She sank down onto the couch and looked up at him, elbow on her knee, chin in her hand. “We have less than six hours before the committee makes a decision.” She shook her head and laughed humorlessly. “Instead of becoming more like Tedric, you seem more different from him than when we started. I look at you, Joe, and you don’t even look like the prince anymore.”
Joe smiled as he sat next to her on the couch. “Lucky for us, most people won’t look beneath the surface. They’ll expect to see Ted, so…they’ll see Ted.”
“I need this thing to work,” Veronica said, smoothing her skirt over her knees. “If this doesn’t work…”
“Why?” Joe asked. “Mortgage payment coming due on the castle?”
Veronica turned and looked at him. “Very funny.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t really want to hear this.”
Joe was watching her, studying her face. His dark eyes were fathomless, and as mysterious as the deepest ocean.
“Yes, I do.”
“Tedric’s sister has been my best friend since boarding school,” Veronica said. “Even though Tedric is unconcerned with Ustanzia’s financial state, Wila has been working hard to make her country more solvent. It matters to her—so it matters to me.” She smiled. “When oil was discovered, Wila actually did cartwheels right across the Capital lawn. I thought poor Jules was going to have a heart attack. But then she found out how much it would cost to drill. She’s counting on getting U.S. aid.”
Jules.
Be a dear, Jules, and ring the office. Veronica had murmured those words in her sleep, and since then, Joe had been wondering, not without a sliver of jealousy, exactly who this Jules was.
“Who’s Jules?” Joe asked.
“Jules,” Veronica repeated. “My brother. He conveniently married my best friend. It’s quite cozy, really, and very sweet. They’re expecting a baby any moment.”
Her brother. Jules was her brother. Why did that make Joe feel so damned good? He and Veronica were going to be friends, nothing more, so why should he care whether Jules was her brother or her lover or her pet monkey?
But he did care, damn it.
Joe leaned forward. “So that’s why Wila didn’t come on this tour instead of Brain-dead Ted? Because she’s pregnant?”
Veronica tried not to smile, but failed. “Don’t call Prince Tedric that,” she said.
He smiled at her, struck by the way her eyes were the exact shade of blue as her dress. “You know, you look pretty in blue.”
Her smile vanished and she stood. “We should really get started,” she said, crossing to the dining table. “The food’s getting cold.”
Joe didn’t move. “So where did you and Jules grow up? London?”
Veronica turned to look back at him. “No,” she replied. “At first we traveled with our parents, and when we were old enough, we went away to school. The closest thing we had to a permanent home was Huntsgate Manor, where our Great-Aunt Rosamond lived.”
“Huntsgate Manor,” Joe mused. “It sounds like something out of a fairy tale.”
Veronica’s eyes grew dreamy and out of focus as she gazed out the window. “It was so wonderful. This big, old, moldy, ancient house with gardens and grounds that went on forever and ever and ever.” She looked up at Joe with a spark of humor in her eyes. “Not really,” she added. “I think the property is only about four or five acres, but when we were little, it seemed to go to the edge of the world and back.”
Night and day, Joe thought. Their two upbringings were as different as night and day. He wondered what she would do, how she would react if she knew about the rock he’d crawled out from under.
Veronica laughed, embarrassed. “I don’t know why I just told you all that,” she said. “It’s hardly interesting.”
But it was interesting. It was fascinating. As fascinating as those gigantic houses he’d gone into with his mother, the houses that she’d cleaned when he was a kid. Veronica’s words were another porthole to that same world of “Look but don’t touch.” It was fascinating. And depressing as hell. Veronica had been raised like a little princess. No doubt she’d only be content to spend her life “happily ever after,” with a prince.
And he sure as hell didn’t fit that bill.
Except, what was he doing, thinking about things like happily ever after?
“How about you, Joe?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Where did you grow up?”
“Near New York City. We really should get to work,” he said, half hoping she’d let the subject of his childhood drop—and half hoping that she wouldn’t.
She wouldn’t. “New York City,” she said. “I’ve never lived there, I’ve only visited. I remember the first time I was there as a child. It all seemed to be lights and music and Broadway plays and marvelous food and…people, people everywhere.”
“I didn’t see any plays on Broadway,” Joe said dryly. “Although when I was ten, I snuck out of the house at night and hung around the theater district, trying to spot celebrities. I’d get their autograph and then sell it, make a quick buck.”
“Your parents probably loved that,” Veronica said. “A ten-year-old, all alone in New York City…?”
“My mother was usually too drunk to notice I was gone,” Joe said. “And even if she had, she wouldn’t have given a damn.”
Veronica looked away from him, down at the floor. “Oh,” she said.
“Yeah,” Joe said. “Oh.”
She fiddled with her hair for a moment, and then she surprised him. She looked up and directly into his eyes and smiled—a smile not without sorrow for the boy he’d once been. “I guess that’s where you learned to be so self-reliant. And self-confident.”
“Self-reliant, maybe. But I grew up with everyone always telling me I wasn’t good enough,” Joe said. “No, that’s not true. Not everyone. Not Frank O’Riley.” He shook his head and laughed. “He was this mean old guy who lived in this grungy basement apartment in one of the tenements over by the river. He had a wooden leg and a glass eye and his arms were covered with tattoos and all the kids were scared sh—Scared to death of him. Except me, because I was the toughest, coolest kid in the neighborhood—at least among the under-twelve set.
“O’Riley had this garden—really just a patch of land. It couldn’t have been more than twelve by four feet. He always had something growing—flowers, vegetables—it was always something. So I went in there, over his rusty fence, just to prove I wasn’t scared of the old man.
“I’d been planning to trample his flowers, but once I got into the garden, I couldn’t do it,” Joe said. “They were just too damn pretty. All those colors. Shades I’d never even imagined. Instead, I sat down and just looked at them.
“Old Frank came out and told me he’d loaded his gun and was ready to shoot me in my sorry butt, but since I was obviously another nature lover, he’d brought me a glass of lemonade instead.”
Why was he telling her this? Blue was the only person he’d ever mentioned Frank O’Riley to, and never in such detail. Joe’s friendship with Old Man O’Riley was the single good memory he carried from his childhood. Chief Frank O’Riley, U.S.N., retired, and his barely habitable basement apartment had been Joe’s refuge, his escape when life at home became unbearable.
And suddenly he knew why he was telling Veronica about Frank, his one childhood friend, his single positive role model. He wanted this woman to know where he came from, who he really was. And he wanted to see her reaction; see whether she would recognize the importance old Frank had played in his life, or whether she would shrug it off, uncaring, uninterested.
“Frank was a sailor,” Joe told Veronica. “Tough as nails, and with one hell of a foul mouth. He could swear like no one I’ve ever known. He fought in the Pacific in World War Two, as a frogman, one of the early members of the UDTs, the underwater demolition teams that later became the SEALs. He was rough and crude, but he never turned me away from his door. I helped him pull weeds in his g
arden in return for the stories he told.”
Veronica was listening intently, so he went on.
“When everyone else I knew told me I was going to end up in jail or worse, Frank O’Riley told me I was destined to become a Navy SEAL—because both they and I were the best of the best.”
“He was right,” Veronica murmured. “He must be very, very proud of you.”
“He’s dead,” Joe said. He watched her eyes fill with compassion, and the noose around his chest grew tighter. He was in big trouble here. “He died when I was fifteen.”
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“Frank had one hell of a powerful spirit,” Joe continued, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her because his friend had died more than fifteen years ago. “Wherever I went and whatever I did for the three years after he died, he was there, whispering into my ear, keeping me in line, reminding me about those Navy SEALs that he’d admired so much. On the day I turned eighteen, I walked into that navy recruitment office and I could almost feel his sigh of relief.”
He smiled at her and Veronica smiled back, gazing into his eyes. Again, time seemed to stand totally still. Again, it was the perfect opportunity to kiss her, and again, Joe didn’t allow himself to move.
“I’m glad you’ve forgiven me, Joe,” she said quietly.
“Hey, what happened to ‘Your Highness’?” Joe asked, trying desperately to return to a more lighthearted, teasing tone. She was getting serious on him. Serious meant being honest, and in all honesty, Joe did not want to be friends with this woman. He wanted to be lovers. He was dying to be her lover. He wanted to touch her in ways she’d never been touched before. He wanted to hear her cry out his name and—
Veronica looked surprised. “I’ve forgotten to call you that, haven’t I?”
“You’ve been calling me Joe lately,” he said. “Which is fine—I like it better. I was just curious.”
“You’re nothing like the real prince,” she said honestly.
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
She smiled. “Believe me, it’s a compliment.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Joe said. “But I wasn’t sure exactly where you stood.”
“Prince Tedric…isn’t very nice,” Veronica said diplomatically.
“He’s a coward and a flaming idiot,” Joe stated flatly.
“I guess you don’t like him very much, either.”
“Understatement of the year, Ronnie. If I end up taking a bullet for him, I’m gonna be really upset.” He smiled grimly. “That is, if you can be upset and dead at the same time.”
Veronica stared at Joe. If he ended up taking a bullet…
For the first time, the reality of what Joe was doing hit her squarely in the stomach. He was risking his life to catch a terrorist. While Tedric spent the next few weeks in the comfort of a safe house, Joe would be out in public. Joe would be the target of the terrorists’ guns.
What if something went wrong? What if the terrorists succeeded, and killed Joe? After all, they’d already managed to kill hundreds and hundreds of people.
Joe suddenly looked so tired. Were his thoughts following the same path? Was he afraid he’d be killed, too? But then he glanced up at Veronica and tried to smile.
“Mind if we skip lunch?” he asked. “Or just postpone it for a half hour?”
Veronica nodded. “We can postpone it,” she said.
Joe stood, heading toward the bedroom. “Great, I’ve gotta crash. I’ll see you in about thirty minutes, okay?”
“Do you want me to wake you?” she asked.
Joe shook his head, no. “Thanks, but…”
Oh, baby, he could just imagine her coming into his darkened bedroom to wake him up. He could just imagine coming out of a deep REM sleep to see that face, those eyes looking down at him. He could imagine reaching for her, pulling her down on top of him, covering her mouth with his….
“No, thanks,” he said again, reaching up with one hand to loosen the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders. “I’ll set the alarm.”
Veronica watched as he closed the bedroom door behind him.
They were running out of time. Despite his reassurances, Veronica didn’t believe that Joe could pull it off.
But those weren’t the only doubts she was having.
Posing as Prince Tedric could very easily get Joe killed.
Were they doing the right thing? Was catching these terrorists worth risking a man’s life? Was it fair to ask Joe to take those risks when Tedric so very clearly wouldn’t?
But out of all those doubts, Veronica knew one thing for certain. She did not want Lieutenant Joe Catalanotto to die.
CHAPTER TEN
VERONICA WAS READY nearly thirty minutes before the meeting was set to start.
She checked herself in the mirror for the seven thousandth time. Her jacket and skirt were a dark olive green. Her silk blouse was the same color, but a subtle shade lighter. The color was a perfect contrast for her flaming-red hair, but the suit was boxy and the jacket cut to hide her curves.
Joe would call it a Margaret Thatcher suit. And he was right. It made her look no-nonsense and reliable, dependable and businesslike.
So, all right, it wasn’t the height of fashion. But she was sending out a clear message to the world. Veronica St. John could get the job done.
Except, in a few minutes, Veronica was going to have to walk out the hotel-room door and head down the corridor to the private conference room attached to Senator McKinley’s suite. She was going to go into the meeting and sit down at the table without the slightest clue whether or not she had actually gotten this particular job done.
She honestly didn’t know whether or not she’d been able to pull off the task of turning Joe Catalanotto into a dead ringer for Prince Tedric.
Dead ringer. What a horrible expression. And if the security team of FInCOM agents didn’t protect Joe, that’s exactly what he’d be. Dead. Joe, with his dancing eyes and wide, infectious smile…All it would take was one bullet and he would be a thing of the past, a memory.
Veronica turned from the mirror and began to pace.
She’d worked with Joe all afternoon, going over and over rules and protocols and Ustanzian history. She had shown him the strange way Prince Tedric held a spoon and the odd habit the prince had of leaving behind at least one bite of every food on his plate when eating.
She had tried to show Joe again how to walk, how to stand, how to hold his head at a royal angle. Just when she thought that maybe, just maybe he might be getting it, he’d slouch or shrug or lean against the wall. Or make a joke and flash her one of those five-thousand-watt smiles that were so different from any facial expression Prince Tedric had ever worn.
“Don’t worry, Ronnie. This is not a problem,” he’d said in his atrocious New Jersey accent. “I’ll get it. When the time comes, I’ll do it right.”
But Veronica wasn’t sure what she should be worrying about. Was she worried Joe wouldn’t be able to pass for Prince Tedric, or was she worried that he would?
If Joe looked and acted like the prince, then he’d be at risk. And damn it, why should Joe have to risk his life? Why not let the prince risk his own life? After all, Prince Tedric was the one the terrorists wanted to kill.
Veronica had actually brought up her concerns to Joe before they’d parted to get ready for this meeting. He’d laughed when she’d said she thought it might be for the best if he couldn’t pass for Tedric—it was too dangerous.
“I’ve been in dangerous situations before,” Joe had told her. “And this one doesn’t even come close.” He’d told her about the plans and preparations he was arranging with both Kevin Laughton’s FInCOM agents and the SEALs from his Alpha Squad. He’d told her he’d wear a bulletproof vest at all times. He’d told her that wherever he went, there would be shielded areas where he could easily drop to cover. He’d reminded her that this operation had minuscule risks compared to most ot
her ops he’d been on.
All Veronica knew was, the better she came to know Joe, the more she worried about his safety. Frankly, this situation scared her to death. And if this wasn’t dangerous, she didn’t want to know what dangerous meant.
But danger was part of Joe’s life. Danger was what he did best. No wonder he wasn’t married. What kind of woman would put up with a husband who risked his life as a matter of course?
Not Veronica, that was for sure.
Although it wasn’t as if Joe Catalanotto had dropped to his knees and begged her to marry him, was it? And he wasn’t likely to, either. Despite the incredible kiss they’d shared, a man like Joe, a man used to living on the edge, wasn’t very likely to be interested in anything long-term or permanent. Permanent probably wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
Veronica shook her head, amazed at the course her thoughts had taken. Permanent wasn’t in her vocabulary, either. At least not right now. And certainly not when attached to the words relationship and Joe Catalanotto. At least fifty percent of the time, the man infuriated her. Of course, the rest of the time he made her laugh, or he touched her with his gentle sweetness, or he burned her with that look in his eyes that promised a sexual experience the likes of which she’d never known before.
Either Veronica was fighting with Joe, or fighting the urge to throw herself into his arms.
There’d been one or two…or three or so times—certainly no more than six or eight, at any rate—this afternoon, when Veronica had found herself smiling foolishly into Joe’s deep brown eyes, marveling at the length of his eyelashes, and finding her gaze drawn to his straight, white teeth and his rather elegantly shaped lips.
In all honesty, once or twice, Veronica had actually thought about kissing Joe again. Well, maybe more than once or twice.
So, all right, she admitted to herself. He was rather unbearably handsome. And funny. Yes, he was undeniably funny. He always knew exactly what to say to make her damn near choke with laughter on her tea. He was blunt and to the point. Often tactless at times—most of the time. But he was always honest. It was refreshing. And despite his rough language and unrefined speech, Joe was clearly intelligent. He hadn’t had the best of educations, that much was true, but he seemed well-read and certainly able to think on his own, which was more than Veronica could say for Prince Tedric.
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