by Linda Turner
"We can only pray we get that lucky," he said dryly.
Grinning, she said, "I'd better go—I've got to meet the duke at the rental car office. Thanks again, Simon. I'll be in touch."
"Hey, who's paying for this?" he said quickly before she could hang up. "You didn't commit the paper to anything, did you?"
He suddenly sounded so worried that she couldn't resist stringing him along a little. "What do you think? I know how badly you want this story."
"Dammit, Red, don't do this to me!"
Laughing, she hung up.
* * *
She was still smiling when she reached the rental car office and found Lorenzo loading their luggage into the back of the Tahoe SUV he'd rented. "I thought we might need something rugged since we're going up into the mountains," he told her. "Were you able to talk to your boss?"
Grinning, she nodded. "He told me to take all the time I need."
"Good. Then let's go." Always the gentleman, he opened the passenger door for her, then stepped around the vehicle and slid behind the wheel. Starting the motor, he put it in gear, then arched a brow at her. "Willy lives north of here, correct? In Boulder?"
"That's right," she said as he pulled away from the curb. "Turn right at the signal light."
Without a word, he followed her directions, and within moments, they were on their way to Boulder. It seemed like she'd been traveling for a week, but as far as Eliza was concerned, they couldn't get there fast enough. There was, however, little point in hurrying. It was already late in the day. They'd have to wait until tomorrow to see Willy.
"When we get to Boulder, we might as well go ahead and get a motel for the night," she said as they left the city behind. "Willy doesn't like visitors after three, so I'll call him in the morning and set up a meeting for tomorrow."
"But it's early yet," Lorenzo replied with a scowl. "Surely he can see us today. I wanted to head up into the mountains tomorrow to the campsite where he found the scarf."
"You can't rush Willy, Your Grace," she replied. "He has his own rules when it comes to dealing with the outside world, and if we don't play by those rules, we can forget seeing him at all. I know it's frustrating, but it's his way or no way."
Frustrated didn't begin to describe what Lorenzo was feeling. It had been a full year since Prince Lucas's plane had gone down, and now that a new lead had surfaced that might eventually point to his whereabouts, he couldn't even check it out. The Prince's safety was in the hands of a crazy old mountain man who wouldn't cooperate until he was good and ready.
And then, there was Eliza. From the moment he'd found her wandering the halls at the palace, he'd somehow lost control of everything. He'd ordered her shown to the door, but she'd still managed to finagle her way in to see the king and queen. When he'd wanted to fly to Colorado to interrogate Willy himself, she'd dropped the bombshell that the hermit would only talk to her. Because it was the king's wish, Lorenzo had been forced to endure her company, and now she was trying to control the investigation itself!
He wouldn't have it, dammit! He was the head of Royal Intelligence, and he wasn't going to allow a gossip columnist, of all things, to control how and where and when he did his job. And what the devil kind of perfume was she wearing, anyway? The fresh, light scent of hers drifted through the confines of the SUV, teasing his senses, teasing him. He told himself he was just tired—they'd been traveling nonstop for hours and they could both use some rest and a break from each other—but he knew it was more than that. He wanted to ignore her and he couldn't, dammit! And he didn't like it.
"We need to get something straight," he growled as they reached the outskirts of Boulder. "This is my investigation, and I'll run it as I see fit. You're just along for the ride."
He watched her eyes narrow, but to her credit, she merely said, "You think so, do you?"
"You're damn straight I think so. I know so! You're obviously very good at your job, but you're just a reporter. You have no experience in investigating—"
"Really?" she challenged, irritation glinting in her eyes. "Would you care to make a bet on that?"
Something in her tone warned him she wasn't the type of woman who made a bet unless it was a sure thing, but it was too late for him to backpedal now. "So now you're telling me you worked in intelligence? Yeah, right!"
Color seeped into her cheeks. "No one said anything about intelligence, Your Grace. I believe we were speaking about experience in investigating, and when it comes to that, I could tell you things about your own family that you probably don't even know."
"Like what?"
"Well, let's see," she said, considering. "If I remember correctly, you have a cousin on your mother's side who was arrested in Portugal last year for shoplifting." When his eyes widened in surprise, she added, "Apparently, this isn't the first time she's deliberately walked out of a store without paying for the merchandise she stuffed in her purse, but it is the first time a merchant actually dared to press charges. It took some fast talking on your part and a very generous contribution to the merchant's retirement fund to convince him to forget this ever happened."
Her smile more than a little smug, she said, "So, what were you saying about me not having any experience in investigating, Your Grace?"
Swearing under his breath, Lorenzo couldn't help but wonder how she'd dug this all up. He would have sworn he'd buried it so deep, the story would never see the light of day again. "Where the hell did you get your information?" he demanded. "There was no police report, and the merchant signed a settlement agreeing to keep the matter quiet."
"And he kept his word," she replied with a sassy grin. "He wasn't my source. I don't reveal them."
Torn between irritation and more than a little admiration —dammit, how had she found out about cousin Louisa?—he warned himself he was going to have to watch himself with her. She was turning out to be far more interesting and intelligent than he'd anticipated. And it didn't help matters that she was so pretty. He'd always had a weakness for a woman with brains and looks, and he couldn't allow himself to think of her as anything other than a reporter.. .or he'd find himself in more trouble than cousin Louisa had last year in Portugal.
"Fine," he retorted. "Keep your sources to yourself. We both know this isn't about Portugal. The prince is obviously in trouble or he would have found a way to get in touch with the family by now. My objective is to find him—yours is to get the story. I don't have a problem with that. Just don't get in my way."
Eliza had no intention of doing that, but she wasn't going to stand around with in her hands in her pockets while he took charge and scared Willy off, either. Then they would lose the prince and the story!
"And just how am I getting in your way, Your Grace?" she asked archly. "Is it something I said? What I'm wearing? My hair?"
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"So it's not me, personally?"
"Of course not."
"Then there's no reason why we can't work together, is there?"
She'd neatly cornered him, and they both knew it. He scowled at her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to tell her exactly what he thought of her. Then a reluctant grin curled one corner of his mouth. "Very clever, Ms. Windmere. I can see right now that I'm going to have to watch myself around you."
"You certainly are," she agreed with twinkling eyes. "Don't underestimate me. You might live to regret it."
"I'll remember that," he promised. "And you'd be wise to do the same with me."
Blue eyes meeting green, they silently acknowledged mutual respect for each other's intelligence. It wasn't peace, but it was a start.
* * *
Eliza had often wondered what it must be like to be royal. She found out when Lorenzo pulled up before one of the most expensive hotels in town and flipped the keys to the valet. Before she knew it, she had her own private suite— with a Jaccuzi whirlpool and room service at her disposal— without Lorenzo even bothering to ask the price. He'd even tipped the bellboy to bring up
her small overnight bag.
If she hadn't been so exhausted, she might have enjoyed staying in the lap of luxury. As it was, all she needed was hot and cold running water and a bed. Peeling off her clothes, she stepped into the shower and washed the dirt from what felt like three continents from her body. Fifteen minutes later, she fell in bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Dead to the world, she didn't know anything until the next morning, when there was a loud banging at the door. Startled, she jumped awake, her heart pounding. "What in the world—"
"Eliza?! Dammit, open this door! I need to talk to you!"
Not what in the world, but who, she thought with a groan. What was wrong with the man? It was barely eight o'clock in the morning and they weren't supposed to meet in the lobby until nine-thirty since she couldn't get in touch with Willy until after ten. So what was so important that he had to talk to her now?
Muttering curses under her breath—she and the Duke were going to have to get a few things straight!—she rolled out of bed, grabbed her robe, and marched to the door. Her green eyes blazing, she jerked it open and glared at him. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Do you even care that you're waking up everybody on this floor? What is wrong with you?"
"I'll tell you what's wrong," he growled. Snapping open the morning paper, he held it up right in front of her nose. "This! You've got some explaining to do, lady. Where would you like to start?"
Her eyes on the bold headline spread across the front page of the morning edition of the Denver Sentinel, Eliza hardly heard him. Prince Lucas Alive! she read with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Duke And Reporter Follow New Leads In Search.
And there, right below the headlines, was a very flattering picture of Lorenzo.
Chapter 4
Well, hell," she sighed. This was just what they needed. They didn't have a clue what circumstances Prince Lucas was in or what was preventing him from getting in touch with his family, which was why the investigation had to be done quietly. And now with Lorenzo's picture splashed all over the paper, that was going to be impossible. "This is great. Just great."
And she knew exactly who to blame. Simon.
Oh, he'd claim he'd just picked up the story from the wire service, but she knew better. She'd been very careful to make sure that she'd told no one about the scarf except the royal family and Simon, and she'd bet the Pulitzer she one day hoped to win that the Sebastianis hadn't said a word to the press. They wanted their son back and they'd given her their word that she had an exclusive. They wouldn't have leaked the story.
That left only Simon. The crafty old buzzard had splashed the headline across the front page on purpose. When the prince's plane had first gone down, the story had been firmly lodged on the front page for weeks. But when there was nothing new to report, interest in the prince's disappearance had grown stale. It had been months since there'd been any coverage about the search, and the public had a short memory. Simon knew that. Eliza could make a zillion agreements with the Sebastianis, but he was in the business to sell newspapers. And he was making damn sure he did that by stirring up attention about the prince again before she'd even written her feature, let alone turned it in for publication.
The only problem was, by plastering Lorenzo's picture on the front page and letting the world know he was coming to the States to take up the search, he may have sabotaged the search before they'd even begun.
She was, Eliza decided, going to kill him. The only question was how. If he blew this exclusive for her, she swore she'd be satisfied with nothing less than boiling him in oil.
"Well?" Lorenzo said. "What have you got to say for yourself?"
What could she say? "I didn't know anything about this, Lorenzo. You have to believe me. Evidently my boss thought he needed to generate a little interest in the Prince again."
"A little interest?" he choked. "With four-inch headlines? Dammit, every paper in the country's going to pick this up! Do you know what kind of problems that's going to cause?"
"It won't be that bad," she began.
That was as far as she got. "The hell it won't! The search is supposed to be on the Q.T. I realize that in your world, that's probably not in your vocabulary, but this isn't about you. It's about the prince, and we don't have a clue where he is or what kind of danger he could be in. Which is why
I wanted to keep the search for him quiet. Now that we wouldn't even be able to look for the campsite where Willy found the scarf without every Tom, Dick and Harry dogging our steps!"
He was furious, and Eliza couldn't say she blamed him. Finding the prince after all this time was going to be difficult enough without God knows who interfering with the search. "I'll call Simon right now and chew him out," she promised. "This won't happen again."
Silently cursing Simon for putting her in this position, she quickly punched in the number to his direct line. The second he came on the line, she let him have it with both barrels. "You're a dirty rotten scoundrel, LaGree. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Now, Red, don't get your girdle in a twist—"
"I don't wear a girdle!"
"Aw, c'mon, you know what I mean," he said, wheedling. "You want your Pulitzer, don't you? How're you going to get it if you don't advertise?"
"This isn't advertising, dammit, it's sabotage! A man's life is at stake. A prince, for heaven's sake! From now on, don't you dare publish anything else about the prince. Understood?"
If anyone else but Simon had been her boss, she probably would have been fired right there on the spot for speaking to him so, but he was a big enough man to admit when he was in the wrong. "All right, all right," he grumbled. "Quit your crying. I won't give away any more information that will put the prince in danger."
"Yes! As long as you keep the duke's picture out of the paper. He's not the story here, Simon. The prince is."
"Don't be ridiculous," he chided. "Duke Lorenzo would have been named the next king if Willy Cranshaw hadn't found the scarf. And now he's out searching for the man he could have replaced. Talk about ironic—of course he's part of the story! The readers are going to love this!"
Eliza knew he was right—there was nothing readers loved more than a tragic tale of what might have been—but that was beside the point. "They can love it when the feature is published and without having the duke's picture splashed across the front page," she retorted. "I mean it, Simon. He's not as well known as the rest of the family, and he wants to keep it that way. I want your word that there'll be no more pictures."
For a moment, she thought he was going to argue, but he knew her well enough to know that she wasn't going to budge on this. "Okay," he sighed grudgingly. "No more pictures. I promise. Though I don't know what all the fuss is about," he muttered. "There wasn't any harm done."
"That's easy for you to say," she told him. "You're not standing where I am."
Hanging up, she turned to face Lorenzo. "For what it's worth, he promised. I should warn you, though, that Simon has printer's ink in his blood. He lives and dies for a headline, and if he thinks he's got a good one, he's going to print it."
It was the nature of the business, and they both knew it. "You did what you could," he acknowledged. "I can't ask for more than that."
"I'll do what I can to see that it doesn't happen again," she promised. "I have to check in with Simon on a regular basis, but I have no intention of telling him where we are or doing anything that will endanger the prince. This isn't just a headline for me, Lorenzo," she added quietly. "I know he's your cousin and you care about him, but a lot of other people do, too. I'm one of them."
There was no doubting her sincerity. His eyes searching hers, Lorenzo suddenly felt like a heel. From the moment he'd met her, he'd done nothing but give her a hard time. And he wasn't proud of that. Yes, she was after a story— what reporter wasn't?—but she wasn't one of those piranhas who sold her soul to the devil just to make the evening edition. If she had been, she wouldn't have cared less a
bout the morning headlines, and she certainly wouldn't have stood up to her boss the way she had.
"I'm sorry I woke you up," he said gruffly. "I was just so mad when I saw the paper that I didn't even look at the clock. I guess I dragged you out of bed."
Since she was dressed in her nightclothes and her hair was still tangled from sleep, that was obvious, but Lorenzo regretted bringing the subject up the second the words were out of his mouth. With a will of their own, his eyes skimmed the blue nightshirt and robe she wore and he couldn't help but notice how touchable she looked in the morning. Her skin was soft, her cheeks flushed, her mouth bare of lipstick—
Suddenly realizing where his thoughts and his eyes had wandered, he swore silently and took a quick step back. "I just remembered that I have some calls to make," he said, taking another step back. "I'll meet you in the lobby at nine-thirty, just as we planned. Okay? We can eat breakfast at the diner across the street, then go see Willy."
He was gone before she could say a word, rushing out of her room like a man with a train to catch. Puzzled, Eliza caught sight of herself in the mirror and didn't have time to wonder what had lit a fire under the duke. If she was going to be ready by nine-thirty, she had to get moving.
* * *
Eliza was still brushing her teeth when the bellhop arrived at nine-fifteen to collect her bag, and she had to laugh. Lorenzo was making damn sure she met him on time in the lobby. Hurriedly packing the last of her things in her bag, she gave it to the bellhop, checked the suite to make sure she hadn't left anything, then carried her satchel—complete with her computer—down to the lobby herself.
"Why didn't you let the bellhop carry that?" he asked with a frown as he took the bag from her and escorted her outside to where the valet had brought up their rental. "That's why I sent him up."
"That's my livelihood," she said simply. "I don't trust it to anyone I don't know."
