Ransom for a Prince

by Lisa Childs

  Ignoring his twin, Sebastian asked her, “Are you all right?”

  Her gaze moved from his face to his brother’s and back. “I—I think so.”

  “Your eyes are not deceiving you,” Sebastian assured her. “This is my identical twin, Prince Antoine Cavanaugh.” As occasionally happened, they had coincidentally dressed in similar dark suits and blue shirts.

  “I believe we can forgo introductions right now,” Antoine snapped. “Tell me what the hell happened.”

  Sebastian shook his head again. Maybe he had struck it, because he couldn’t think clearly, not with the woman in his arms. Her hair felt like silk brushing across his jaw and her summer fresh scent filled his lungs as he drew in a deep breath. She smelled like flowers and rain-fresh breezes. He blew out a breath, trying to clear his head.

  “Send a security team after that van,” he said. He should have ordered that immediately, but his first concern had been her. Making certain she was all right. But he hadn’t even been able to do that after landing so hard on the pavement.

  “Already done,” Antoine informed him, reaching down to offer him a hand up. “Brenner took off after it.”

  Sebastian didn’t want to move yet. And not just because he wasn’t convinced that he hadn’t broken any bones. After almost losing her to the men in the van, he wanted to hang on to her awhile longer.

  “As quickly as they were speeding away, I doubt they will be apprehended,” Antoine warned him.

  “Probably not,” Sebastian agreed. He should have shot the man. He’d had the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, where the barrel now scraped against his spine. But he hadn’t wanted to risk her safety by putting her in the middle of flying bullets. But bullets had flown. Why hadn’t the men tried harder to hit him?

  The shots back on the ridge had been closer even though the distance had been greater. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember if he’d seen a long-range rifle in the back of the van. But he hadn’t….

  “Can you move?” Antoine asked after Sebastian had ignored his proffered hand.

  “Not yet.”

  “You are hurt,” she spoke again, quickly shifting her slight weight off his body until she knelt beside him. Her small but strong hands skimmed down his sides, as if checking for injuries.

  Too macho to admit the impact had knocked the wind out of him, he shook his head and sat up. “I’m fine.”

  Antoine grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. “You’re lucky you were not killed, brother.”

  His twin had his attention now, with the gruffness in his voice that couldn’t quite hide his emotion. Sebastian could not imagine what Antoine had thought when he’d heard the shots and then found him lying on the ground. Actually, regrettably, he could imagine because they shared some gruesome memories.

  “I am fine,” he assured his brother again. He would tell him about the earlier shots—later.

  Antoine stared at him for a moment before nodding in acceptance of his claim.

  Sebastian turned to the woman, reaching for her arms to help her up. She flinched but perhaps in pain and not just fear this time. “Are you really all right?” he asked her.

  “Perhaps I should have not forestalled the introductions,” Antoine murmured. “Who is she, brother? The witness?”

  It was about damn time Sebastian found out for certain. So he swung her up in his arms and headed toward the resort, shoving past the reporters and security personnel that the gunfire had drawn to the scene. Instead of fighting him, the woman turned her face and buried it against his neck, her breath warming his skin and his blood.

  FOR THE SECOND TIME in years, a man held Jessica in his arms. But his grasp was neither painful nor so tight that she probably wouldn’t have been able to struggle free. But yet he was still threatening, even after he had risked his life for hers.

  Or had he only risked his life to learn what she’d seen that night. Either way, he had saved her from the men and the throng of reporters gathered outside the resort.

  “You will not lie to me again,” he warned her as he kicked a door closed behind them, locking her inside one of the luxurious suites in the resort. Alone with him. He loosened his grasp, dropping the arm from beneath her legs, so that she slid down his muscular body.

  Her skin heated and tingled at the sensation. She lifted her palms to his chest—and pushed—so that there was finally some space between them. But still she couldn’t breathe, her lungs full and aching as his gaze held her as tightly as his arms had.

  “You will tell me the truth about that night,” he demanded, as he continued to stare at her. Even with his golden brown hair tousled and his dark suit wrinkled and torn, he looked regal. Imperious.

  And to him, she—in her worn and ragged clothing—must look like a vagrant. In a short while, she and Samantha would be homeless. Unless she told him what he wanted to know and accepted his reward. She needed the money, but she couldn’t take it. But could she tell him what he wanted to know? Didn’t she owe him after he’d saved her?

  “What did you see?” Prince Sebastian asked.

  Stalling for time, she replied, “You keep assuming that I’m the witness.”

  “I’m not the only one making such an assumption,” he pointed out. “Those men who tried to abduct you also believe you are the witness.”

  After what she’d heard in the van, she doubted those men worked for whoever was trying to kill the royals. No, she suspected that they worked for someone far more dangerous—at least to her.

  DMITRI HELD THE PHONE away from his ear as Russian curses burst from it. When they wound down, he lifted it to his face again.

  “I am sorry,” he apologized. “The prince is tougher than you figured.”

  “Or maybe you are just much weaker than I figured,” the boss replied.

  Pride and most of his muscles stinging, Dmitri almost uttered a curse of his own, but he bit it back. It didn’t matter how far away the boss was, there were consequences to getting him mad. Painful consequences. “Prince Sebastian keeps getting in the way.”

  “This will be the last time he gets in the way.”

  “You want us to kill him?” Dmitri asked, eagerness easing the sting of his pride. He had wanted to in the parking lot; he had actually fired at him a couple of times. But the prince’s reflexes were quick. And no matter what the boss believed, the royal was strong.

  “You proceed with the next part of the plan,” the boss ordered. “I will personally take care of Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh.”

  “You are here?” Dmitri asked, glancing outside the van. The driver had parked in the middle of nowhere—far from the road where sirens wailed as police cars approached the resort.

  “I will be soon. And when I get there, Prince Sebastian will no longer be in the way. He will be dead.”

  Dmitri clicked off the phone and shuddered. The boss did not make idle threats. Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh was already as good as dead.

  Chapter Seven

  “What are you so afraid of?” Sebastian asked, hating the fear that had drained the color from her face and left her eyes so wide and so very dark.

  She tilted her head and stared up at him, incredulous. “After what just happened, how can you ask me that?” She trembled. “Those men—”

  “Would have you in that van now if not for me.” Rage heated his blood at the thought of her in that burly man’s grasp. She so delicate and fragile and the man so brutish and strong.

  Her breath escaped in a shaky gasp. “You are so arrogant.”

  He shrugged. “I need to have some arrogance or I would not be able to lead my country.” Or he would let that voice in his head, the one that told him he wasn’t good enough, undermine his confidence.

  Her lips curved into a slight smile. “You would consider that an attribute instead of a flaw.”

  “It is an attribute,” he said. “Like integrity and trustworthiness, which I also possess.”

  Her smile widened, brightening her pale face
. “Of course.”

  No doubt he sounded pompous, but that was not his intent. “I am trying to convince you that you can trust me.”

  Her smile faded. “I can’t trust anyone.”

  The certainty in her voice clenched his heart. “You can trust me,” he insisted. “Did I not protect you as I promised I would?”

  “Yes. Yes.” She nodded. “And I owe you my gratitude for stepping in and risking your life like you did.”

  “You owe me the truth,” he said. “Admit that you witnessed the explosion.”

  She shook her head and turned toward the door he’d kicked closed moments ago.

  Sebastian could physically stop her and probably would before he let her open that door and just walk out. But he tried one more time to get through to her rationally. “At least have the decency to tell me if my friend is alive or dead.”

  She stilled, her body tense.

  He held his breath, waiting for her to refuse him again. Then perhaps he would need to turn her over to Antoine. His brother could make her talk; he could make anyone talk. But Sebastian didn’t want her hurt or frightened or manipulated. He suspected she’d already been in that position too many times.

  “Alive,” she replied in a tremulous whisper. “The last time I saw him, he was alive.”

  His breath shuddered out in a sigh of pure relief. “He’s alive?”

  “He was…right after the explosion. But I think he was hurt.”

  Some of his relief fled as concern rushed back. They had already known he was hurt, though, because forensics expert, Jane Cameron, had admitted they’d found Amir’s blood in the limo. A lot of blood.

  “Didn’t you help him?”

  She shook her head. “I was a distance behind the limo when it exploded. It looked as though he must have been thrown clear.”

  Perhaps Amir hadn’t been hurt that badly then. But if he hadn’t, why hadn’t he returned to the resort or at least contacted one of them?

  “You didn’t get closer to the scene?” he asked, wondering if her tire tracks had been the ones that Jane had found at the site of the explosion. Jane could check out the rusted Suburban now.

  As Sebastian had carried this woman away from the parking lot, the other royals had been rushing toward it. Prince Stefan Lutece would call Jane, if she wasn’t already at the resort. Since meeting after the explosion, the two had rarely been apart. Sebastian would need to speak with Jane later about pulling the bullet from the armrest of his door.

  “I got closer,” the woman said with a shudder. “I saw the driver.” Her delicate features twisted into a grimace at the memory of what she’d seen. “It was too late to help him.”

  “I know.” He stepped up behind her and closed his hands over her slender shoulders.

  She shuddered again.

  “I am sorry you had to see that.” It was never easy seeing someone die, not even through a scope at long distance.

  “That was when I left the scene,” she said.

  He tightened his grasp on her shoulders and spun her around to face him. “Without waiting to see if Amir was all right?”

  “By the time I had driven up closer to the burning limo, he was already gone.”

  “Gone? How? If he was injured, he couldn’t have outrun your vehicle.”

  “Someone picked him up,” she said. “With all the flames and the smoke, I wasn’t able to see who. From the height of the taillights as it drove off, I figure it was some kind of truck or SUV. But most people drive trucks or SUVs around here.”

  His relief was short-lived as his concern turned to dread. “So anyone could have driven off with him. Even a white van?”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry. It could have been.”

  And if it had been, it was no wonder that Amir had not contacted them. Even though the explosion hadn’t killed him, those men would have, had they gotten hold of the sheik. And no doubt if Sebastian hadn’t gotten her away from them, they would have killed her, too.

  JESSICA’S HEAD POUNDED and her throat had grown raspy from all the questions she’d answered. Not for Sebastian. She’d told him what he’d wanted to hear, but then he had called the others into the room. And she’d had to repeat her story to the other royals, to the forensics expert, Jane Cameron, and to Sheriff Wolf. They had all taken turns interrogating her, and his twin had studied her as she’d replied, as if he were a human lie detector.

  She had no idea if she’d passed or failed. All the others had left the room except for the man identical to the one who’d saved her. She suspected his twin did not approve of the risk Prince Sebastian had taken to protect her. Although they talked in low tones, their deep voices vibrated with anger, as if they were arguing.

  Over her?

  Finally Prince Antoine stepped into the hall, and Sebastian nearly slammed the door between them be cause he shut it with such force.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  “Why? You told the truth, right?” he asked, fixing her with that implacable stare.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He crossed the sitting area to the desk and pulled open a drawer. He took out a pen and a checkbook, scribbled out something and then tore the check free of the book. He walked back to her and held it out between them.

  She clasped her hands together, unwilling to reach for it.

  “Take it,” he ordered, pressing the check into her hand.

  Her fingers trembled, rustling the piece of paper. Then she noticed the amount and dropped the check as shock filled her. “I—I can’t.”

  He bent over to pick it up, and a grimace contorted his handsome face.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, and reached out in concern, her hands sliding under his shoulders to help him back up. He’d discarded his suit jacket and wore only a silk dress shirt in a blue nearly as deep as his eyes. Her palms skimmed over the expensive fabric and the hard muscles that rippled beneath it. “You should have a doctor check you out.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” the prince said, his body so tense as he stood close to her that she felt the deep breath he dragged into his lungs. “I just need the whole truth from you.”

  “I told you everything I saw that night, which wasn’t much. That’s why I can’t take your money.” She couldn’t take a reward for doing the right thing. While she’d had her doubts earlier about telling him that the missing sheik survived the explosion, she believed that Prince Sebastian was a true friend to the man. He would not cause him any harm.

  Jessica wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t cause her any harm, though. Just touching him had her heart racing at an almost painful pace. She jerked her hands off him and stepped back.

  But Prince Sebastian followed her, standing so close that his legs brushed against her thighs. His chest and abdomen also rubbed against her breasts. Awareness pooled low in her stomach, spreading heat from the tips of her breasts to the very core of her.

  “Is that the only reason you won’t take my check?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t have another reason?”

  “Pride? I can’t afford to be proud,” she admitted although she probably didn’t need to point that out to him. He had to see how she dressed, what she drove.

  “Then why won’t you take this?” He held up the check. “Because you can’t cash it?”

  “I won’t cash it.” She stepped back again and turned toward the door. “So keep it.”

  He caught her wrist and spun her around to face him. “Is Jessica Peters your real name?”

  “Wh-why would you ask me that?”

  “Because my brother says you’re lying about your name, that you’re hiding your real identity.”

  God, the man really was a human lie detector.

  “I will deny it if you tell him this, but my brother is rarely wrong.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at his admission of sibling rivalry. But then a pang of loss clutched at her heart. She’d had a brother, too, and had been as close as
the royal twins, if not closer. Because their single mom hadn’t been the most reliable guardian, Sam had been as much parent as brother to her. Hell, Sam had been everything to her. And when he’d died, she’d lost everything, even her common sense.

  But now she had her daughter whom she’d named after her brother. She couldn’t lose Samantha, too, and that could happen if anyone discovered her real identity. She drew in a shaky breath and asked, “So you think I’m lying about my name, too?”

  “I think you changed your name.” He caught a lock of her hair between his fingers. “I think you tried to change how you look.”

  His brother wasn’t the only observant Cavanaugh. She held her lips closed, unwilling to say any more. She’d agreed to tell him what she’d witnessed but nothing else.

  “I thought you had dyed your hair to hide from the people seeking the witness,” he continued. “But I have a feeling you’ve been hiding from someone else and for much longer than two weeks.”

  She shivered at his insightfulness—and at the horrible memories that rushed over her.

  “Who are you hiding from, Jessica, or whatever your real name is?”

  “I’m Jessica,” she said, then relented. “Now.” She didn’t want to hear her old name ever again. She didn’t want to go back to that old life, not even in memories. But as she’d already learned, the prince was relentless when he wanted to know something. No doubt he would keep at her until she told him what he wanted to know—what she’d never wanted to talk about again.

  “Who are you hiding from?”

  “My husband.”

  SEBASTIAN FELT AS THOUGH he had struck the pavement again. She was married. When he’d seen the car seat, he’d realized she was a mother and had even considered that she might be a wife.

  But having confirmation…

  “Why are you hiding from your husband?” he had to know.

  “Because he told me that if I ever left him, he would track me down and kill me.” She said it matter-of-factly—fatalistically—as if she had every reason to believe her husband would follow through on the threat he had made.