Книга - Ransom for a Prince

Ransom for a Prince
Lisa Childs


Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh knew a frightened witness when he saw one, and Jessica Peters was it. Not that he blamed her.The moment she came forward to offer the information he was seeking, bullets started flying and someone tried to put a price on his head. Now, protecting Jessica and her four-year-old daughter came fi rst and he wasn't leaving Wyoming until they were safe. But Jessica claimed there was much more to the danger and that her past had fi nally caught up with her. With too many people hell-bent on silencing the beautiful single mom, Sebastian marveled at her strength and determination to survive. Qualities that would make her an exceptional princess…









A prince was kissing her?


Was she dreaming? Perhaps she was still standing at the sink, her hands in soapy water while she watched his press conference and fantasized about him. But she was no Cinderella.

And this was no dream.

His lips were warm and real and surprisingly silky given the hard look of his mouth and the firmness of his jaw. He deepened the kiss, and she willingly followed where he led her. She kissed him back.

She had never known such tenderness and couldn’t believe that a man who’d fought as hard as he had to protect her was capable of it. Maybe it was gratitude over his saving her that drew her to him.

He said he wouldn’t hurt her and she wanted to believe him. But mostly she just wanted him.

But why would Sebastian want her? He was a prince. They had no future together even if someone wasn’t determined to kill her.




Ransom for a Prince

Lisa Childs







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Bestselling, award-winning author Lisa Childs writes paranormal and contemporary romance for Harlequin Books. She lives on thirty acres in west Michigan with her husband, two daughters, a talkative Siamese and a long-haired Chihuahua who thinks she’s a Rottweiler. Lisa loves hearing from readers, who can contact her through her website, www.lisachilds.com, or snail mail address, P.O. Box 139, Marne, MI 49435.




CAST OF CHARACTERS


Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh —Desperate for information on his missing friend, this ruler and former military marksman offers a reward to bring the witness to him. He never imagines that the reward she’ll claim will be his heart and maybe his life.

Jessica Peters —The single mother has kept quiet about what she witnessed in order to protect herself and others. But when Prince Sebastian draws her out, he also draws out feelings she’d never thought she’d feel again and danger they might not survive.

Samantha Peters —The four-year-old has never known her father, but she wants to get to know the prince and find out if fairy tales can come true.

Helen Jeffries —The ranch owner needs money; but does she need it desperately enough to betray her friend?

Prince Antoine Cavanaugh —Co-ruler with his twin brother, Sebastian, of the island nation of Barajas, the former military interrogator will do whatever necessary to protect his brother.

Brenner —The chief of security for the corulers of Barajas may prove himself unworthy of their trust.

Dmitri —A hired gun who knows his mission in Wind River, Wyoming, will not end well for anyone.

Danny Harold —The reporter knows too much and perhaps reveals too much, as well.

Evgeny Surinka —All the man wants is his wife. And revenge…




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

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen




Chapter One


“Mama, is he a real prince? Like in my stories, like the one who kissed Sleeping Beauty?”

Jessica glanced up from the sink of dishes to focus on the television on the counter nearest the farmhouse table. She had turned the channel to cartoons for Samantha to watch while the four-year-old ate her breakfast, but the screen displayed no animated figures. Just a tall man in a dark, tailored suit.

As a reporter announced that Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh had called this press conference at the sheriff’s office, a camera zoomed in on the royal’s face. It was all chiseled features—rigid jaw, aristocratic cheekbones beneath intense, dark blue eyes and his nose was just slightly bent in an arrogant tilt. She doubted it could have once been broken. After all, he was a prince—privileged and protected.

He was one of the five rulers of island nations in the Mediterranean, who had, along with their entourages, converged on Dumont, Wyoming, for a summit meeting two weeks ago. That meeting had yet to occur.

Jessica didn’t need to listen to the press conference to learn why; she already knew. Too well. Every time she closed her eyes she saw why: the flames illuminating the night sky, rising up from the charred metal of the limousine she’d been following from the Wind River Ranch and Resort. If only the fire was all she’d seen…

Her breath hitching, she blinked open her eyes and focused on the television again. And on the prince. She lost herself in the depths of those dark blue eyes as he stepped up to the mic at the podium set up in the sheriff’s office, which was located in the Wind River County Courthouse.

“Mama?” Samantha asked, her voice soft with confusion.

Jessica never ignored her daughter, but she still couldn’t tear her gaze from the screen.

“I am Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh, coruler with my brother, Antoine, of the island nation of Barajas.”

The little girl’s breath shuddered out with a gasp of awe. “He is a real prince.”

“Yes,” Jessica murmured—finally—in acknowledgment.

“Barajas,” Cavanaugh continued, “is part of COIN, the Coalition of Island Nations consisting of Kyros, Nadar and Jamala, that came to your country—and your particular county—for a special summit to discuss trade agreements that would benefit the United States as well as COIN.”

Cameras flashed in his face as reporters interrupted with questions. A burly man, perhaps one of the royal’s security detail, stepped closer to the prince and leaned toward the microphone as if to warn the media to back off. But Prince Sebastian turned to him, an intense look in his eyes, and the man shrank back. Then the prince turned that stare on the reporters and the questions stopped, an eerie silence descending on the crowded outer office.

“Since our arrival, we have been under attack.” A muscle twitched in his lean cheek just above the tightly clenched jaw. “There have been vocal protests of our visit to your country. And there have been physical protests. On our first night here, an explosion occurred which killed a man.”

Jessica flinched but kept her eyes open so that she wouldn’t see again that horror. But it didn’t matter. The image was forever burned in her mind, like the body had burned.

“We have recently been made aware that there was a witness to that explosion,” Prince Cavanaugh continued. “We need this witness to come forward as we believe he or she has vital information.”

Jessica gasped. How had they found out? Who else might know that she’d been traveling that same road and had come upon the scene? She shivered.

The camera zoomed in on the prince. While an aura of arrogance and authority clung to the man’s broad shoulders and rigidly clenched jaw, he buried that pride as his gaze implored the witness to share what she knew. “This is a matter of life and death. A friend of mine—” his voice was gruff with emotion “—has been missing since the explosion. I am offering a substantial reward for information that will lead to his return.”

After another beat of silence from the reporters, the room erupted with questions. They shouted over each other, so their voices were unintelligible.

Prince Sebastian fixed that stare on the crowd again until they subsided to just excited murmurs. “One question at a time,” he directed them.

“How much is the reward?” Danny Harold asked. The reporter from the local television station had pushed closest to the podium.

The prince’s reply had the crowd gasping with surprise and awe.

“So it’s Sheik Amir Khalid who is missing?” Danny tossed out another question. “Do you believe he’s still alive or do you suspect he’s dead?”

The intensity of Prince Cavanaugh’s gaze changed from intimidation and arrogance to anguish and frustration. “We do not have enough information to determine the sheik’s whereabouts or his physical condition.”

“And you believe this witness might know where he or his body is?” Although many other reporters crowded the room, it was Danny who asked this question, too. Maybe it was because he was a local that his interest in the story seemed so personal.

The muscle twitched again in the prince’s lean cheek. “That is what we believe and why we are offering such a substantial reward.”

Danny snorted. “That substantial reward is going to have every kook coming out of the woodwork with a cockamamie story so they can claim the money.”

“Kooks?” the prince repeated, arching a golden brown brow.

“Crazies, crackpots,” Danny translated.

Prince Sebastian’s lips—the bottom one full and sensual—curved into a slight grin. “My brother, Prince Antoine, has a way of determining when a person is telling the truth or a lie.”

Danny nodded in agreement. “He was an interrogator with military special forces.”

The prince neither confirmed nor denied the reporter’s statement. He just stared again, his blue eyes unblinking.

“And you were a sniper.”

“Any more questions?” Prince Cavanaugh asked.

Jessica had many. So did her daughter.

“What’s a matter, Mama?” The little girl slid out of her chair to join Jessica at the sink. She tugged on her soapy hand to gain her mother’s attention.

“Nothing,” Jessica replied as she turned toward her daughter. The sun streaming through the windows glinted off the little girl’s honey brown hair and sparkled in her gray eyes, highlighting the child’s concern. Jessica forced a reassuring smile. “I just got caught up in the news, like you sometimes do your cartoons.”

“Didn’t you ever seen a prince before?”

Jessica wasn’t exactly certain what she’d seen that night except that it was probably enough to put her daughter and her in danger. Well, more danger than they were already in.

“There’re no such things as princes,” a husky but feminine voice murmured as Helen Jeffries joined them in the kitchen. The tall woman stomped her boots on the woven rug at the back door, knocking off mud and straw.

“Is, too,” Samantha said, pointing at the television screen. “He’s a real prince.”

Helen snorted. “He might legally be a prince, but I’ve yet to meet a man who’s a real prince.”

The little girl’s forehead scrunched up with confusion. “The ones in my books and movies aren’t real?”

“Fairy tales,” Helen replied cynically. “Not real.”

“What about Clay McGuire?” Jessica asked about the rancher Helen dated.

The older woman snorted again. “He’s a cowboy.”

“Can’t princes be cowboys?” Samantha asked.

Jessica chucked her daughter’s slightly pointed chin. “You got that backward, honey.”

The little girl’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. “How?”

“Cowboys can’t be princes,” Helen explained with a grin. She stepped closer to the sink and dipped her hands into the sudsy water.

“You should have let me feed the animals,” Jessica said. Then she would have missed that special report.

Helen shook her head. She’d owned and managed the Double J alone for years. The older woman was so fiercely independent and proud that she insisted on doing more of the chores herself. Jessica was proud, too, though and had convinced Helen to accept her help in lieu of the room and board she refused to let Jessica pay her. “I’d rather work in the barn than the kitchen,” Helen said as she brushed a fingertip across Samantha’s button nose, leaving a dab of foam on the upturned tip of it.

Jessica lifted up her daughter and hugged her sweet-smelling body close. “Sweetheart, why don’t you run up to your room and change out of your pajamas and into your clothes?”

“Do I have school today?” Samantha asked, her gray eyes bright with hope.

Preschool was in session today, but Jessica didn’t dare bring Samantha into town when it was overrun with media. “No school. You have work to do here instead, young lady. You have to pick up all the toys in your room.”

“There’re not that many, Mama,” Samantha said, wriggling down from her arms.

Jessica’s heart clutched with sadness that it was true. She wasn’t able to afford everything her little girl deserved. “You still have to pick them up.”

Samantha, feet dragging, headed up the back stairwell in the kitchen. The house was a foursquare, two-story farmhouse. It had a large foyer with a grand staircase as well as the back stairwell. It also had more bedrooms than they needed. Now. But the ranch owner had plans to someday turn her home into a women’s shelter. She’d put her plan in motion when she’d offered Jessica shelter more than four years ago.

Helen narrowed her eyes and focused on Jessica. “What’s going on? You never lie to her.”

“I have,” Jessica regretfully admitted. Every time the little girl asked about her father.

With understanding Helen nodded. “Why won’t you bring her to school?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“School is too dangerous?”

“It’s too dangerous for us to go to town right now.” The prince’s press conference had whipped the media into a frenzy, and they’d already been doing too much filming around Wind River County and the town of Dumont.

If she’d been caught on camera…

Helen sighed. “Crazy stuff going on since those damn royals came to Dumont. That explosion. Gunfire. And poor Clay…” His family had been among the most vocal protestors of the COIN summit. Now his youngest boy sat in jail.

“Mr. McGuire will be okay,” Jessica assured her friend. “He has you.”

Helen shrugged as if she wasn’t so worried that Jessica usually found her staring at the TV into the early hours of the morning instead of sleeping. “He’s busy. I’m busy. We just see each other occasionally, you know. Nothing serious.”

Was that really because they were too busy or because they both had their reasons for avoiding involvement? Jessica understood their reasons; she had her own. But then the prince’s face filled the television screen again as the station replayed the earlier live broadcast. His deep blue gaze implored the witness to come forward, to ease some of his anxiety over his missing friend.

“Can you watch Samantha for me for a little while?” she asked the older woman.

Helen nodded. “Of course I can. And I don’t blame you. That’s a lot of money.”

“I’m not claiming the reward.”

“But, Jess—”

“I need to pick up my last check from the Wind River Ranch and Resort.” She’d worked part-time as a dishwasher there because she had thought she would be safe hiding away in the hotel kitchen. She’d been wrong. About everything. “Then I’m packing up Samantha’s and my things and leaving the Double J.”

Helen gasped in surprise.

“You probably thought that you’d never get rid of us—”

“Never wanted to, honey, you know that,” her friend assured her. “I don’t want you to go now.”

“I have to,” Jessica insisted. “It’s getting too dangerous here. I should have left earlier—right after it happened. Hell, I should have left before the royals even arrived. I knew their meeting would bring the media down on Dumont.”

But she hadn’t expected the rest of it: the explosion, the murder…



“PRINCE SEBASTIAN, I wish you wouldn’t have done that,” Sheriff Jake Wolf said with a long-suffering sigh.

The younger man had had his hands full since they’d come to his county for their summit meeting. According to what the royals had learned, Wolf had already had enough to deal with since getting elected the year before, like corruption within his department and perhaps within the police department of Dumont. That was why Sebastian had chosen the sheriff’s office in which to announce the reward for information.

“You agreed to the press conference,” he reminded him.

“The amount of the reward you offered is the problem.” Wolf groaned. “Danny Harold was right. It’ll draw out every kook. Hell, it already is drawing ’em out.” He gestured toward his deputies and office staff, all of whom were on a phone.

“It’s been a couple of weeks since the explosion, but this witness has yet to come forward,” Sebastian pointed out, frustration gnawing at his tense stomach. “Apparently this person needs more incentive than the satisfaction of doing the right thing.”

“Or he or she is too scared to come forward,” the sheriff replied.

With good cause, too, given the evidence that had recently come to light. The royals had only just learned about the witness when Sheik Efraim Aziz discovered a posting on a special internet bulletin board that had promised to “take care” of the witness.

“The proper incentive has been known to make a person overcome his deepest fears,” Sebastian said. But how would the witness know he was in danger unless someone had acted upon the “hit” put out on him?

“Maybe this person isn’t able to come forward anymore.” The sheriff voiced Sebastian’s deepest fear.

If the witness had already been disposed of, then he and his friends may never discover what had happened to Amir. They wouldn’t know if he, too, had already been disposed of.

One of the deputies stood up and gestured wildly for the sheriff’s attention. When Wolf headed toward the young man’s desk, Sebastian followed, his pulse quickening in anticipation. “What is it?” the sheriff asked.

“The prince is actually right here,” the deputy replied—but to the caller, not his superior. He pressed his palm over the receiver and held it out. “She’ll speak to only you, Your Highness.”

Despite the trepidation clutching his heart, Sebastian reached for the phone with a steady hand. He had learned long ago to control his physical reactions because he’d had to have a steady finger on the trigger. But he couldn’t control the curse from slipping through his lips when he heard only a dial tone.

“She’s gone?” the deputy asked.

Sebastian jerked his head in a rough nod. “Did you get the number from the caller ID?”

“It was blocked,” the young man replied.

“Can you trace it?”

The deputy’s face flushed. “I don’t think the call lasted long enough.”

“Then maybe she is coming here—to talk to me. Maybe she only wanted to know if I was here.” That had to be it. To collect the money for her eyewitness account, or her cockamamy story if the persistent reporter and the sheriff were correct, she needed to talk to him.

“Or she’s setting up a trap,” Sheriff Wolf said. “You and the other royals have been threatened. There have been previous attempts on some of your lives.”

Sebastian gave in to a slight grin. “You believe it is now my turn?”

“And thanks to that press conference you just held, they know where you are.”

“So they will storm the courthouse to kill me?”

“Prince Stefan was nearly shot outside this very building, his security guard killed,” the sheriff reminded him, his voice pitched low so that any of the lingering reporters would not overhear. “These are bold criminals.”

The royals had been warned that they were all in danger even before they’d landed on American soil. Then the limo had exploded, probably when someone had suspected they would all be riding in it. No one had been able to determine who was behind the explosion, so they were still in danger. “We have taken precautions.”

“Your security force?” the sheriff scoffed.

“It is true that some of our men have proven themselves without honor and allegiance.”

“As you said, with the proper incentive…”

Money. Vengeance. Jealousy. Sebastian wasn’t certain exactly what had compelled their men to turn against them, and because of that, he wasn’t certain he could trust any of the others to not turn as well. “That is why I must remain here, in case the witness does want to talk to me. No one else can be trusted.”

“No one?” the sheriff asked, his jaw tensing with anger.

“It is not only our security team that has been bribed.”

“True.” Law enforcement had also been involved in some of the attacks.

“Because no one can be trusted, we have no option but to protect ourselves.”

The sheriff shook his head. “You have another option. Go home. Go back to your islands and away from the danger and let me do my job without your interference.”

“We will not leave until our friend is found.”

“Then I hope like hell that was the witness on the phone and that she’s coming in to talk to you.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes and studied the younger man’s face. Was he telling the truth? Of everyone Sebastian had met in Wyoming, he almost trusted Sheriff Wolf. But with lives at stake, he couldn’t allow himself to trust anyone but Antoine. “I can take care of myself, Sheriff.”

“Danny was right about your military training?”

Sebastian nodded.

“But being a sniper is different than being the one who’s hunted. In the service, you remained a safe distance from the action. If you stay here, you can’t.”

“I’m not certain Barajas would be a safe distance from the action.” There was a chance that his and his brother’s enemies had been behind the explosion in hope of killing him and Antoine. Because of their military background, they had several enemies.

The sheriff expelled a ragged sigh of resignation. “The danger could follow you home. It probably is better that you all stay where I can protect you.”

Sebastian chuckled. “As I said, Sheriff, I will protect myself as well as the witness. I will wait here until she arrives to claim her reward for the information she’s been withholding.”

“You could have a long wait,” Wolf warned. “It may already be too late for that witness.”



IT WASN’T TOO LATE. She could turn around and head to the Wind River Ranch and Resort to collect that last check, like she had intended. But instead Jessica steered the Suburban around a couple of television station vans that still lined the street. Even though it had been a few hours since the prince’s press conference, they remained outside the three-story beige brick county courthouse that housed the sheriff’s office. Was he still here?

She maneuvered the ranch vehicle into an empty space quite a ways down the block. Then she glanced at the cell phone she’d dropped onto the passenger seat. Why had she called? Because of his damned eyes, imploring her to do the right thing. But was this the right thing?

If one of the camera crew captured her on film and nationally broadcast the coverage…

Would he recognize her? She glanced into the rearview mirror and even after nearly five years of this auburn color and long, straight style, she barely recognized herself except for her eyes. She could have tried to hide the brown with colored contacts, but she wouldn’t have been able to hide the fear that she’d never stopped feeling. Not with him out there, determined to find her.

And kill her.

But it wasn’t just her life she risked by coming here. She could be risking the sheik’s, too. What if he was safer if no one knew he was alive? But she remembered the anguish and frustration in Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh’s blue gaze, and guilt churned in her stomach. He had to know what had happened to his friend. She had to tell him.

Her fingers trembling, she fumbled with the handle before opening the driver’s door and sliding out of the vehicle. Then, head down, she hurried past the reporters’ vans. She hesitated outside the county courthouse before pushing open the door and stepping inside. Security scanners blocked the foyer, but while she stepped into a line, she could see into the outer office where the conference had been held. A few reporters waited while cameramen filmed the deputies taking calls.

Were those calls coming from people trying to claim the reward? But no one else had seen what she had, except for whoever she’d spied driving away from the scene. Maybe that person had decided to come forward and Jessica didn’t need to be here; she didn’t need to risk her own safety. Or Samantha’s.

She stepped out of the security line and backed toward the doors. She couldn’t risk going inside with all those cameras. But before she could turn away, Prince Sebastian looked up from the desk over which he’d been leaning. And his deep blue gaze met hers.

Panic accelerated her pulse, so that it leaped at her throat and hammered at her wrists. Even though several feet and people separated them, she had confirmation that the television screen had not made him more handsome than reality. With his golden brown hair, those piercing eyes and his long, lean body, he was as handsome in person as he’d been on the screen. More so even. Heat flashed through her along with the panic.

But then a camera flashed and another lens turned toward her, and panic won out. She turned and ran. But the sick feeling in her stomach warned her that it was already too late. Coming here had been a mistake. One that would probably get her killed.




Chapter Two


When the redhead turned and ran, breaking that strange connection between them, Sebastian’s breath shuddered out. Then, after those breathless seconds that he’d held perfectly still when their gazes had met, he moved again. Shoving through the security screeners, he pushed open the doors to the courthouse and raced after her.

She had to be the witness because he’d glimpsed the fear in her dark eyes, which had widened when the cameras had turned on her. The reporters hadn’t missed his interest in the woman who’d entered the courthouse but hesitated at the screeners. Sebastian had wanted to draw out the witness, not just for information about his friend but also to warn her.

Apparently she didn’t need his warning; she already knew she was in danger. And she ran as if an assassin—not a prince—pursued her. Despite his legs being longer than hers, he had to run to catch her. She’d already jumped inside her rusted SUV, but he grabbed the door before she could swing it closed.

“Let me go!” she implored him, her voice cracking with fear.

He shook his head. “You cannot leave until you say what you came here to tell me.”

“I—I didn’t come here to talk to you.”

“You are not the one who called and asked if I was at the office?”

Color suffused her delicately featured face. “No—No, that wasn’t me.”

He would not need Antoine’s assistance to determine if she spoke the truth or lies. She was not a very good liar. “Then why were you coming into the courthouse?”

“Uh, I have a ticket to pay.”

“You left before you paid it,” he pointed out.

“I—I forgot my checkbook.”

“Show me the citation,” he challenged her.

The color in her cheeks deepened to a darker red, nearly the same shade as her long auburn hair. “I forgot that, too.”

“You’re quite forgetful,” he mused. “Is that why you haven’t come forward before?”

Breaking the connection of their gazes, she ducked her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just got that ticket.”

“That will be easy enough to verify with Sheriff Wolf. What is your name?”

She tugged on the door handle. “You don’t need to verify anything. Just let me leave.”

“Not until you share with me what you saw that night.” Had Amir survived the explosion or had someone removed his body to conceal his murder? But that made no sense. Why leave the chauffeur’s burned corpse and remove Amir’s?

Of course, none of it made sense. They had come to the United States to propose trade agreements that would benefit this country as well as COIN, especially the methods Prince Stefan Lutece had developed to make oil drilling environmentally safe. These methods were the only reason that Sebastian and Antoine had agreed to drill on Barajas, but they needed a buyer for that oil. They needed money for health care and other social services, so nobody else left their island for Europe or America. And so that the voice inside his head wouldn’t keep telling him that he wasn’t cut out to be a ruler or a protector.

“Tell me what you saw,” he demanded, his frustration gnawing away at his usually rigid control.

She flinched but stubbornly repeated, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You cannot claim the reward until you share your eyewitness account of the explosion.”

“I don’t want a reward.”

“Of course you do,” he said, dismissing her claim. “That is why you came here. And why you wanted to make certain I would be here when you arrived—to collect your money.” Not to ambush him as the sheriff had warned. Of course, if that had been her plan, he had stepped neatly into her trap when he’d raced after her. But when their gazes had met and held, he’d felt no threat from her—only to her.

She shook her head, and her hair nearly brushed the shoulder of his suit because he stood so close to her—close enough to smell her summer fresh outdoors scent. “I don’t want your money.”

He held in a snort of derision, not wanting to offend her despite his anger over her taking so long to come forward. She obviously had more pride than money. The color of her vehicle was indiscernible from the rust eating away at the metal. Her clothes had also seen better days. Her jeans were torn, her dimpled knees peaking through the holes in the washed-out denim. The cuffs and collar of her blue plaid blouse were frayed, the mismatched buttons straining across her full breasts.

Awareness raised the dark hairs on his forearms and heated his stomach. Despite her threadbare attire, she was an attractive woman—beautiful even with her wide, brown eyes and delicate features. But stubborn, too. No matter how much she denied it, she needed his money.

He glanced around her and checked out the inside of her vehicle. The seats were torn, foam protruding through the rips in the upholstery. The headliner hung low, separated from the roof. But it was what he noticed in the back that drew his attention. Some kind of booster-type car seat was buckled into a seat, empty for now. But she must have a child, unless she’d borrowed someone else’s vehicle. “Are you a mother?”

She followed his gaze, her breath audibly catching. “That’s not any of your business.”

He focused on her left hand that clutched the door handle. The fingers were bare but for scrapes and calluses. That didn’t mean she wasn’t married with children. She might have just removed her ring because of the manual labor she obviously did. He ignored the disappointment that cooled the heat in his stomach.

His attraction to her was ridiculous anyway. He dated only princesses and heiresses—women clad in designer gowns, not ragged jeans. Women who wore jewels, not calluses. As Grandfather had constantly lectured him and Antoine, princes could marry only princesses and vice versa. King Omar had practiced what he’d preached; he’d married the princess of a small European country lost during a civil war, and he’d brought her to reign over Barajas with him. If only their princess mother had listened to her father and married a prince instead of a mercenary…

He needed to make this woman listen to him. “What you witnessed makes you my business.” That was the only reason for his interest in her.

“I didn’t witness anything. I don’t want your reward. I just want to leave,” she said, her voice shaky with frustration and that fear she wasn’t able to conceal.

“If you don’t want my money,” he said, carefully hiding his skepticism, “then how about my protection?”

“Protection?” she asked, her eyes widening as she stared up at him.

“Is that not why you didn’t come forward earlier—because you were too frightened?” And perhaps not just for her own safety but also for the child she might have, if that car seat belonged to her. From her reaction, he was almost certain that it did. So she had a child. But did she have a husband? He suspected not because if she had someone to protect her, she should not be so scared. “You need not be afraid.”

She didn’t hold in her snort but expelled it softly.

He lifted his chin, offended at her derision. He was a ruler—coruler—and a former military officer. How dare she doubt him and remind him of someone else in his life who always had? “I will protect you.”



JESSICA LAUGHED. She need not be afraid? She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been afraid. “You can’t protect me.”

No one could.

“Have you already been threatened?” he asked, his voice deepening with concern. “Is that why you haven’t reported what you’ve seen?”

She had other reasons for not reporting, like that relentless media coverage. Had any of those reporters followed them out? Had they caught her image on camera? Even before the explosion, the coverage of the COIN summit had been national—broadcast on every network to every city. She’d tried hard to avoid the cameras every time she came to town or went to the Wind River Ranch and Resort. Until today she was pretty positive she’d been successful.

To see if the reporters had followed her like the prince had, she tried to look out the driver’s door, but she couldn’t see beyond him. He was too big. Too broad. Too close, so close that with every breath she drew, she inhaled him. He even smelled like a prince: regal and rich—musk and leather and a faint trace of citrus. His scent filled her lungs and had her heart pounding furiously. “I—I have to go.”

“You’re not leaving until you tell me what you saw that night,” he ordered as if she were one of his subjects or his servants.

She was certain that would be the only relationship he’d ever entertain with someone like her. He’d boss her around and bully her—just like…

“I can’t stay!” she said, her panic escaping in a squeak that cracked her voice.

Those reporters couldn’t have missed how he’d chased after her. Even though she couldn’t see beyond his broad shoulders, she was certain that they had followed him. They would have to follow the story. She shouldn’t have come here—shouldn’t have let his blue eyes persuade her to risk everything for him. To ease his fear for his friend, she’d confronted hers. Why?

He was nothing more to her than a handsome stranger. And a stranger was all he could ever be.

She tugged harder on the handle, but the door didn’t budge. He held tight to the edge of the rusted metal. With her right hand, she jammed the key in the ignition, and with a silent prayer that it would start the first time, she turned the motor. The engine miraculously roared to life, the Suburban shuddering from the high idle and the missing exhaust.

“What are you doing?” the prince demanded, shouting to be heard over the motor.

She slammed the transmission into Drive and stepped on the gas, pulling away with the door hanging open. The metal slipped through the prince’s grasp. He ran, as if trying to leap inside the vehicle with her, but she accelerated. Then, with her hand shaking, she slammed the door shut.

She spared him only a glance in her rearview mirror. Standing in a cloud of exhaust, he stared after her as if dumbstruck that she had disobeyed him and that she had escaped him. For now. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach warned her that he would be just as relentless as that other man in tracking down her.



“WHAT THE HELL—”

Sebastian echoed the sheriff’s sentiments as the man joined him in the street. What the hell had just happened?

“—were you thinking!” Wolf yelled. “Running after her like that, you could have been running right into her trap.”

“She didn’t trap me.” Except in her gaze, with her fear and vulnerability.

“She freaked at the courthouse’s security screening,” Wolf said. “Most likely because she was armed. You’re lucky you didn’t get your damn head blown off.”

Sebastian’s temper flared; he did not like being reprimanded like a child or a fool even though he had to acknowledge that he might have acted like one. The fear in the woman’s eyes had brought out his protective instincts so that he’d worried only about her safety and not his own.

“She was not armed,” Sebastian insisted. Or more than likely she would have pulled the gun on him to get him to leave her alone.

“The sheriff is right, Your Highness.” Brenner, the head of the Barajas security detail, said. “You should not have left the courthouse without our protection.”

“I am fine,” Sebastian insisted, even though his pulse raced just like she had raced away from him. “Or I will be when I find her.”

“She is the witness?” Wolf asked.

Sebastian nodded.

“Did she tell you what she saw?” Brenner asked.

“Not yet,” he replied. “The reporters frightened her off with their cameras.”

“That’s why I had my deputies detain them,” Wolf said, his mouth curving into a slight grin as he glanced back toward the courthouse.

“I thought you didn’t believe she was the witness,” Sebastian said. “You were concerned that she might be another hired assassin.”

“And if that had been the case, I didn’t need any more collateral damage in Wind River County.”

“There has been quite enough,” Sebastian agreed. “I need to find her so that we can prevent something happening to anyone else. I need to learn what she saw.” He needed to know if Amir lived or…

The sheriff rubbed his hand along his jaw as if struggling with something. Then, with a sigh, he admitted, “I know where you can find her.”

“Where?”

“The Double J. That’s who the plate is registered to.”

He had been talking to her long enough for the sheriff to run the plate, and still he had not convinced her to tell him the truth. “Where is the Double J?”

“It’s about halfway between the Wind River Ranch and Resort and the Rattlesnake Badlands on Snake Valley Road, the same road where the limo exploded.”

Sebastian turned toward Brenner and held out his hand. “Give me your keys.”

“Your Highness, I will drive you.”

He shook his head. “No, I cannot risk anyone else frightening her off.”

“But she could still be—doing as the sheriff suggested—setting a trap for you.”

“She is not going to ambush me.” He feared she had something almost as bad planned, though. “Instead, she’s going to run away.” Flee, before she told him what she’d seen that night. “I order you to turn over your keys. Now.”

Unable to ignore a direct order, Brenner, his hand shaking, dropped the keys into Sebastian’s palm. “But, Your Highness—”

Ignoring the security detail’s concern, Sebastian rushed off toward the black Hummer parked directly outside the courthouse, behind the sheriff’s white Dodge SUV. Sebastian had already wasted precious minutes arguing with these men and had lost miles of road to her. After gunning the engine, he pressed hard on the accelerator, determined to close the distance between them.

But the traffic in town had him slowing and steering around other vehicles. Several minutes and more miles passed until he neared the drive leading to the resort. He sped past the turnoff for the resort and traffic thinned to just one vehicle ahead of him—a white panel van. Like a snake, the road wound through the lush valley, and at a curve, he caught a glimpse of the rusted SUV just ahead of the van. He accelerated and steered to the left, to pass the van. But it sped up and veered across the line, cutting him off.

He hit the brakes and cursed.

“What’s wrong?” The question, and the familiar voice, emanated from a speaker inside the visor. The vehicle was equipped with a hands-free communication system.

“Brenner called you,” he said, surmising that the head of the Barajas security detail had notified his twin that he’d gone rogue. Or even more rogue. When they’d discovered that the bomb had been meant to kill them all, they’d gone into seclusion at the resort. Well, almost all of them had. Sheik Efraim Aziz had insisted on personally searching for Amir. Sebastian had already been taking a risk holding the press conference in town, and for him to now go off alone with the threat against them…

“Brenner’s worried that you’re going to get yourself killed,” Antoine replied.

“Are you?” Sebastian tried again to pass the van, but it veered back across the line, blocking his maneuver.

“Should I be?”

Sebastian grinned despite his frustration with the van. “You know me too well to worry about me.”

“It is because I know you so well that I worry,” Antoine replied. “Come by the resort, and I will ride with you out to the Double J ranch.”

“I have already passed the resort.” And if he didn’t pass the van, he might miss the driveway for the ranch. Why the hell would the van not let him by?

“Turn around,” Antoine commanded. “Knowing that we are all in danger, you should not have gone off alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Sebastian murmured as he studied the van through eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Who’s with you? You left Brenner stranded at the Wind River courthouse.”

“I’m not alone on the road,” he clarified. Why wasn’t he? If the street was as remote as the sheriff’s report had led him to believe… “There is a van between my vehicle and the witness’s.”

The road curved again, and Sebastian caught a glimpse of the rusted Suburban and the red-haired woman in the driver’s seat who tightly gripped the steering wheel. Had she seen his vehicle behind the van? Seeing the van was probably enough to frighten her. Who the hell was in it? Reporters? With no windows on the sides, just sliding panels, it looked similar to the many vans that had been parked outside the courthouse.

He edged closer again, nearly pushing his grill against the back bumper. “Have the sheriff run this plate…” Mud had been smeared across it, concealing the numbers.

“What is it?” Antoine asked.

“Can’t read it.” He swerved to the left so quickly that the van didn’t have time to cut him off. But it tried, banging hard against the side of the Hummer. The metal of the van crumpled. There was no station name or number on the side of it, either. “Damn…”

“What?” Antoine asked.

“I don’t think they are reporters.” He pushed harder on the gas, surging the Hummer forward until he’d drawn level with the driver’s window of the van. But the glass was so heavily tinted that he could not see through it.

“Back off,” Antoine advised him.

Instead of heeding his brother’s advice, Sebastian cranked the steering wheel and slammed the Hummer into the van, just as they had slammed into him. Metal crunched and tires squealed. The seat belt snapped against his neck and chest as the impact jostled him. Both vehicles spun out, gravel spewing as they skidded off the pavement onto the shoulder of the winding road.

“What the hell’s going on?” Antoine’s shout vibrated in the speaker.

Reaching beneath the seat for Brenner’s spare weapon, the one he would not have been able to get through the security screeners, Sebastian assured his twin, “I have it under control.”

“Wait for me,” Antoine implored him. “I can be there shortly with a few of the security detail.”

“You’ll be too late,” Sebastian replied as he pushed open the driver’s door. Dirt swirled in the wind, stinging his eyes, so he had to squint against it and the sunlight as he approached the van.

The heavily tinted window lowered just a couple of inches—not enough for Sebastian to see the driver. All he caught was a glimpse—a glint, really—of sunshine off metal.

He was not the only one who was armed. Perhaps he should have worn a bulletproof vest for the press conference as Antoine and the sheriff had suggested. But if a true marksman had been hired to kill them, Sebastian knew they always went for the head shot.




Chapter Three


Gravel spewed as the van slammed into reverse. The tires fishtailed off the shoulder and then back onto the road. The prince stood in the cloud of dust swirling around him, a gun—probably a GLOCK—gripped tightly in his hand.

Dmitri held on to his own weapon, the barrel of the Ruger revolver trained on the prince as the driver continued backing away from the Hummer. “I should have fired at him,” he grumbled. “I still have a shot.” But only for a few more moments as the distance between them widened.

“Prince Sebastian is not the intended target,” the driver, Nic, reminded him. “We do not have clearance to kill him.”

“Not yet.” Dmitri reluctantly holstered his gun. Then he reached for his cell, his hand shaking slightly as anger coursed through him. “But we will…”

“The son of a bitch ran us off the road,” Nic snapped as his anger erupted.

“Ran you off the road.” Had Dmitri been driving, that would not have happened. He punched in a speed-dial number and swallowed hard when the boss answered immediately.

“Is it?” the man asked.

“We were not able to get close enough to tell,” Dmitri admitted.

“Why not?”

“We had interference,” he reluctantly explained, “from one of the royals.”

“Which one?”

“The one who held the press conference offering the reward. Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh. I had a shot. Should I have taken it?” Dmitri asked, turning to glare at the driver.

A deep chuckle emanated from the phone. “The prince is no threat.”

“He has military experience.” Dmitri recalled learning from the conference. He had posed as one of the reporters and then hung around with them afterward on the off chance that she might come forward for that reward. The prince had done what they had not been able to. He’d drawn her out of hiding.

“A prince with any real military experience?” The boss snorted. “I’m sure he never left his barracks without his security detail. He is no threat.”

“But we lost our tail on her because of him,” Dmitri said. Despite his efforts, Nic had been unable to keep the Hummer from passing them. Was it because, as Nic had grumbled, the Hummer was just more powerful than the van? Or was it because the prince was more powerful than Nic or the boss would admit?

“The plan was to use him to find her,” the boss reminded him. “Follow the plan. Follow the prince. He’ll lead you to her.”

“And once we have her?”

A chuckle rattled over the cell phone. “Then you will kill Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh, of course.”

“Of course…”

Dmitri stared through the dust-smeared windshield at the Hummer in the distance. As the prince rounded the rear of the vehicle to approach the driver’s side, sunlight glinted off the weapon he held.

Maybe the boss was right. Maybe the prince’s military experience meant nothing. But the tightening muscles in Dmitri’s gut told him that when the time came, Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh might not be all that easy to kill.



WITH HANDS TREMBLING, Jessica slid the dead bolt closed. Then she peered through the sheer curtain over the window in the door. Nothing had pulled into the dirt driveway behind the Suburban, but there had been vehicles following her. First the van. Probably the reporters from the sheriff’s office.

She shuddered at the thought of their cameras catching her on film to be broadcast everywhere…

She’d also heard another engine—one more powerful than the van’s. Then the crunch of metal grinding against metal had echoed throughout the valley. Due to the winding road, she hadn’t caught a glimpse of an accident in her rearview mirror—unlike the night of the explosion when the flames and wreckage had been unavoidable. She wished she hadn’t seen what she had that night. So today she hadn’t been about to stop to find out what had happened or even to find out who was following her.

She was damn sure she knew to whom one of those vehicles belonged. Prince Sebastian. Had he been involved in a crash?

A pang of concern stabbed her heart, and she gasped. While she didn’t trust him, she would hate for him to be hurt—not because she personally cared what happened to him, though. She just hated the thought of anyone getting hurt.

Except one man.

“Someone follow you back from the resort?” Helen asked, peering over Jessica’s shoulder.

She sucked in a breath. “Where’s Samantha?”

“In her room, cleaning up like you told her. She’s such a good kid—always minds her mama,” Helen said with so much pride that she could have been the little girl’s biological grandmother instead of just her honorary one.

Her breath escaped in a ragged sigh. “If only I’d do what I tell myself to do…”

Helen chuckled. “You’re a good girl, too, Jessica. What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t go to the resort,” she admitted.

“You went to town.”

Choking on regrets, she could only nod.

Helen squeezed her shoulders. “That was a lot of money.”

“I didn’t collect it,” she said. “I didn’t tell him anything.” Sure, the prince had seemed genuinely concerned about his friend, but she knew too well that concern—even love—could be faked to mask someone’s true nature or agenda.

“So that’s why you’re worried he followed you back here?” Helen asked, continuing to stare down the long gravel driveway. It was so long that they couldn’t see the road, though. Someone could have turned off behind her, and she would not know.

“I don’t think he was the only one following me,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For bringing trouble back to the ranch.”

“I don’t see any cars out there, honey.” Helen stepped back. “You must have lost them.”

“For now,” Jessica said, turning away from the door. “But someone in town might have recognized the Suburban, and if he—or anyone else—asks around…”

“They’ll know where to find you.”

“At the Double J. I knew Samantha and I would have to leave here someday, but I’d hoped to do that before I brought trouble to you.” She shouldn’t have stayed in one place for so long. When she’d first run away, she hadn’t stayed anywhere for more than a few weeks. But then she’d had Samantha, and the little girl had needed a home. “After everything you’ve done for me, that’s the last thing I ever intended to do.”

Helen shrugged off Jessica’s concern. “Because the bottom of the J rotted off, it’s the double T. Double Trouble, honey. Trouble’s been here long before you showed up in Wind River County. Trouble will end here, too.”

That was what Jessica was afraid of…



“SO THE VAN’S GONE?” Antoine asked, his voice sharp with frustration as it emanated from the speaker.

“It took off.” He shouldn’t have let it, but he’d had no justification for shooting out the tires or windows. So he’d refrained from firing his weapon, even though his finger had itched to pull the trigger.

Hell, he’d probably had no justification for running the van off the road in the first place. Sure, it hadn’t let him pass, but drivers in the States were different than drivers in Barajas. There was road rage here. And there was also royal rage here in Wind River. Perhaps they had recognized the Hummer as belonging to COIN security detail and that was why they’d driven as erratically as they had. But Sebastian suspected the driver hadn’t acted out of road or royal rage but had had another agenda entirely. Plan B?

Prince Stefan Lutece had learned from a forensics expert that the bomb had been intended for all of them and that when it had failed, whoever was behind the assassination attempt had moved on to plan B. Whatever that was…

“You probably scared the hell out of some reporters,” Antoine remarked. “I hope.”

“I’m sure they’ll leave her alone now.”

Sebastian seriously doubted that they would leave the woman alone or that they were just reporters. When the window had rolled down a crack, sunshine had glinted off the metal of the barrel of a gun. Even though he’d more often stared down the barrel of a long-range sniper rifle, he had recognized when he’d been staring into one.

“If they were reporters, they would have asked me for a statement, would they not? Reporters have been hounding us since we arrived in Wyoming. I was alone. They could have asked me whatever questions they wanted.” Instead they had flashed a gun and then had driven away in reverse to escape him.

“Even alone you’re not exactly approachable,” Antoine said with a teasing chuckle. “And if they weren’t reporters but some of the hired guns, wouldn’t they have done something else to you…because you were alone? You’d presented them with a great opportunity.”

“But perhaps they are not after me.”

“Even before there was a hit put out on the witness, that bomb had been set in the limo to take out all of us,” Antoine bitterly reminded him. “If there were hit men in that van, they would have gone after you.”

Sebastian expelled a breath of relief. “Of course. You’re right.” He chuckled. “So I did scare the hell out of some reporters.”

“As you said, they’ve been hounding us since we arrived—they had it coming.”

“They had it coming for interfering in my following the witness. I think I lost her,” he admitted. “The sheriff said her vehicle was registered to the Double J, but the only ranch I’ve found between the resort and the Rattlesnake Badlands is the Double T.” When he’d reached the badlands, he’d turned around and headed back to the driveway to that ranch. As he drove past it, he glanced at the wooden sign that hung on rusted chains from a sawed-off log. The T looked odd. Perhaps it had once been a J. But if it hadn’t, he could ask if anyone knew where he could find the Double J.

And the witness…

The dirt drive wound between fenced pastures and past a couple of weathered red barns to a two-story farmhouse. He wouldn’t need to ask where to find the Double J; he’d found it. He parked behind the rusted SUV. “I’m here,” he told his brother.

“You found the witness.”

“She’s here.”

“Wait for me before you approach her again,” Antoine urged. “You shouldn’t be out—anywhere—alone.”

“I’ll be fine. Her vehicle is the only one here.” Unless there was one parked inside one of those big barns. To be careful, and because he couldn’t shake the experience with the van, he carried the gun he’d pulled from beneath the seat. He’d tucked it in the waistband of his pants and covered it with his suit jacket. Ever since they’d learned of the threat to their lives, he’d carried a weapon or had one stashed within reach.

When he’d finished out his service in the military, Sebastian had sworn to never take up a weapon again. But then he hadn’t considered that he’d ever have to go back to war. While it wasn’t official yet, that explosion had been a declaration of war—or at least the first battle. Had Amir survived it?

“Not seeing another vehicle doesn’t mean much,” Antoine spoke as he often did, as if he was privy to Sebastian’s thoughts. That damn twin connection of theirs.

Sebastian glanced back down the long driveway, making sure no one had followed him, but he couldn’t see to the road. Someone could have followed him that far and headed back to the ranch on foot now.

“She’s by herself,” he said. Unless she had a husband. But then why had the man let her go into town alone when she was already aware that she was in danger? Why hadn’t he been there to protect her?

Sebastian pushed open the driver’s door and stepped onto the drive. “I’ll let you know what I find out,” he assured his brother.

“Be careful,” Antoine advised.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, you won’t have to rule Barajas alone.”

A vulgar curse shot out of the speaker.

Sebastian chuckled at his brother’s name-calling as he slammed the door shut. His brother had a tendency to be overprotective of him but with good reason. They had been all that each other had for a long time now. And they, as well as the other royals, were in mortal danger right now.

Along with the witness.

He crossed the porch to the front door, and a curtain twitched at a window. Not wanting to scare her any more, he brushed his knuckles softly against the weathered wood. A shadow moved behind that curtain.

“It is all right,” he assured her. “I came alone. You are not in any danger.”

Just to make certain no one had walked up from the road, he glanced around him toward the barns and pastures. While he stared away, the door creaked open behind him; she must have finally decided to trust him.

He turned back, and this time he had no doubt that he was staring into the barrel of a gun. Actually the double barrel of a shotgun.

Despite the fear Sebastian had been convinced he’d seen in her eyes, she wasn’t in any danger.

But he sure as hell was. It appeared as though Sheriff Wolf had been right. With her wide vulnerable eyes and sexy little body, the mysterious red-haired woman had lured him right into her trap.

Perhaps she’d been telling him the truth, too, when she’d denied seeing anything the night of the explosion. Apparently she wasn’t the witness with a hit out on her. She was a hired assassin about to carry out the hit on him.




Chapter Four


While her heart pounded furiously with the fear coursing through her, Jessica steadied her hands on the shotgun, so that he couldn’t pull the weapon from her grasp. But he didn’t reach for it. Instead he propped his fists on his lean hips and stared her down just as he had the pushy reporters during the press conference.

She resisted the urge to squirm beneath that stare. She refused to be intimidated. Again. By his manner—or his looks.

Why did he have to be so damn handsome? That golden brown hair, those deep blue eyes and his long, lean body clad in a dark suit—all conspired to addle a woman’s brains. Jessica would not be addled, either.

Summoning her pride and whatever strength she possessed, she lifted her chin and met his stare of intimidation head-on. Those damn mesmerizing eyes of his narrowed as he scrutinized her face as if he could see right inside her mind. Or her heart. Or her soul.

“Put down the gun,” he ordered as if she were one of his subjects or servants. Then he lowered his voice and softly added, “Before you hurt yourself.”

Was he for real?

She’d expected him to be furious with her for driving off as she had, with him nearly being dragged along with her vehicle. When he’d spouted that nonsense about her not being in any danger before she’d opened the door, she’d figured he had to be lying. Men always lied to her. Even though he was a prince, he was a man first.

“I’m not the one who’s going to get hurt if you don’t leave me alone,” she warned him, shoving the barrel closer to his chest.

His gaze dropped from hers to the gun, then rose back up to her face. But he still didn’t move. Despite her holding a weapon on him, he betrayed no fear.

Jealousy flashed through her—along with wistful admiration. Even after the explosion and attempts on the lives of the other royals, he felt no fear. Jessica couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been afraid. But maybe it was good that she had enough sense to get scared; it had probably kept her alive for the past five years.

“I wasn’t wrong,” he murmured, as if talking only to himself. Then he raised his voice and added, “You’re not going to shoot me.”

His arrogance and condescension grated on her already frayed nerves.

“I will if you don’t leave. You’re trespassing,” she informed him. “Get off this property.”

He remained standing stubbornly right in front of her—as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “I am not leaving until you tell me what you saw that night.”

She pressed the barrel against the lapel on the left side of his dark suit jacket, and finally, he stepped back. She followed him onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind herself. When the Hummer had come down the driveway, Helen had joined Samantha in her room to make sure the little girl stayed upstairs and at the back of the house. But Jessica didn’t want his voice—or hers—to drift up within the child’s hearing.

Even though she’d only had one hand on the old shotgun when she’d shut the door, he hadn’t tried to pull it from her. So she observed, “You’re smart enough to know to not grab for the gun.”

He lifted his chin, as if offended. “I know how dangerous guns can be.”

Of course. According to Danny Harold, Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh had been a military sniper. “Then you should also be smart enough to leave. You’re wasting your time anyway. I have nothing to tell you.”

He flinched, as if worried that by nothing she meant that his friend was dead. And once again that anguish and frustration passed through his deep blue eyes. But she suspected his frustration wasn’t just over not knowing where his friend was but with her for not telling him what he wanted to know.

Because she’d expected him to be angry with her, she’d greeted him with the shotgun. No man would ever hurt her again. But she didn’t want to hurt him, either. She didn’t lower the gun, however. With Samantha in the house, she could not let the man any closer.

He was already too close. His nearness had her skin heating and tingling and her pulse racing with awareness. She could not be attracted to him.

She couldn’t…

But she could tell him about that night. She could ease his worry. If she could trust him…

“I know that you’re frightened,” he said, his deep voice low and soft. “But you have nothing to fear from me. I will protect you from harm. The people who caused the explosion will not get to you.”

She couldn’t trust him. She had learned long ago that men who made promises that were impossible to keep were not to be trusted.



SEBASTIAN HAD LOST HER. Even though she stood right there in front of him, she was gone. For a moment she had appeared about to confide in him. Her gaze had warmed and she’d relaxed her grip on the gun.

But now she clutched the shotgun tightly, the stock braced against her slender shoulder as if she were preparing to fire on him. And the brief warming of her brown eyes had cooled.

Disappointment clenched the muscles in his stomach and not just because she wouldn’t tell him about the explosion. He was disappointed that her warmth was gone, and that she was all tense and scared again. He hated that she was so afraid and not just for her sake. Her fear brought him back to a dark place he’d never wanted to go again.

“Let me help you,” he urged.

When she had first greeted him with the gun, he’d thought for a moment that she might intend to shoot him and collect the money that someone had put on his head along with the other royals. But that moment had been fleeting. He’d had only to look into her eyes to know that she was no killer. He didn’t want her to become a victim, either.

“You don’t want to help me,” she replied. “You want me to help you.” She shook her head. “And I can’t…”

“You could,” he said, “if you’d let yourself trust me.”

The color drained from her face, leaving her too pale and fragile looking. “I can’t…”

“My nation—Barajas—trusts me and my brother to rule them and to protect them.”





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