholas Lightner since the day before his sixth birthday.

  “Who is this?”

  “My name is Yetta Parlier.” The name meant nothing to him. “I’m your father’s cousin. Your birth father, I should say. Jurek Sarna. Most people know him as George. He was…is, I mean…my father’s sister-in-law’s nephew. That doesn’t really make him my cousin, I suppose, but he’s family, all the same.”

  Nick’s mouth turned dry. He’d seen his birth certificate. His mother and father had been honest with him from the start about his adoption. Partly because they figured at five, he’d remember his past; partly because that’s the kind of people they were. Up-front. Honest. Responsible. Unlike Jurek Sarna and Lucille Helson, the ex-con and the exotic dancer who had given birth to him then handed him off to another family when things turned sour.

  “I don’t know about your mother—I never met her—but your father was a Gypsy,” Pete had told Nick when Nick asked about his past.

  “Romani,” Sharon had corrected. “I believe that’s the proper term these days. Linguists have proved that the Romani came from western India. The name Gypsy stemmed from a mistaken impression that the people were from Egypt.” Sharon was a teacher and never passed up an opportunity to share information.

  Nick had no time for the past. He knew who he was—a thirty-four-year-old cop, no wife, no kids, no commitments. He lived ten miles from the house he’d grown up in. He loved his job, his dog and the Pistons. He had no interest in the hazy memories that crept into his dreams on nights when he’d had one too many beers.

  He hadn’t given his genealogy more than a passing thought since his eighteenth birthday when his mother suggested they try to locate his birth father. Nick had turned down her offer to help. “He didn’t make any effort to keep me. He just handed me off to you. I don’t have any use for a person like that.”

  A truly kind woman, Sharon had mentioned mitigating circumstances. “Your mother had just passed away. A tragic accident. I’m sure your father was reeling from the loss. Plus he didn’t have a home or job to return to after he got out of jail. Maybe he thought he was doing you a favor by giving you to us.”

  Nick hadn’t even tried to see her point. A decision had been made. His father had given him away. Like leftover pizza. Like a stray cat that was too much work to feed. Nick hadn’t wanted to know this man sixteen years ago, and he didn’t want to know him now. He assumed that was what this call was about.

  “How did you get this number?” Nick asked the woman who had waited patiently while he collected his thoughts.

  “From Jurek, of course. He’s always had connections on both sides of the law that we don’t speak about. I could be wrong, but I believe he’s always known where you were.”

  The very notion made Nick’s skin crawl.

  “What’s this about?”

  “I…I’m not sure that calling you is the right thing to do, but Jurek said you were a policeman. Normally, that would make you…um, suspect. We Romani tend to solve our own problems without involving law enforcement.”

  “You don’t trust cops.”

  “Exactly. But since you’re family—”

  Nick’s bark caught the attention of his father, who was lifting a glass of champagne as someone toasted him. Nick waved to signify the call wasn’t anything serious. “Madam,” he said, lowering his voice for maximum impact, “I am not anything to you or to the man y—”

  “Of course you are,” she said, interrupting him. “Just because Jurek made a bad decision thirty years ago doesn’t change who you are. You’re Nikolai Sarna. You’re Jurek’s son, which makes you half Romani. That blood runs through your veins, whether you choose to admit it or not. And right now, your Romani family needs your help.”

  Nick started to laugh. The woman’s audacity impressed him. She sounded regal, as if used to giving orders and having people toe the line. “What kind of help? Money? I gotta tell you, I don’t make enough—”

  “Don’t be absurd. I wouldn’t call a stranger and ask for a handout, even if I were destitute. The simple fact is my youngest daughter, Grace, is in danger. She’s considering entering a business relationship with a man who I’m convinced wants more than just her money. In my dream, he appeared as a snake that swallowed each member of my family whole.”

  A dream snake? What kind of bullshit is this? Maybe it was some kind of prank, he decided. “Where are you calling from?”

  “Las Vegas. Where you were born.”

  He’d never denied the fact.

  “On July twenty-ninth. At four in the afternoon. I was t
he third person to hold you. You had such fine blond hair, I thought you were bald. My girls all had dark black hair at birth.”

  Nick looked at the people grouped around his father. The plan was to move the party to The Grease Monkey, a popular watering hole where Nick’s mother and the other spouses would meet them. He wasn’t in the mood for a party, but at the moment it sounded better than this nonsense. “Yes, well, that’s very interesting, but I’m a cop, not an exterminator and your…um, snake…is two thousand miles away from here.”

  His sarcasm must have come through loud and clear. She said haughtily, “Jurek warned me not to expect your cooperation. I thought twice about calling you, but in addition to this matter of Charles Harmon…”

  Charles Harmon? How do I know that name?

  “…a mutual friend told me that your father is entering the hospital next week for an operation. I’m sure Jurek would rather you didn’t know that, but I learned the hard way that it’s much healthier to clear up unresolved issues before a person dies than wait until it’s—”

  Nick sat up abruptly. His feet hit the floor with a snap that made several heads turn his way. “Did you say Charles Harmon?”

  He pawed through the files on his desk for a fax that had come through a day or two earlier from his counterpart in Toronto.