The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner

Chapter 1

“Bellucci!”

Francesca Bellucci looked up from the paperwork she had been filing. She fully expected her boss, Deputy Assistant Director Brian Voles, to dump a fresh pile of files that needed sorting on her desk. She had joined the High Profile Crimes division of the FBI thinking that she would be working on exciting cases—cases that would change the world.

Instead, she had spent most of her time so far organizing papers.

Director Voles stood over her, wearing his usual discontented frown. He dropped a thick Manila folder on her desk.

Francesca flicked it open.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A case for you.”

“Really?” It wasn’t the first case she’d ever had, but they were assigned to her infrequently. Even now, she could see that Special Agent Chuck Stevens was staring at her from his desk with his eyes narrowed.

Tough luck, Chuck. She knew how much he hated having a woman in his department. He had been with the division for years, much longer than Francesca herself, and yet he still lorded it over her every time he was assigned a case and she was passed over.

Of course he would have expected to get this one.

“You’ll be working with Laird,” Voles said. “He’s reviewing the file as we speak. Take a look at it, and then the two of you can get together and discuss.”

Francesca nodded, her heart soaring. She tried not to let her joy at being entrusted with a case show on her face. She couldn’t let Voles think this was any big deal. She had to act as if putting her on this assignment was no more than she would have expected.

It was hell sometimes, being the only woman in the department. Francesca knew that whenever the men around her looked at her, her gender was the first thing they saw. Even the good guys, like Matt Laird, the guys who never treated her as if she was incapable, still acted differently around her than they did with their male coworkers.

Maybe working together on this case will be a good chance to bond with Laird. He started in the division only a few months before I did. Maybe he’ll get the idea that he doesn’t need to think of me as a woman—that I’m just another Special Agent, like he is.

The best way to make that point, she knew, would be to do her research and bring some good insights to the table when she and Laird met up. She began flipping through the pages in the file to see what sort of case she had been given.

The case was a hit-and-run. Francesca felt the muscles in her chest tense up at the thought, and she forced herself to relax. Cases like this were a part of the job. Violent death couldn’t be avoided. And yet, it was always painful to see it, to confront the pointless loss of life.

The incident had occurred in downtown Manhattan. She scanned the details of the file. A black sports car, driving at night, had struck a pedestrian. The driver had hesitated and then pulled around the prone body in the road and driven off.

Who would do something like that?

Francesca turned to the suspect profile that had been included in her folder, and her eyes went wide.

Viggo Lindström.

She knew of Viggo Lindström. She followed him on social media. His Friska stores were everywhere in New York, and Francesca loved shopping there for healthy snacks. He was technically a member of the royal family of some small European country, she knew, although he didn’t actually sit on the throne or hold any authority.

Could Lindström really be responsible for this?

Francesca didn’t know anything about him beyond the fact that he was related to royalty and that he owned health food stores. But she had always assumed he must be a decent guy. Who else would go into the business of health food but a nice person?

She turned to her computer and pulled up her social media account, then typed in his name.

Lindström’s account had been deleted.

Already?

That didn’t look too good. Why would he delete his account unless something was wrong, unless he had something to hide?

She checked the archive that the social media service kept of people’s accounts. Everything Lindström had ever posted was gone. He hadn’t merely deactivated his account—he had gone to the extra step of erasing every trace of his existence. Why?

Maybe he had simply made his account private. She tried searching for his name on the directory, but to no avail. His previous online presence