The Broken Prince (Royal Billionaires of Mondragón Book 3)

by Jewel Allen

  With that little thread of self-congratulations on her strong will, she waited a few more minutes. Dismay turned to irritation. Within minutes, Duke escalated from egotistic playboy to crook in her mind. She knew he was flawed, but she didn’t expect him to be criminally-inclined.

  Just to give him the benefit of the doubt, she called the marina and had the attendants rubber-neck the dock, but no one could see the boat.

  Once in a while, she had to make a call to the area dispatch, one she didn’t enjoy making, but she knew she had to now.

  “Hey, Mabel,” she greeted the dispatcher. “I want to report a missing boat rental, please.”

  Mabel cracked her gum loudly. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll get Officer…Jones to call you back after he gets in.”

  With a sinking heart, Brooke knew she wouldn’t be hearing from the already stretched-thin area patrol for a while. But at least they were aware of it. She gave the boat VIN and its description and hung up.

  She stood and gathered her phone and water bottle, glancing one more time at the door of the repair shop. Wishing…

  Wishing for what? That she would see that troublemaker again? Just to give him a piece of her mind, of course. It would be so satisfying to chew him out.

  With a little impatient huff, she walked over to the repair bay. The area was completely crammed with boats in the most ingenious side-by-side way imaginable. Oscar was really good at trailering boats in and somehow fitting them around others. He was sitting by an open back hatch of a maroon-trimmed Bayliner, deep in thought.

  Brooke studied her brother’s profile, gaunt from often forgetting to eat just to get a repair done. He also had smears of grease across his cheek and blond beard. Despite his scraggly appearance of longish hair under his faded blue cap, she knew he could clean up nice. A girl would be lucky to have him—he was sweet, funny, and kind—if only he could get out of a boat long enough to date her.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He swung his head up fast in surprise, as she knew he would. “Holy cow, Brooke. Don’t do that.”

  She smiled. “Don’t tell me. You’re missing a screw.”

  “As a matter of fact, I have two extra screws.” He held up two screws with black-greased fingers. “I’m gonna have to go over the whole engine once again.”

  “It’s probably in the very bottom.”

  “I sure hope not.”

  “How about if I make some dinner while you give it another shot?” Brooke offered. “But don’t take forever. Remember, I have volleyball.”

  “Sure, that sounds good,” he said. But he was already using a wrench to disassemble the engine. She knew she would probably have to go to volleyball, and he would still be in the repair bay. His dinner would get cold, and then he’d have to heat it up in the microwave. If he remembered to eat.

  She tidied up the repair bay for a bit, moving some containers out of the way in case there was some emergency and Oscar needed to get out of there in a hurry. She glanced at his desk where he kept the folders she prepared on each boat. It was already a mess, like a hurricane blew through. Somehow, he had a system of remembering what boat needed what and got them through his repair line and up and running so most peoples’ vacations weren’t ruined completely. He also had a side business of repairing boats to resell them for not very much profit.

  Brooke didn’t think he was being very smart about not making much money from his efforts, but he simply shrugged his shoulders. He once told her, “I don’t need for anything, so why should I make a killing off people?”

  Brooke would have pointed out that their house needed a new roof, the A/C was sometimes spotty, and his truck was on its last breath, but when she looked into his eyes and his earnest expression, she let it go. It was his business, and he could make the ultimate decision about it so long as it didn’t ruin him completely.

  She washed her hands in the tiny bathroom and dried them by shaking them in the air. She didn’t trust how clean the loop cloth towel was in the dispenser.

  Glancing at her reflection, she paused. Her hair was pulled back in a careless ponytail, letting out a few wisps of hair that softened her angular face. She wore little makeup, just mascara and some lip gloss that had disappeared hours ago. It was a wonder Duke even thought about flirting with her. She certainly was no glamorous beauty. Just a regular girl, tomboyish even. Certainly not the belle of the ball like some beach beauties, and plenty blew through here. Maybe the reason he hadn’t returned the boat was that he met cute girls in another boat and they were partying till sundown.

  She turned off the light on her and her thoughts and walked out of the bathroom. She shouldn’t care about this guy, or the lack of guys in her life. She was fine living with her brother. At twenty-five, she had plenty of time to meet someone and fall in love. Why rush leaving Oscar when she was saving a ton of money by not having to pay rent elsewhere? Besides, what would she do instead of working here? She would hate moving to the big city. No, she was fine, thank you.

  Stepping out in the bright sunlight, she gasped as a wave of heat assaulted her. After the cooler air and artificial light of the rental shop, she could already feel her body react to the heat, making her want to shed layers and get in her swimsuit. Get in the water. She bit her lip and considered getting a swim in. She still had a good three hours before dark, and she’d take advantage of it.

  Then she remembered the meal she promised Oscar and volleyball. She couldn’t ditch on him now. Even though he’d proven time and time again that he would forget about eating, she’d hold up her end of the bargain. But then she glanced over toward the blue of the lake, off in the distance past the spare but beautiful desert landscape. Maybe she could steal a few minutes to swim and then come back to put on a simple meal.

  The thought of making the effort of going in the water and having to turn right around defeated her. Dismissing that little stab of yearning, she entered the house and got dinner going.

  Chapter Five

  He woke to a dull headache and someone flashing a light in his eyes. It was twilight, and a man’s figure was crouched over him. He focused his gaze until his vision converged upon the man. He looked like a policeman, wearing a uniform with a badge.

  Regaining his senses, he looked around. He was lying in water. His partially submerged body was cool, but the air was hot.

  The back of his head throbbed with pain. It worsened when the officer lifted his head and shined the flashlight along his hair.

  Where was he? His vision focused and took in the breadth of the rock behind the officer. The darkening sky beyond. The colors were muted in the falling darkness, but he could tell the rock hues were spectacular.

  He tried to get up, and a blinding pain came from his head. He lowered it gingerly until the sensation subsided.

  The officer spoke. “I wouldn’t get up if I were you. You probably have a concussion.”

  A concussion. That explained his hurting head. His throat ached too. Thirsty. He ran his tongue over his lips, which were dry like chalk.

  The officer raised an insulated metal bottle to his lips. The rim clinked against his teeth. “Here,” the officer said. “Have a drink.”

  He drank it gratefully, trying to not gag as it slipped down his throat fast, and then gave sitting up another attempt. This time, he did it slowly, until the spinning stopped.

  The officer plucked a transmitter off his chest and spoke into it. “Suspect is here with the rental boat. He’s conscious but has a concussion.”

  Suspect? Was the officer referring to him? What was he a suspect of? And what rental boat was he talking about?

  “What’s your name?” the officer said.

  What’s your name?

  He gazed blankly at the officer for a full minute before he realized he had no idea what the answer was to that question. “I…I don’t know,” he stammered.

  The policeman stared at him, his frown deepening. “I hope you’re not pulling my leg, or you’ll be in deep trouble. Again,
what’s your name?”

  He thought again, but the effort made him feel weak and light-headed. “I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t know.” His eyes strayed to the officer’s name badge prominently displayed on his uniform. Lee Danson.

  He considered telling him “Lee Danson” and getting this guy off his case, but he knew that wouldn’t be smart.

  “All right,” Officer Danson said. “Get up. Slowly. We’re taking you to the hospital.”

  He was relieved to hear he wasn’t going to jail, since he was a suspect. He had to ask. “Did I steal a boat?”

  “Didn’t you?” The officer challenged him with his glare.

  “I…I don’t remember.”

  With a disgusted shake of his head, the officer helped him to his feet. He walked gingerly along. There was a plain white boat moored at the beach alongside an impressive-looking patrol boat that seemed huge compared to the other one.

  He was in trouble for stealing that plain motorboat? If he was going to get in trouble, he should have at least gotten a…

  He couldn’t think of a boat. His mind drew a blank. He had a feeling he knew a lot about boats, but he couldn’t form a coherent thought. His head was throbbing, and he didn’t want to think.

  The officer led him onto the steps of the patrol boat. He looked around, unsure what to do, when the officer motioned for him to go ahead and sit down on a bench in the enclosed area with the steering wheel. Was the officer inviting him to drive?

  At least the officer didn’t see the need to handcuff him. Already, being up and about, he was feeling nauseated. The last thing he wanted to do was to get off the boat and escape into…

  His glance took in the amazing landscape. Red rock turning a burnt orange in the setting sun. Rings of different gradients of the color forming all around spires and mesas. It was a spare desert with sagebrush and tamarisk and little else. It was marvelously stark and strikingly beautiful.

  “Where am I?” he wondered aloud.

  Officer Danson looked at him over his shoulder. “Lake Powell.”

  He let the phrase roll off his tongue, “Lake Powell. Lake Powell,” as though repeating it like a mantra could click his memory back in place. But again, his mind was just blank. Where was Lake Powell? Why was he here? Why did he have a boat?

  The questions overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, the officer was watching him. “You staying with me?” Officer Danson asked.

  “Yes, yes I am.” His voice sounded slurred. And then the world went completely black again.

  This time, he woke under lights in a white room. A clinic? There were cupboards all around and jars with cotton balls, containers with throat swabs, and a diagram of the upper respiratory system of a human.

  “At least you didn’t hit your head the second time,” a man said.

  He looked that direction and saw a man in a collared short-sleeve shirt standing off to the side. It wasn’t Officer Danson. “Glad you’re awake. I’ll be right back.”

  He was cold, bare-chested and still in his swim shorts. He studied his fingers and arms, familiarizing himself with his body. He had no idea who he was and why he was here. With a bit of relief, he did remember that the officer had found him and he was in a boat. And then he must have blacked out again.

  At least he had that memory, even though he couldn’t remember anything else.

  Voices came from outside the room, and then four people entered—the man in the collared shirt, who he assumed was the doctor, Officer Danson, and two new people, a man and a woman.

  His eyes immediately went to the woman. She was beautiful, in a haughty way. He could sense her apprehension as she gazed at his face, a little at his torso, and then quickly back to his face.

  Should he know her? She seemed to recognize him. Her demeanor had changed now. She no longer looked his way and, instead, seemed to focus on the floor. She seemed…embarrassed, her cheeks turning pink.

  The man with her was wearing dirty short-sleeved coveralls. His fingernails were grimy, and his face was streaked with grease. But his eyes were kind. On the front of his coveralls was the stitched name “Oscar.”

  Oscar.

  He let the name roll in his mind, but he didn’t make any connection to anything. He didn’t know these people.

  The officer asked the couple, “Is this the fellow?”

  “I haven’t seen him,” Oscar said, “but Brooke would know.”

  The woman raised her eyes. They were beautiful, an ocean-blue color with specks of green. Full of life and intelligence.

  “Brooke?” The officer’s voice changed. Deepened. Like a man interested in a woman. And who wouldn’t be, in her?

  “Yes,” she said. Her voice was smoky, as beautiful as its owner.

  Brooke. So that was her name.

  He tried to rack his brain once again, only coming up with another blank. Brooke. A tough-girl name. It seemed to suit her. She was built like an athlete, wearing a shirt and a pair of shorts that showcased her lean body. When he was done with his cursory study, his gaze met hers, and he felt self-conscious, having been caught looking. At the same time, he was aware that she responded to him physically, with the flaring of her nostrils and a narrowing of her eyes.

  She seemed to dislike him. What had he done to her to make her react that way to him?

  Ah, yes, he’d apparently stolen a boat.

  The officer put his hand on Brooke’s arm and stepped closer. “You want to press charges, Brooke?”

  Her eyes widened, vulnerable and appealing. “Charges?”

  Oscar’s eyes swiveled to the officer. “Whatever for? The guy’s obviously been hurt. From the looks of it, he must have fallen. After a long day in the sun.”

  At Oscar’s words, he glanced down at his chest. In the artificial light, he was turning fairly red. Sunburned. He must look like a lobster.

  Brooke’s lips twitched into a smile, and then the little gesture disappeared.

  In that fleeting moment, he yearned to know who she was and what her smile looked like. But he sensed he had no right. In fact, they could press charges.

  Was Lee close to this Brooke? Oscar must be a relative. He didn’t seem to mind the officer’s familiarity with her.

  “So, no?” the officer said, clicking his pen and stuffing it and his notebook into a vest pocket.

  “No.” Oscar flashed a curious glance his way.

  Brooke looked at Duke, then away. “What will happen to him now?”

  The doctor folded his arms “He needs to be monitored, with his concussion. It’s best if he stays with someone.”

  And that someone would be…? His glance flicked over to Brooke, who avoided eye contact.

  The policeman spoke. “I’ve already taken his fingerprints. Doesn’t match anything, but we’ll keep our eyes open. I know he gave you a fake name and just gave cash.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “I’ll file a missing person’s report and hopefully someone in the database matches his description. Until then, we’ll just have to give him his belongings.” He tossed a shirt and some sandals to him. “This is all we’ve found on the boat, by the way.”

  He caught and studied it, hoping for clues, but his memory wasn’t stirred by the gray shirt. He lifted it over his head and slipped it over his body. He caught the woman staring at him with a heated glance, and then she quickly looked away.

  His throat constricted with sweet yearning.

  Where had that come from? Why was he attracted to her? Did he know her well? The two obviously rented out boats. He put two and two together. The man with her must repair boats. He stole a glance at her fingernails. They weren’t dirty like Oscar’s.

  “Have you checked the cars at the long-term lots?” Oscar asked the officer.

  “As best as we can. You know there are plenty of people who leave cars out there. It would take a while to run some plate checks. But nothing obvious jumped out. Brooke says she didn’t see his car.”

  Brooke nodde
d. “I didn’t.”

  “I guess he can stay with us until you find his folks,” Oscar said.

  Brooke sucked in her breath and turned full-on to Oscar. “What?”

  Chapter Six

  Brooke fumed. She’d already missed the first half of volleyball because of Lee’s phone call about finding the boat and the driver. Now she’d have to miss all of it for sure. She sat in the back of the truck, seething. Oscar was simply too nice of a guy.

  “So,” Oscar said, “I don’t suppose you know where you’re from?”

  “No.” The man sounded apologetic. He had darker features and a trace of a foreign accent, but one that Brooke couldn’t place.

  Where was home for him? Brooke felt a twinge of sympathy. What would it be like to wake up and not remember anything about your past? But then her memory of his cockiness—her initial impression of him— was enough to steel herself against not only feeling sorry for him but actually being friends with him.

  Because who knew who he really was? Maybe, he was even married and had a slew of children at home. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—she noticed when he was renting the boat—but that didn’t really mean anything anymore nowadays. People took off their wedding bands all the time.

  “What should we call you?” Oscar asked.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Well, wait now.” He turned to Brooke. “You took down his information, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” She was grateful for the darkness. The memory of this guy’s prank still rankled her. “He put down ‘John Wayne.’ Duke, quote, unquote.”

  “Huh. That’s his real name, then?”

  Brooke sighed. “Oscar, if that was his real name, they’d have found his folks by now. He used an alias.”

  “Oh.”

  The truck rumbled up the asphalt road that led to their repair shop and the home behind. Brooke wondered what their guest would think of their place. Heavens, she probably had all her underwear still hanging in the bathroom, drying from laundry, and the sink overflowing with dishes.