"Hampshire 322," it said in a flat Midwestern tone. "Mayday Picadilly 114 . . . Midnight stat."
A nervous laugh rippled through her.
The laughter stopped abruptly, caught by her rising fear. No one else in the limo had even cracked a smile. Sweat popped out behind her neck and she clasped her hands together on her lap to keep them from shaking.
"Ryder, I –" She stopped when she realized he didn't even remember she existed.
My God, she thought. He doesn't even hear me. His fingers on the console were a blur as he punched in number after number, while Alistair recited a string of unconnected words into a microphone that uncoiled from the roof of the car like an oxygen mask on a 747.
She wished it were an oxygen mask because she was finding it hard to draw in a deep breath. The limo merged onto the Turnpike again and began racing back toward Manhattan at a clip approaching the speed of light. Suddenly all of her and Holland's half-baked suspicions about Ryder and Alistair seemed frighteningly close to reality.
For a woman who never cried, she was close to tears for the second time in as many days. Apparently Alistair recognized her panic because he reached over and patted her hand.
"We cannot let you go, you understand," he said in his cool and collected British voice. "I wish we could but it just is not possible."
"Where are we going?" she asked, looking directly at Ryder.
"Alas, I cannot tell you," Alistair answered. "Company policy, you know."
At that moment, Joanna didn't know anything at all. All she wanted was to escape. She grabbed for the door handle and tugged but the damned thing was locked – which was just as well, because jumping from a moving vehicle wasn't one of her more brilliant ideas.
Then she saw the revolver balanced on Ryder's thigh and suddenly she wasn't sure that a slow death was any better.
#
Next to him, Joanna was hyperventilating, and Ryder was torn between loyalty to PAX and his love for her. The Rolls was monitored by a sophisticated electronic surveillance system that could pick up a flea's whisper so he didn't dare risk even a partial explanation of what was happening.
From the code words he heard when the alarm came in, Ryder had a pretty good idea what was happening; a major crisis involving the royal family, one involving life and death.
Not that it came as any surprise.
Those warnings he'd ignored had been the first stage. If he hadn't turned his back on fifteen years of training, they might not now be racing for JFK and PAX's private Concorde.
If he hadn't turned his back, Joanna wouldn't be sitting next to him, her eyes wide with fear, wondering exactly what kind of bastard he really was.
He couldn't tell her exactly what was happening, but he could do something to alleviate her terror. He owed her that much.
Grabbing a piece of paper from the inlaid desktop adjacent to his seat, he scribbled, "Trust me, Jo. We're the good guys," and prayed that, just this once, she'd be able to put aside her suspicions and rely on blind faith.
Chapter Nineteen
The house was huge, cold and unbearably damp.
The icy chill from the North Atlantic whistled through the room where Joanna sat, waiting for Ryder or Alistair to tell her what on earth was going on.
They were on a small island, just off Cornwall, that much she knew even before she heard the unmistakable accent of the man who picked them up at the tiny airstrip.
Those massive cliffs rising above an iron-grey sea could be found no other place on earth.
Now she was seated before a stone fireplace, her wrists manacled to the arms of the chair, while Ryder, Alistair and four other men she'd never seen before huddled over the long table against the far wall and talked in a strange kind of verbal shorthand that bordered on a code.
Part of the code, however, was terrifyingly easy to understand.
The prince and princess of Wales were arriving that night for an unpublicized visit. Unfortunately, a terrorist organization had gotten wind of this trip and were threatening to blow up the children's hospital when the princess made her appearance the following afternoon.
All of the men in this room were looking toward Ryder for a solution.
This was no rich man's son, no run-of-the-mill private investigator. The offbeat, carefree man she'd met hid another man who was driven by deeper needs, higher goals. A man whose genius had taken him farther than most men could dream.
A man she could love for all time.
She hadn't been wrong about him; she hadn't been blinded by his beauty or deaf to the memories of past hurts that had pounded in her head every day since Eddie died. All these years of doubting her own judgment, of doubting her own self-worth were over.
She wasn't a woman like her mother, destined to make the wrong choice over and over again. She didn't need a man to be complete; she didn't need a husband to prove herself a woman of value.
She was Joanna Stratton, a thirty-two-year-old woman who had finally figured out exactly what she wanted out of life.
She wanted to share that life with Ryder O'Neal, because, short of paradise, she could imagine no greater joy.
Alistair outlined the impossibility of allowing the princess to actually visit the hospital the next day, and Joanna was reminded that there was still a terrifying reality to be dealt with before any of her fantasies could possibly come true.
"We cannot chance it," Alistair said, his cultured tones rising over the sound of the wind as it slammed against the rocks below the house. "The risk to her life is too great."
Ryder stood and leaned across the weathered oak table. "And what about the risk to everyone else? If we let them get away with it here, there's no place on earth that's safe." His voice was impassioned, and the other men fell silent before him. "The hospital is an enclosed position with easily defensible perimeters. If we're ever going to have a chance to nail those bastards, this is it."
"Impossible," a slender, dark-haired man with manicured fingernails said. "No grandstand plays in our district. I shan't allow it."
"Agreed," said the man with the shaggy grey beard and horn-rimmed glasses. "If you fail, O'Neal, it is we who bear the mark of shame."
What was the matter with these men that they couldn't see the wisdom of Ryder's plan? Risk was all; nothing valuable in life ever came easy.
Including love.
Where had her doubts and fears disappeared to? Any normal woman would be terrified, trapped somewhere on the Cornish coast with a man who'd turned out to be some kind of high-tech spy. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Joanna herself was wishing Ryder O'Neal were a high school teacher or a shoe salesman, someone upon whom she could depend.
Now she wondered how she could have been so narrow in her thinking, so fearful of the unknown. He was everything she'd ever wanted in a man and more, because he understood the meaning of the word, commitment, in a way few others could.
And even if she never saw him again once this adventure was over, even if her dreams of forever after proved no more than that, she'd never be sorry that, for a little while, she'd given him her heart.
"It is their decision, Ryder," Alistair said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "We must abide by it."
Ryder was a man possessed. "Terrific," he said, slamming his fist down on the tabletop. "And when we're through watching them destroy the royal family, we can sit back and watch them go for the President of the United States."
The bearded man chuckled nervously. "You Americans always manage to bring the facts back home, don't you?"
Her admiration soared as Ryder refused to give an inch. "Have you people lived with terrorism so long you've forgotten how to fight it?" he asked. "Damn it to hell! If we don't take a stand now, we'll all lose."
Joanna watched as Alistair placed a restraining hand on Ryder's forearm. "The stand cannot include risking the princess's life," he said. "The danger is too real; the loss would be too devastating."
Ryder wasn't in the mo
od, however, to listen to reason. "Doesn't anyone here understand a damned thing I'm saying? There is no risk. With my equipment, we can detect and defuse plastic explosives before they have a chance to be detonated."
He talked of nitrogen compounds and electrophilic properties and free electrons, and suddenly something clicked inside Joanna.
This was her chance to be part of something important, to finally take her skills and stretch her talent to the limit. This was her chance to sample what the future would be like with a man like Ryder O'Neal.
"I understand." Joanna's voice echoed in the cavernous room. "I understand and I think I can help."
The rest was up to him.
#
In his entire life, Ryder had never known a sweeter moment.
Joanna's words echoed throughout the room and inside his heart. It didn't matter that the other men, Alistair included, stared at her as if she'd just escaped from a psychiatric prison. He knew what it had cost her to volunteer, and in that moment he was lost forever.
Forget his notion of goodbye. Forget his plans to shield her from his uncertain life, to protect her from heartbreak the way he'd failed to protect Valerie a long, long time ago.
Forget everything but the incredible, towering rush of pleasure that buoyed him skyward as he realized he was about to share the deepest part of himself with the woman who had stolen both his heart and his soul.
Joanna Stratton had volunteered to call upon all of her skills in order to take the place of the princess of Wales and tour the children's hospital tomorrow. She would be putting her life right there on the line, relying on nothing more than her faith in Ryder to keep her safe.
No words of love, no secret music in the dark of the night could have better told him how she felt.
"Who is she?" protested John Chaney, adjusting the lapels on his suit. "Who brought that woman here?"
"Total insanity," muttered Leonard Williams, tugging on his beard as he stared across the room at Joanna, who managed to look regal even in handcuffs. "Just bring in the bobbies and rely on an old-fashioned show of strength."
Alistair Chambers, mentor and friend, said nothing. He poured himself another Scotch and sat back to watch the inevitable unfold. The fact that he'd completed work on the detection prototype wasn't the only secret Ryder had been keeping.
Ryder bent down in front of Joanna and unlocked the handcuffs. Those beautiful blue-green eyes of hers watched as he pressed his lips to her wrists, which bore red marks where the metal had dug into her flesh.
"If you say yes, there's no turning back."
Her gaze didn't waver. "I won't want to turn back."
"My prototype's never been tried. There's no guarantee."
A smile darted across her face, then disappeared. "I've learned that life doesn't come with guarantees."
"You're putting yourself in a hell of a lot of danger."
"I trust you," she said. "That's all I need to know."
Those words were words he had never thought to hear, words he had never thought himself worthy of. But he looked at her lovely and serious face and knew that she was incapable of anything less than the truth, incapable of giving him less than everything she had.
A man could spend a lifetime with a woman like that.
If things went well tomorrow, he intended to do exactly that.
Alistair's discreet cough snagged their attention.
"The brass will never believe you didn't have this planned," he said, looking from Ryder to Joanna and back again. "How convenient to have a woman of Ms. Stratton's technical skills at our disposal."
"The luck of the draw," Ryder said, forgetting the fact that he'd ignored PAX's warning signal.
"Fortunate timing," said Joanna.
"You realize that what happens here, dies here," Alistair said, focusing on Joanna."If you'll pardon the clumsy phraseology, once we leave Cornwall, it is as if this never happened.
Joanna's eyes were wide and innocent. "I have a terrible memory," she said sweetly. "It's a major flaw."
Alistair sighed, deep and long. "I don't suppose I can convince the two of you to take the easy way out, can I?"
Ryder looked toward Joanna. He wouldn't have blamed her if she decided to back out but, damned if she didn't meet Alistair's gaze head-on.
Ryder felt as if she'd lassoed the sun and moon and stars and laid them at his feet.
"Sorry," she said, her voice firm. "I'm in for the long haul."
Joanna Stratton, he thought, when this is over, I'm going to hold you to that.
#
Joanna had one shaky moment that afternoon when the princess of Wales and her entourage entered the makeshift studio where Joanna would be casting the life mask that would be the basis of her own transformation.
The princess was understandably tense; the effects of the threat of terrorism against her family showed in the circles beneath her cornflower-blue eyes and in the way she fiddled constantly with the sapphire and diamond band on her hand.
Joanna was rarely awed by celebrities of any kind, but royalty was an exception. Being this close to the most popular luminary of the twentieth century had her tongue-tied at first. Only the princess's genuine interest in Joanna and her craft eased Joanna's stage fright and got her back on track once again.
Now dress rehearsals were over and in a little more than two hours, Joanna would be taking center stage.
The latex mask, cast with the princess's own patrician features, was ready to be donned. The trademark blond wig rested on a stand near the makeup mirror. Joanna was already dressed in one of the princess's elegant red wool suits that a royal seamstress had quickly altered to accommodate Joanna's wider American shoulders and fuller breasts.
She touched the huge button earrings Ryder had given her. They were trendy and totally in keeping with the royal image. No one would suspect that they were the first line of defense in tracking down the terrorists.
She would never understand the manipulation of ions and sound waves that Ryder outlined to her when he explained the technology behind his invention; she didn't need to. All she needed to know was that the second she heard the low hum in her left ear, she was to signal Ryder, who would be acting as royal bodyguard, by adjusting the angle of her hat.
What happened after that was anyone's guess.
#
If Ryder didn't know the truth, he would think the princess of Wales had thought better of the idea, and decided to visit the St. Margaret Hospital for Children after all.
The transformation was that complete. The only clue that Joanna Stratton was hidden beneath the blond bob and the impeccable tailoring was the way she gripped his hand in the limo before they pulled up in front of the hospital.
However, the second they exited and faced the cheering crowd of islanders lining the paved walkway, Joanna was every inch the princess. The smile, the slight incline of the head, the wave – all were the patented property of the princess of Wales.
He would defy even the prince to tell the difference . . . at least from a respectful distance.
Joanna blinked rapidly and met Ryder's eyes for an instant. Alistair was probably broadcasting her final instructions through the tiny transmitter embedded in her earlobe, the same as his. It had taken Ryder six months to get used to this blatant invasion of privacy; Joanna acted as if she were born to the life.
Don't kid yourself, he thought. This was the glamorous part, the fun part. The part that made it hard to think of returning to real life.
Once they entered that hospital, Joanna's life was on the line. The terrorist group had contacted Buckingham Palace just two hours ago in response to Parliament's refusal to release the political prisoners demanded by the terrorists.
"She dies," the spokesman said. "And you cannot stop us."
If he had to go to hell and back, Ryder O'Neal would stop them.
Mrs. Penhaligon, head of the hospital, curtsied in front of Joanna. "My staff awaits your visit, Your Highness. This is the most exci
ting thing to ever happen here on St. Margaret."
Joanna smiled and Ryder swallowed down his fear and followed them into the hospital.
From your mouth to God's ear, Mrs. Penhaligon.
Chapter Twenty
Princesses don't sweat.
Any woman raised on a diet of fairy tales knew that for a fact.
However, at that moment Joanna would have bet her borrowed tiara that very few princesses could find themselves in a situation like this and not work up at least a ladylike glow.
She casually swept a hand beneath her blond bangs and caught the beads of perspiration that had worked their way out from under the heavy wig. During the past hour in the surgical ward of the children's hospital, Joanna had accepted twelve bouquets of flowers, six proposals of marriage and four invitations to stop round the cottage for dinner.
The people, adults and children alike, loved the princess of Wales with a love that bordered on devotion. Protocol was forgotten as small hands clutched at her skirt and larger hands reached out to clasp her own. She was a link to past glories and a bridge to future triumphs. What happened to her and her young family mattered.
Ryder's silent presence beside her, and the knowledge that he carried more firearms on his person than she'd ever seen in her entire life, seemed ludicrous. Certainly none of these open-faced, smiling people could be planning a mass murder.
"There is one more ward, Your Highness," said Alistair, looking over the head of Mrs. Penhaligon. His blue eyes were grave and steady. "I think you will enjoy the children."
Joanna nodded. One more ward. Five minutes, eight at most, and they'd be home free. She swallowed hard as they approached the room at the end of the hallway.
The pediatric ambulatory ward was crowded with children on crutches, in wheelchairs, sitting primly at maple play tables waiting for a glimpse of the princess.
Murals of Big Bird and Ernie grace one wall, proof that some truths were indeed universal. A fire snapped and crackled merrily in the grate, and Joanna could no more believe this room harbored danger than she could believe in the tooth fairy.
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