A Royal Murder

by Lyn Stone

  "Neither was I." He sounded sad.

  They stood there looking into each other's eyes until the phone rang. Ryan made no move to answer it, so Nina walked over and picked it up. "Hello?"

  "Is Ryan McDonough with you, Ms. Caruso?" asked a breathless deep voice with a faint Italian accent. "Is he there?"

  "Yes, he's here. Who is this?"

  "Joseph Braca. Is he all right?"

  "Of course, Mr. Braca. Why?"

  Nina heard him exhale sharply and take another deep breath. "His father just called. He said he was afraid for his life."

  "His father's ill?"

  "No," Braca said, worry obvious in his tone. "Mr. McDonough is afraid for Ryan's life. It seems Ryan just phoned him and sounded—"

  Ryan pried the receiver from her hand. "What's the problem, Joe?"

  Nina watched, concerned, as Ryan listened, alternately rolling his eyes and pacing. Then he gave a mirthless laugh. "He misunderstood, that's all. Look, don't worry. I'll call and reassure him. Yes. Right now." He hung up, shaking his head and muttering a curse.

  "Well?" Nina demanded shaking her hands at him palms up. "No way are you going to get out of explaining this."

  "It's nothing."

  "The hell it is! Your dad's so frantic, he's calling your employee to save your hide. What does he know? Is someone after you?'

  Ryan groaned and sat down on the sofa, his head in his hands. "Could we just drop this for now? I have a phone call to make before my old man has a heart attack, okay? Could I have some privacy for this, please?"

  "Just to let your father know you aren't dead yet? I think not. I want to hear this."

  He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. She stood her ground. "If that's your most intimidating look, Mac, you might as well give it up. Make the call."

  She watched him dial.

  "Hello, Dad?" he said almost immediately, still giving her the evil eye. "Hey, I'm fine. Really. No, no, I never had anything like that in mind, I promise. Look, it was just a simple apology, all right? That's all it was. I got to thinking and I decided it was time to... settle things."

  Nina could hear the agitated buzz of another voice on the phone from where she stood, but couldn't distinguish the words. Ryan had sounded gentle, yet frustrated. And he still looked furious with her.

  "Yeah, Dad, I thought maybe I had, but now I'm not so sure." He shifted the receiver to his other ear and released a huff of frustration. "Could I get back to you on that? End of the week, if not before. Bye. Yeah, Dad, me, too." The last words were free of impatience and sounded sincere.

  Nina smiled her approval as he replaced the receiver. "What on earth did you say to him earlier to make him think you were suicidal?"

  Ryan scoffed. "I apologized for something. Seems that was enough. Must have shocked the hell out of him."

  "Good grief! What on earth did you do to him?"

  He looked up at her, his eyes tired and a little bloodshot. "Nina, this is none of your business. Back off."

  This time she did. He was right. She did not need to get involved in any of his family problems, even if he would let her. Maybe his father was just a little off his bean or something. It didn't matter to her. She wouldn't let it.

  She backed slowly toward the bedroom, gesturing her embarrassment. "Why don't I just go, um, take a shower?"

  "Why don't you just go take a shower?" he repeated.

  "We've said all we have to say about the other, right?" she asked, just to have things perfectly clear between them. "Separate rooms. No more...?" She let her voice trail off as she shook her head.

  "No more," he agreed.

  * * *

  On the fifth day of their stay in the Royal, Ryan knew something had to give soon. He and Nina had examined every report and interview in minute detail, then formed theories they either discarded or put on their lists.

  Their only outing had been on their third day here, to the palace for a short memorial service for Desmond in the chapel.

  Lorenzo revealed that Desmond had once said to him that he favored cremation and had no use for any kind of religious service. Nina had agreed she would wait to have a Mass said when she laid him to rest beside their mother in California.

  Lorenzo promised that Desmond's ashes would be available at the funeral home and that she could take them with her when she left Montebello.

  The duke conducted the eulogy himself. The only tears were Nina's, but everyone who attended gave her comfort.

  Ryan thought a very public funeral might have been better, given the chance that the killer might show up. But the royals were thrust into an awkward situation, since Desmond had been illegitimate. It was strictly a family affair. He knew he'd been allowed only because of his association with Nina, to provide support for her.

  Two armed guards escorted Nina and him, and they were ordered to ride in one of the bulletproof limousines, so Ryan suspected the size and location of the memorial service also had to do with the problem of security for Nina.

  Being isolated with her and unable to function as he usually did on the job when he did get out of the hotel made Ryan virtually useless. Still, he worked every available hour. Somehow he had to solve this case.

  The forced togetherness with Nina was driving him crazy. Every time she walked through the room, his body went on alert. He had to force himself to concentrate on what they were supposed to be doing, not on what he wanted to do.

  She had made her decision and he had to abide by it. Hadn't he given her the perfect chance to invite him to share a room, to say he didn't have to stay in the other one? Of course, he could have just asked her if she wanted to, but he'd thought at the time that he should give her an easy way out.

  No, to be perfectly honest with himself, he had almost hoped she would opt for stopping what they had started. He wasn't sure he could deal with the intensity of what he felt for her. Just as well, since she obviously didn't share it.

  In spite of his disappointment over that, he did feel better about himself than he had in years. The future no longer stretched out before him like some endless thing he had no right to enjoy. He was waking up each morning curious about what the day would bring. Curious about something other than which turn the work might take.

  Would Nina relent and actually say something personal today? he would wonder. Would she throw her arms around his neck and beg him to get rid of some of this damned tension? Not hardly, but it was a great thought to wake up to.

  Today he knew where the work was going, initially anyway. Princess Samira and Farid were arriving in San Sa bastian. He would interview them this afternoon at two, right here in the suite.

  Nina pushed away the remnants of her lunch and got up from the small eighteenth-century table that, along with two matching chairs, served as their dining area in the sitting room.

  Breakfast and the midday meal were always a trial to get through. Dinners were not much better, but at least the scenery was different. They ate the evening meal downstairs in the dining room along with the other guests.

  "You don't eat enough," he said, finishing his coffee and thunking down the mug. He'd had to order that mug special. Those eggshell china things held about two swallows.

  He was deathly tired of all the froufrou and wanted to get back to his place and his plain old stuff.

  "You eat enough for both of us," she replied, heading for her room again. She spent entirely too much time in there, but he wouldn't complain about it. At least he could think straight when she was out of sight.

  She seemed troubled about something, quieter than usual and a little pale. "Nina, are you okay? Did the service upset you that much?"

  "No, no, I'm fine," she answered over her shoulder.

  "Just bored, huh?"

  With a sigh, she turned around. "I've seen every movie ever made, I think. Reruns of every sitcom on cable. So many cooking shows, I feel like a master chef. I'm sick of reading, too. If this is not over soon, I think I might drown myself in that horribly o
stentatious bathtub."

  Ryan laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He walked over to one of the sofas and turned, gesturing for her to take the other one. "Want to work a little?"

  "On what? We've covered everything time and again."

  He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. "A break on the earring. Things are looking up. Joe called while you were getting dressed."

  "I didn't hear the phone." Excitement gleamed in her eyes. She hurried over and sat down, leaning forward, her hands clasped on her knees. "What? Give!"

  He sat back, resting his arms along the top of the sofa, and crossed one ankle over his knee. "Hand cream."

  She frowned. "Explain."

  "Franz located a film of hand cream on the earring. Whoever wore it also wielded the statuette, which also bore traces. You found a bona fide clue."

  "All right! Now we've got her!" She couldn't seem to sit still.

  "Well, at least we're fairly sure it's a her. Impossible to tell which brand of hand cream, since so many contain the same basic ingredients. The traces weren't enough to identify it exactly."

  "Even so, it's enough to tie the two objects together as being handled by the same person, right?"

  "Absolutely," he agreed, thoroughly enjoying the way her cheeks pinkened with enthusiasm. "Now if we can get a description from Princess Samira on the woman Desmond was seen with in the guesthouse days before he was killed, we might have ourselves a genuine suspect."

  He watched her expression fade from enthusiastic to thoughtful. "I guess we'll be wrapping this up soon, then, won't we?"

  Ryan wasn't quite as convinced of that as she was. "Let's not start counting chickens. Might jinx us."

  Her smile returned full force. "Superstitious, McDonough?"

  "Maybe. Celtic background and all that. It's fairly latent, though. I walk under ladders and pet black cats."

  She gave a rushed little chuckle. "To stay on the safe side, let's not break any mirrors."

  A sudden vision flashed in his mind. Mirrors shattered, windows broken, glass shards everywhere. So much glass. Devastation. He almost strangled, trying to breathe.

  "Ryan, what is it? What's the matter?"

  He felt her hands on him. One patting his face, forcefully. The other grasping his shoulder, shaking. "Sorry," he gasped, willing himself back to the present.

  She knelt next to him, her fingers now clutching his arms. "Tell me what's wrong."

  "Nothing," he said, swallowing hard, then sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Flashback, I guess."

  "To what?" she asked softly.

  He couldn't look at her. And he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her. "Bad case. A long time ago." He pushed her aside and got up. "Excuse me."

  Carefully keeping his stride unhurried so she wouldn't know he was running like hell, he left her kneeling beside the sofa.

  He closed the door to the bedroom, went into the bathroom, locked that one behind him and leaned back against it. He closed his eyes, tried to force his mind to grasp at anything that didn't matter.

  This would subside, Ryan told himself. Sure enough, the image in his mind quickly faded as it usually did, but the horror of it took longer. It would never leave him completely, even now that he was finally willing to let it go.

  Chapter 10

  Nina banged on the bathroom door with both fists. "Ryan? Ryan, open the door! Are you sick?"

  To hell with his privacy. The man had looked as though someone'd hit him square in the stomach with a wrecking ball. "I'm calling someone to break this thing down if you don't—"

  The door opened and she stumbled inside. He caught her in his arms just as her nose bumped his chest. Pushing away as soon as she got her balance, she searched his face, reached up to touch it. "Ryan..."

  He snatched her hand down, placed it at her side and let go immediately. "Did you know you are the single most irritating woman I have ever met in my life?" he said through gritted teeth.

  She nodded, slid her arms around his waist and hugged him, laying her face against his soft knit shirt and holding him as tightly as she could. "You scared me," she whispered.

  "Let go, Nina," he ordered, but he didn't remove her arms. His were hanging loose at his sides and he was very still.

  Slowly, she withdrew and backed up a step. "Sorry."

  " Okay." He was deliberately avoiding her eyes. " Look, just forget about it. Do me a favor and don' t push."

  For a moment, she studied him. His breathing was controlled, but shallow. He looked pale despite his tan, but he seemed to be regaining his composure.

  "After what your father said, all sorts of things went through my mind," she said honestly, then worried that maybe she shouldn't have been quite that candid.

  He brushed past her and into his bedroom, turning his back on her as he opened the double doors of the massive wardrobe. "Nina, I am not going to discuss this. I have the interview in about half an hour and I need to change."

  "Red tie, the one with the gray stripes," she suggested, knowing the former subject was closed and that he badly needed to get his mind off of whatever it was.

  He snatched the tie off the rack that held a dozen more and tossed it onto the bed. His movements less than graceful, he yanked out his charcoal suit and threw it after the tie. It landed in a heap. Nina walked over and straightened it while he searched for a shirt.

  Turning with a light yellow oxford cloth hooked on one finger, he glared at her. "I can dress myself, thank you very much."

  She shook her head. "But not in that shirt, please. The powder blue, I think."

  His eyes widened and his mouth firmed. He was close to hyperventilating. "Will you please get the hell out of my room!"

  At least he wasn't pale any longer. "I'm going."

  She took her time, but she left. It was hard to leave him there. Would he lapse back into whatever had caused that flashback? What had triggered it anyway? One minute he was fine, even smiling, then the next...

  They had been talking, or rather, she had. Was is something she'd said? Nina tried to think back, but the incident had made her forget exactly what they were discussing when it happened.

  She had to face the fact that she might never find out. When all this was over, probably very soon now, a plane would carry her back to her old life and he would go back to his. Working long hours, obsessed with his job, suffering these spells brought on by some gruesome incident in his past. And she would never know about it.

  Who would bang on his door then and make him angry enough to forget? Who would hold him when he so badly needed to be held he didn't dare admit it?

  Oh God, she was in love with him. Neck-deep in love. Probably way over her head in love. It was too late to avoid it. And the man had more baggage than an international airport in the middle tourist season. She could really pick 'em.

  He came out of the bedroom straightening his tie. She noticed he had on the blue shirt. It made her smile. "That blue looks good with your eyes," she said, just because it did.

  "Thanks," he muttered, then cleared his throat. "I know you're not going to like this, but I'll have to ask you to wait in the bedroom when they get here."

  She gave a cough of disbelief, then protested. "Why?"

  "Princess Samira will probably be more open to questions if Desmond's sister's not sitting here listening to every word she says about him. That's why."

  "But—"

  "No buts." He smoothed down his tie and straightened his jacket. "I'm running this investigation and I get to make the rules. Your brother and this woman were lovers, I think. And they did not part friends. Meeting you would be awkward for her. So scat."

  He did have a point, she supposed. Though she had wanted to meet the princess and her bodyguard husband. It would have been something more to tell her grandchildren. If she ever had any, which did not look very promising at the moment. Obediently, she started for her room.

  "Good luck," she said, almost wishing he wouldn't find out anything. She
needed more time to work all this out in her mind before she had to leave.

  Sadly, solving Desmond's murder had sunk another notch on her list of priorities. After all, it wasn't as though the person who killed him was a mass murderer or anything. She hoped.

  Ryan agreed the most likely scenario was that Des had made some woman furious and she had crowned him. If the statue had hit an inch or so off the mark, Desmond might even have retaliated. Not that Nina had ever witnessed his being violent, but she remembered that he had been in trouble for fighting during his troubled youth. Poor Des, who had never fit in and now never would.

  She should recommit herself to her initial reason for coming and try to ignore her own dilemma for the time being. If worse came to worst, she could prolong her stay after things were settled and see how things with Ryan would work out. It would be foolish anyway to pursue it now with emotions running so high. Maybe she only thought she was in love.

  It might even be some sort of syndrome where she fell for the guy in charge. Patients often experienced that with doctors, didn't they? Students with teachers? Hostages with their captors? The last thought made her wince. Right now, that felt closer to the true situation than the other examples.

  She heard the door chimes and glanced at her watch. The princess and her husband were here already. Early. If only she had left the door open a crack, she could have peeked. But she could still listen! Grabbing the water glass from her night table, Nina kicked off her shoes and went over to the door.

  Carefully, she positioned the glass against the wooden panel and placed her ear just so. Hey, it always worked in the movies, she thought, wondering if it actually would in real life.

  A smile crept across her face and she shivered with success. The princess was speaking now, replying to Ryan's greeting. Though her words were soft, they were mostly audible. What a charming accent she had.

  Ryan must have seated the couple already. They were obviously closer to her bedroom door than when they'd first entered. Just let that rascal Ryan try to edit this little chat. Now she could hear every word.