A Royal Murder

by Lyn Stone

  Ryan pushed the intercom button and spoke to their driver and the two guards riding with them. "Paolo, you stay with the car. Arletti, Sergio, we surround her. Nobody gets close. Got that?"

  They exited the vehicle. Ryan took point, leaving Arletti and Sergio to flank Nina. The swarm descended on them almost before they reached the steps and moved up just ahead and to either side of them, firing questions in English and Italian, bumping and shoving, juggling microphones and cameras.

  "Ms. Caruso... Ms. Caruso! What about the threat to the king? Is it a terrorist plot?"

  "Is it related to the troubles with Tamir?"

  "Have you any word on your brother's murderer, Nina?"

  "Is the threat to Prince Lucas? Will the coronation go as planned?"

  The noise was deafening, the camera flashes blinding. Ryan fought his way through, cursing, feeling the tug of Nina's grip on the hem of his jacket.

  Suddenly she let go. Ryan whirled just in time to see her tumble. Arletti was on his knees, in Ryan's way, scrabbling to prevent his own fall. Ryan's eye registered just for a split second, a man's face, a face that held no surprise, no eagerness for a story, only satisfaction. Ryan batted him aside, leaped over the guard, flew down the steps and reached Nina.

  She lay sprawled about two-thirds of the way down. Knowing she would be trampled in seconds, he scooped her up and headed for the limousine, praying she had no injury he might be compounding.

  "Go, go!" he ordered, motioning for Paolo to get them away from the locusts about to cover the car. He couldn't see Arletti. Sergio was running interference, blocking the advance the best he could, but he was only one man. Ryan shouted, "Floor it, Paolo! The hospital! Call ahead!" Tires screeched as the limo leaped forward.

  Nina stirred then. She lay on her back on the seat where he had placed her. Ryan was on his knees beside her in the spacious floorboard. She tried to sit up.

  "Be still," he ordered, placing his open hand over her middle. "Don't move!" She would be numb, almost surely in shock. He ran his hands over her lightly, checking for protruding bones and bleeding. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

  Her laugh was thin, breathless, nearly hysterical. "Kidding, right?"

  "Shh. I'm sorry. God, I am so sorry." He looked carefully at her face for the first time and saw the reddened skin and goose egg rising at her hairline on her forehead. "God, Nina," he rasped, resisting the need to grab her close and hold her. Fingers trembling, he gently brushed back her hair. A straight purple-red imprint cut directly through the bruise that was darkening even as he watched. "Your head hit the corner of a step."

  "Several steps, I think," she gasped and reached up to touch it. Ryan took her hand away and held on to it. "Try not to move now. Just be still." He had to get calm. Think rationally. He sucked in a deep breath, blew it out forcefully and unclenched his eyes. "Okay." He patted her hand, then checked her pulse. It raced, just as his was doing. Respi ration was shallow. "You're shocky. But you'll be all right. I promise." She had to be. She had to be.

  He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it over her. "Now then, listen to me, Nina. Can you wiggle your toes a little?" She had lost one of her shoes in the fall. He yanked off the other one and waited. "Wiggle your damned toes!" he shouted, frowning at her.

  She had passed out. He cursed, foully and creatively, wishing he could get his hands around the neck of the son of a bitch who'd pushed her.

  The face he had seen immediately afterward flashed through his mind. "I've got him, hon," he growled under his breath as he held Nina's hand, his finger on the pulse at her wrist. "I knowhim now."

  For the time being, he put thoughts of retribution aside and kept watch over Nina. The short ride to the hospital seemed like hours. The emergency room crew took over and ordered him to the waiting room. He ignored them.

  He followed her gurney up to X-ray, never letting her out of his sight. Only after they had her situated in Intensive Care and the doctor asked to speak with him, did Ryan leave her side. A nurse was with her, once again checking her vital signs.

  "Does she have family here?" the doctor asked when they were outside in the hallway.

  "No family. I'm her..." What was he? He had to say something. "I'm her, uh, significant other." For now, anyway.

  The doctor frowned. "Lover?"

  "We're not married... yet," Ryan added, hoping that would be sufficient to override doctor-patient confidentiality.

  "But she is not—"

  "Dammit, tell me how bad this is! She's got no one else. I'm the one who cares about her, okay? Give it to me straight."

  The doctor shrugged and sighed. "She has a concussion. Though no bones were broken, she has severe bruising to most of her body. We'll have to keep her here under close observation."

  "How long?" Ryan asked.

  "I cannot say. The head injury rendered her unconscious and we must wait until she wakes to assess—"

  "She was conscious," Ryan interrupted. "She spoke to me in the car. Made sense, too."

  "Ah, good. That is very reassuring," the doctor said with a smile. "Then I expect she will come around soon and we can move her to a regular room. Only when she wakes again will I be able to evaluate and suggest a possible time for her release. We might need more tests and she will certainly need our care. So she must stay for now."

  "Oh, I wanther to stay. And I'm staying with her!"

  The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. "I regret that will be impossible, sir. Once she is moved to a private room, then perhaps."

  "But you don't understand, doctor. Someone's trying to kill this woman and today's not the first time. That danger'sjust as great as any of her present injuries. No, greater. I'll have King Marcus call and verify this if you don't believe me."

  That got his attention. "The king?"

  "Yes. Ms. Caruso is half sister to the king's nephew, the one who was murdered."

  The doctor's dark eyes widened. "Ah, yes. Caruso. I saw the article in the news when she arrived. I did not make the connection."

  He worried his chin with the tips of his fingers for a minute, then came to a decision. "Then she must stay in this unit. It is more isolated," he added by way of explanation. "Why not have guards stationed outside the doors to screen everyone who enters?"

  "I can do that," Ryan said, "but I don't want to leave her."

  "No one likes to leave a loved one when they are hurt, but I assure you, she will not be alone. And you may wait beside her door if you wish."

  The nurse came to the door. "Dr. Ponti, she is awake and asking for someone."

  "Me," Ryan declared, worry and impatience overruling politeness, rules and anything else that got in his way. He pushed past the nurse. "Nina?"

  She reached one hand out to him and he grasped it, bringing it to his lips as he leaned against the side rails of her bed. "Oh, baby, you scared the life out of me! Thank God you're okay."

  "I was pushed," she said, her voice a mere whisper. However, she sounded more as if she didn't want anyone to overhear than weak from her injuries.

  "I know," he told her. "Don't you worry. I saw his face. I'll get him."

  "You do that," she said, squinting against the light. "And do it now, would you?"

  The doctor had followed Ryan in and was looking at him pointedly.

  Ryan kissed her hand again and placed it on the bed beside her. "I will. Let me get somebody up here to stand sentry and that bastard's toast before the day's out. You've got my word on it, Nina."

  She closed her eyes. "Always get your man, don't you?"

  "Always," he assured her, then winced when she turned away.

  "Well, go!" the doctor urged. "We have work to do here and you are a hindrance at the moment." He smiled to temper the order. "She will be fine."

  Ryan nodded, scribbled down his cell-phone number and tucked it into the breast pocket of the doctor's white coat. "You call me if she needs me. For anything."

  After a final prolonged look at Nina, he left her room to make his cal
l to Lorenzo.

  A half hour later, leaving Nina under heavier guard than the crown jewels, Ryan went downstairs. On the way, he removed his suit coat and tie and rolled up his sleeves. His whole shirt was wet with the cold sweat of adrenaline. No time to change, though. He was pretty sure he wouldn't have to go far or wait long to locate his prey.

  When he stepped off the elevators in the main entrance lobby, he noticed many of the reporters had followed and were hounding the staff at the counter there for information.

  He quickly ducked behind one of the decorative fluted columns that flanked the bank of elevators and watched.

  His gaze flew from face to face, estimating about fifteen people. It was hard to count when they were swarming. Most of the local press, he knew at least by sight, but there were some freelancers, the ghouls from all over the globe who hounded celebs and the royals. But he didn't see the man he was looking for among them. Not yet.

  Ryan waited. He knew if he were the one after Nina and had failed in this attempt, he would be right here, concealing himself in this bunch of scavengers. The perp would be here to discover her condition if nothing else. He would be hoping everyone who cared about Nina was too upset right now to be looking for him.

  There! Ryan suddenly recognized him. He had donned a brown cap and horn-rimmed glasses and was carrying a notebook of some kind. Rushing him was not a good idea. As soon as the rest of the pack saw Ryan, they would be on him like a bad case of hives. No way could he take the guy down in that crowd. Better to wait until they dispersed.

  He watched for a good five minutes, one arm propped against the column, still out of sight of anyone who did not approach the elevators. Ryan straightened when he saw the man edge away from the others and start to move in his direction.

  Carefully Ryan kept out of sight. His target drew closer then veered toward the double doors just past the matching column on the other side of the elevators. So he was going upstairs, probably to try for another shot at Nina. Perfect.

  Ryan waited until the doors opened and closed. Then he followed. When he entered the enclosed stairwell, he could hear the rapid scuff of footsteps just above, probably nearing the door to the first floor.

  Ryan wished he were armed, but had known better than to carry when he was visiting either the palace or the Embassy. That's what the damned guards were supposed to be for.

  He took the steps two at a time, knowing he couldn't muffle the sound of his hard-soled dress shoes. He flew, unable to hear the other man's progress for his own clatter. The door to the second floor was just closing softly on its pneumatic hinge as he reached it.

  Ryan halted for a second, listened, heard nothing on the stairs. He pulled the door open and rushed through just in time to see the elevator begin to slide shut. Damn! If he didn't get on the stick, the bastard would make it all the way up to ICU.

  He grabbed the elevator door just in time to stop its closing. And he smiled at the man inside. "Gotcha," he muttered.

  His quarry scrambled to get out. Ryan tackled, grappling to subdue while the man fought one-handed, clawing at Ryan's face and trying to bite, of all things.

  The doors closed while they scuffled and the elevator started up. Ryan reared back and clipped the guy on the chin just as a gunshot exploded, deafening within the small space.

  The man beneath him collapsed, the clawing hand now dormant, the other trapped beneath the body. Ryan reached under him, securing the wrist, knowing what it held. With his free hand, he felt for the pulse at the neck.

  "Help... me," the man gasped.

  "Tell me who hired you and I might think about it," Ryan growled. He couldn't hear a damned thing. "And talk loud!"

  "Please...."

  "Who, dammit? Who paid you?" He fisted his hand in the guy's shirtfront and gave him a shake. "You dick around with me, sheep-dip, and I'll kill you right now."

  "No name. Woman. The Am-Amer—"

  "American?" Ryan demanded, shaking him again when he didn't respond.

  The eyes were open, glazed now, the mouth slack.

  Well, damn. Ryan got off the guy and rolled him over. The bullet had entered just above the waist. A .22 caliber. Would have bounced around, maybe hit the heart. Something vital, anyway. He was dead.

  The doors opened and a woman screamed. Ryan sighed and tried to ignore the ringing in his ears. He had wanted the bastard dead pretty bad, but not like this. Not accidentally. And sure as hell not before he got more information out of him.

  He reached up and punched the button to keep the doors open until hospital security arrived. The screaming woman had run back toward the nurses' station. Ryan could hear a commotion down the hall now that his eardrums were recovering from the report of the gunshot.

  Quickly, using his handkerchief, Ryan fished for the guy's wallet and read the name and address on his license. He checked the amount of cash in the leather folder and returned it intact to the pocket where he'd found it.

  "Damn, damn, damn," he muttered, looking down at the lifeless thug sprawled on the floor, gun still clutched in his hand. Ryan hadn't touched that, even to remove it. The jerk was good and dead. He wanted no questions about whether the man had back-shot himself.

  Two uniforms appeared, weapons drawn. Not hospital employees, either. These were the real McCoy. He knew both of them, though not well. "Hey, Mylonas. Take care of this for me, would you? I'm here on royal orders. Got someone under protection up in ICU. This guy was trying to get to her."

  "Yes, we know about Ms. Caruso," Mylonas said with a curt nod. "We heard about the embassy incident. That's why we were here." He proceeded to pat Ryan down, checking for weapons.

  His partner, whose name Ryan couldn't recall, had immediately disarmed the dead guy, bagged the .22, and was now busy checking the body for signs of life. Ryan watched the second cop shake his head at Mylonas.

  "You must come with us to the station house, Mr. McDonough," Captain Mylonas said, sounding as official as he looked in his snappy green uniform. "Just a formality, to be sure."

  Officer Starch-butt did relent enough to offer a halfhearted smile as he took the cuffs off his belt and snapped one on Ryan's right wrist. "Sorry. Regulations, you see."

  "You're liking this way too much, but okay." Ryan knew the drill. He had hoped mentioning the royal orders thing would get him off the hook, at least for a couple of hours. Obviously not. "No problem," he said as the other cuff clicked shut behind his back.

  No real reason not to go peacefully without a fuss. Nina was safe for a while. Maybe for good. At least the bitch who had hired that misbegotten excuse for a human would need time to find another one like him. If she could. At least he'd confirmed it was a woman he was after. An American. Maybe. Or that last garbled word might have been a reference to the target. Nina.

  This perp was a small-time hood off the street. While it was true that professional hitters often used a cheap .22 caliber throwaway just like that one, Ryan imagined they generally dressed a lot better and had more than the price of lunch in their pockets. And any pro worth his salt knew how to fight. This one was broke, dressed like a wanna-be and fought like a girl.

  He winced at the politically incorrect thought. He also remembered that, unless he was way off the mark, some girl had taken out Desmond Caruso without much trouble. Nope, only a fool underestimated a female's abilities just because she was female.

  His hunch told him there was something bigger going on here than some frustrated bunny knocking the playboy upside the head in a fit of rage. If that was all there was to it, she would have hopped the next plane out of here and that would have been that.

  But she obviously hadn't. She had hired ol' Slick back there in the elevator to kill Nina and make it seem accidental. That fact right there, Ryan thought, threw up the red flag.

  It wasn't Nina's cousins, up to no good, greedy for any inheritance. That much Ryan had already determined. So the motive for all this had been narrowed down to two things now—hatred for all things named Car
uso, or fear of discovery. The first didn't make any sense. Desmond and Nina hadn't even known the same people since they were kids. That left fear.

  The means, obvious. Motive, probable enough to run with. All Ryan needed to do now was find out who had the opportunity. He would solve this one. Things finally were falling into place.

  If he didn't count personal things. He loved Nina Caruso. As surely as he was doomed to live without her, he loved her. Funny, that little epiphany should occur right now. Even more ironic that it didn't surprise him. The subconscious was a wonderful, awful thing sometimes in the crazy way it worked.

  Ryan barely paid attention as he was assisted into a police vehicle and hauled off to the station downstairs from the lab he'd helped set up himself. Instead his mind was now fully focused on the woman back at King Augustus Hospital in ICU.

  What if he told Nina exactly how he felt and asked her to come back to Montebello when all this was over? She had assured the king she wouldn't.

  There were bad memories for her here that must heavily outweigh any good ones she might have. Ryan certainly could identify with that. It was the bad memories of Savannah that kept him from ever going back there, that had sent him halfway around the world to live in circumstances as different as he could manage to find.

  Soon as she was feeling better and in a mood to talk it over, he would see what she thought about it. First, he had to finish up the investigation. She'd just have to understand why he couldn't let it go.

  Chapter 13

  Ryan chafed at delays. Patience was not his long suit anyway and especially not now, with Nina lying in the hospital. At least she wasn't in any immediate danger, he thought.

  He sat in one of the interrogation rooms, a place much like the ones he had used many times as a detective to question suspects and witnesses.

  They had brought him a soft drink and provided him a bandage to stick on the place where one of the perp's fingernails had cut into his chin. He pressed his sore knuckles against the cold can of soda and moved the paper on which he'd written his statement away from the circle of sweat left by the condensation.