by Lyn Stone
The dead guy wasn't prime talent. In fact, he must be the scraping off the bottom of the barrel when it came to hired killers. Ryan figured this meant two things. First, whoever was calling the shots didn't have good contacts here, or very much money. And second, Nina would be safe if she left the country. It would take both money and resources to find her. Even more to do something about it.
Most likely Desmond Caruso had been up to no good, mixed up with some unsavory element here in Montebello. God only knew what that was. But someone, some woman, obviously considered Nina a threat.
Detective Andreas entered the room wearing a smile. "We have identified the man you killed," he said, beaming.
Ryan sighed and shoved the paper toward Andreas's end of the table. "I didn't kill him."
"A matter of semantics. The two of you struggled. The man died."
"I told you, the idiot shot himself trying to get the weapon out of his pants," Ryan snapped. "You arresting me or what?"
"No, no, of course not," Andreas insisted, picking up the statement and eyeing it with a smile. "This fellow was wanted for several other offenses. We probably should thank you."
"I did not shoot him," Ryan insisted. "I was unarmed."
"Yes, we know." Andreas smiled even wider and gestured toward the door. "You may go."
For a second, Ryan thought he had misunderstood. "Go?"
"Certainly. Only I would ask you not to leave the island just yet. We might need more information from you."
"You've got all I know. The man tried to kill Nina Caruso. At least twice. It's all right there," Ryan said, pointing to the account he had just written. A recap of the truth that he had told a number of times since entering the interrogation room. He stood and headed for the door. "I'm going back to the hospital, just so you'll know."
Andreas followed him out, practically swaggering. "Certainly. We will go with you."
"Just give me a ride to my apartment so I can get my car."
"My partner and I will accompany you. I insist."
Ryan's patience was almost gone, but he made the effort to be polite. "Suit yourself."
The ride back to the hospital was silent, the two officers in the front seat watchful as the police car worked its way through the heavy traffic.
Andreas had not come with them after all. The fact that two uniforms, armed to the teeth, were along meant that someone had ordered Ryan protected. Lorenzo, probably. Andreas had called the duke's office immediately at Ryan's insistence.
The cops flanked him going into the hospital and all the way up to Intensive Care. At the desk outside the closed unit, Ryan asked to see Nina. There were no guards around. Nobody but a couple of nurses.
"She is not here," one of the nurses informed him.
"Could I have the number of her room?" Ryan asked, relieved. They had moved her to the private room already. That meant he could stay with her.
The woman hesitated, then said, "Sir, she is no longer within the hospital."
"Then where the hell is she?" he demanded.
"Gone, sir. I do not know where. The men who were waiting about here and some others who arrived took her down in the service elevator."
Ryan grabbed the phone and punched in the duke's number. This was Lorenzo's doing, he knew it. The woman who answered put him on hold and left him there. He slammed down the receiver and rushed back the way he had come. The cops followed.
He knew exactly where they had taken Nina, at least initially. "I have to get to the airport," Ryan snapped.
In all fairness, he had to admit it was a good move to get her away this soon. She needed to be out of here before some other goon went after her. This way, she'd be in the air before anyone knew she was gone, and her destination would remain a secret.
Ryan just couldn't get his mind around her leaving without some kind of goodbye. He would never see her again. That thought brought a rush of something like panic inside him.
"No, no. It's best," he muttered under his breath. He said it again to try to banish his unreasonable anger. Nina had been snatched out of his grasp, out of his life, without so much as a wave.
He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes and fought for control. It would be stupid to arrive at the airport and deck the duke before he said hello. Damn Lorenzo.
That was the reason he'd been held at the station and grilled for so long. Lorenzo had ordered it.
Ryan and Nina had been joined at the hip ever since the day she'd arrived in Montebello. Wherever he had gone, she'd been right with him. Anyone looking for her would certainly look for him to find her. Yes, it had been smart for Lorenzo to get Nina to safety before whoever hired that gun found someone to replace him. Ryan couldn't argue with that.
"Turn around," he ordered the cop at the wheel. "I've changed my mind. Take me home."
The dark gaze of the driver met his in the rearview mirror. "Are you certain, sir?"
"Yeah," Ryan muttered. He would arrive too late to catch Nina anyway. The police would not have released him unless Lorenzo gave the okay, and he wouldn't have done that unless Nina was already off the ground.
"Might as well do something constructive," he said, ore or less to himself. He would get in touch with Lorenzo, find out for certain where Nina had gone, then try to get some work done. He would drive back to the police station, upstairs to the lab, see if Franz had found any new developments since this morning.
Back to square one, nothing left but the job. He hadn't really gained much ground in square two anyway. Nina was better off. Safe now. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? What he had wanted all along.
So he loved her. Big deal. Love sure didn't equal happiness. He should have learned that a long time ago. He had really, but he'd been stupid enough to forget it for a while.
Now he could get somewhere, devote his full attention to the case and not have to worry about her every damned minute of the day and night. Wouldn't even have to think about her.
He would just take a minute, thank God she wasn't lying in the morgue now, and then get on with what was left of his life. At least she hadn't left him with nightmares.
* * *
Nina lay in the rear section of the Gulfstream jet. Never in her life had she seen such incredible luxury on a plane. Everywhere there was exotic wood, rich fabrics and butter-soft leather. Appointments for a king and his royal entourage.
Ryan would probably call this tacky, too, as he had the hotel. The thought brought tears to her eyes, but she smiled in spite of them and tried to divert her mind.
The cabin was divided into three areas. She had been placed aft and left alone, ostensibly to give her quiet time for recovery. She occupied the sofa, which was large enough to qualify as a bed. The carpets were so thick she probably could have rested comfortably on the floor. There were two club chairs in front of the sofa where she lay, one holding a bag of toiletries and makeup someone had brought for her.
She had been able to shower and change in the spacious lavatory. Thankfully, someone had brought clothes for her to replace the flimsy gown she had worn when they brought her from the hospital. The clothes weren't hers. Though she dressed well, she had never dressed quite this well. The loose-fitting, pale yellow raw-silk pantsuit was obviously hand-tailored, as was the silk underwear. The designer shoes were an exact match for the outfit. Her size, too.
While she liked to imagine she was dressed in one of the princesses' ensembles, she realized the clothing was new, probably purchased immediately before the flight. A weekender packed with similar garments had been provided. She wondered who had shopped for her.
She had to admit she'd hoped that Ryan would appear before takeoff. But he hadn't come. Hadn't even sent a message by anyone. He must have taken her at her word when she'd ordered him to go find the man who had pushed her. With that one-track mind of his, he probably didn't even realize she was gone yet.
The three guards who accompanied her were Americans, one of them a woman. They had left her to go forward where th
ere was another seating area with tables. She could hear muted conversation and the vague clinking of silverware.
One of the guys had a Brooklyn accent, the other man and the woman were obviously from somewhere in the South. All looked extremely capable as bodyguards, and from the bulges beneath their suit jackets, she could tell they were armed.
Nina had refused anything to eat. Hunger was the last thing on her mind. Her head still ached and worry wasn't helping. Now that she'd had a nap, a shower and had gotten over the surprise rush from the hospital to the plane, she needed to assert herself here.
No one had told her their destination yet. The duke had overseen her removal from the hospital, ignored her questions and simply told her that she need not fear. Ha. Who wouldn't be apprehensive, flying God only knew how high in this airborne palace, with no idea where it would set down?
The female agent named Martha who had assisted her in showering and dressing hadn't said anything about where they would land, either. But then, Nina hadn't asked. They had treated her like an injured child, and Nina was embarrassed to admit she had acted like one. That fall must have shaken her more than she'd thought.
What worried her most right now was what she would do once they landed. Where would she be and would she know anyone at all there? How soon could she safely resume her old life? And how would she ever forget Ryan McDonough?
She never would, of course. Not in a million years. But she would have to put their relationship—if she could call it that—in some sort of perspective in order to get on with things.
"Please don't let this plane land in Savannah," she whispered to herself. Nina didn't think she could deal with the hope that Ryan might suddenly decide to come home while she was there. That she might see him again. He'd made it clear that wouldn't happen.
Nina sniffed, grabbed a tissue from the box on the handsomely carved table beside the chair, let herself cry. Five minutes, she told herself. Five minutes was all she could afford to spare for this wave of disappointment or self-pity or whatever it was that made her heart feel cracked in two. Then she would get up, wash her face, comb her hair and join the others.
She might not like the information she got, but she definitely meant to demand it anyway.
* * *
The flight was a long one and they put down in Savannah, after all. They were staying at a hotel near the airport. Nina was glad she'd insisted on a room to herself. The guard, Martha Baxter, didn't seem offended. She simply arranged for an adjoining room.
Martha informed her that King Marcus apparently had an excellent security force at the plant he owned locally. They were coordinating with several of the people who worked for that company to serve as Nina's temporary protectors. The three embassy guards were to transfer her care to them this afternoon and fly back to Montebello in the morning. The new guys supposedly were taking her to a safe house.
Nina resented that, but was resigned to added weeks of seclusion—this time without the benefit of having Ryan around. She took a shower, changed into one of the casual outfits someone had bought for her and flipped on the television for the early morning news.
She was idly thumbing through a magazine with pictures of Savannah's tourist sites, wishing she could see some of them, when the name McDonough jumped out from one of the advertisements. Custom-made boats. Small craft. Call William McDonough. Ryan once mentioned his dad making boats. She smiled at the simple, straightforward ad.
If this was Ryan's dad, she wished she could call and reassure him that his son was perfectly all right and that she knew firsthand that Ryan had absolutely no intention of doing anything foolish. The man must have been a worried wreck when he'd phoned Joe Braca to see whether Ryan had been about to kill himself.
Martha had warned her not to contact anyone she knew, but Nina rationalized. She didn't actually know Bill McDonough. What could it hurt? Nina looked at the phone. It wouldn't do to call from her room. But she could sneak downstairs to a pay phone.
By the time she had and was dialing the number, an idea had formed. What if she disappeared and arranged for her own safe house? If no one knew where she was, including the king's people, she would be just as safe as she would be hidden away in a place where they'd give her no freedom at all. Heck, she could buy a straw hat and sunglasses and roam around Savannah all she liked. And after she'd seen the sights, she would be free to leave.
The ringing stopped. "Hello," a woman answered.
"Is the William McDonough at this number the father of Ryan McDonough?" Nina asked politely.
"Yes, is something wrong? Is Ryan all right?" the woman asked urgently.
"He's fine. I'm a friend of his who just flew back from Montebello. I thought I would call and give his dad a firsthand account of how well Ryan's doing. I know he was worried about him."
An audible sigh of relief. "Hold on. I'll get him."
"This is Bill McDonough," said a deep voice that sounded very like Ryan. "You know our boy?"
Nina laughed just thinking about anyone calling Ryan a boy. He was all man. She could certainly attest to that. "I know him very well, Mr. McDonough."
"Trish said you just flew in. If you've got time for a visit, I can run right out there to the airport and pick you up."
"I'm at a hotel by the airport. Why don't I take a taxi?"
"Nothing doing. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Which hotel?"
She told him. "I'll meet you out front," she said. "I'll be wearing a brown pantsuit, carrying a large tan shoulder bag."
"Look for a white Chevy pickup," he told her with a chuckle, "and an old gray-headed guy in a red shirt." He sounded excited. Nina wondered if he'd still be thrilled when she asked him for a huge favor. She looked at her watch, double-checked it with the time on the clock in the lobby and then hurried back upstairs. She had to decide what to take with her when she made her escape.
* * *
It had been three days since Nina disappeared from the hospital. Ryan knew he was in no position to storm Lorenzo's office, but he wanted to. His frustration and worry had just about reached the breaking point. No one would give him any clue as to where Nina had been sent, who was protecting her or when he could expect to find out anything. Just like witness protection back in the States.
Silence on the matter was absolute and no one in authority would see him, either at the palace or the American Embassy.
He had phoned his contacts in Savannah only to find they had been waiting to hear from him about the woman he was sending there for protection. The call to her office in La Jolla proved just as fruitless. No one there had heard from her since she'd left for Montebello. They said she had taken six weeks of vacation time and they didn't expect her back for two more.
Computer checks determined she hadn't used her plastic to pay for anything, and Ryan knew she didn't have much cash. He had checked her purse and luggage the night of the fire. Someone was looking after her every need. King's orders, of course.
Dammit, where the hell was she?
Between phone calls he had tried to immerse himself in the case to see whether he could arrive at any new conclusions.
He sat in his office now, files and evidence reports spread out across his desk along with his own scribbled notes and photos of two dead men. Desmond Caruso and Ankri Topoli, alias Jean-Paul Trignant, the man who had been hired to kill Nina. Andreas had been very cooperative when Ryan had asked for Topoli's police record. He was small potatoes, just like Ryan had figured.
The phone rang, interrupting Ryan's ruminations. He picked it up, expecting it to be Joe, who was running down the list of Topoli's known associates. "McDonough," he answered absently.
"You rang?" asked a deep voice.
Lorenzo. Ryan sat up straight and slapped down the photo he was holding. "About every hour on the hour,"Ryan snapped. "Where is she?"
"Leave that to me. You have enough to do."
Ryan took a deep breath, struggling to control his temper. "Okay, look. I agree it shouldn't
be common knowledge, but my phone's not tapped. No one's listening. Tell me where the hell you took her!" Despite his attempt to rein in his anger, it was about to get away from him.
"Is there any progress on your end?" Lorenzo asked, his tone brisk and businesslike as he ignored Ryan's demand.
Ryan bit his tongue. Coming off like a raving lunatic wouldn't persuade Lorenzo to tell him anything. Probably nothing would. He might as well play it cool and hope the duke would let something slip in conversation.
With that in mind, he answered. "We've been going over Topoli's bank and phone records. He made a deposit this week. Not a fortune, but more than he was used to getting, judging by former deposits. He received two calls earlier, both from public phones here in San Sebastian. I don't think he was responsible for the fire or the break-in at Nina's apartment. He was probably hired after those incidents took place. You got anything new on that or the case?"
"My people have zeroed in on the access to the guesthouse angle, both for the murder and the fire. Though you have already interviewed the guards on duty, we are taking it further, reviewing background investigations used for hiring. In essence, running them again in much greater detail."
"Include their social lives, would you?" Ryan suggested.
"Of course. If anything turns up, you'll know."
"Thanks. Now about Nina..." Ryan said. 'You've talked with her?"
The short silence was telling enough without words.
"Dammit, man, how do you know she's okay if you aren't in contact?" Ryan barked.
"I promise I will get back to you soon," Lorenzo said evasively.
Ryan slammed down the receiver. He couldn't stand this much longer. He would have to go and find her. The thought brought him up short. No, he couldn't even think about doing that. She was fine, wherever she was. No reason to think she wasn't. If he had this much trouble locating her, surely no one else could.
But had that head injury of hers gotten better or worse? Was she alone among strangers? Did she miss him as much as he missed her?
