The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,21

to decide to return to your home country a few hours after the accident? And you’re innocent?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re keeping up.”

His tone was biting. Francesca knew that she shouldn’t allow herself to become riled, but she couldn’t help it.

“Well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe that,” she said. “It’s not a very convincing story.”

Lindström shrugged. “I don’t see that I need to convince you of anything,” he said. “As I pointed out before, you haven’t got the authority to arrest me. You’re not with law enforcement in this country—and, by the way, I’m not accused of committing any crimes in this country. And you can’t extradite me. So what exactly is it you’re planning to do?”

Francesca hesitated.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” Lindström said. “I’m going to contact the local authorities.”

“And tell them what?” Francesca demanded. “That you’re guilty of a hit-and-run, but you can’t be extradited?”

“I told you, I’m innocent,” Lindström said, but that uncomfortable look crept across his face again. He blinked, and the expression cleared.

Francesca wondered whether she had imagined it.

“No,” he went on, “I’m going to tell them that a crazy woman with a gun has broken into my house.”

Francesca felt a chill. This was exactly what Laird had warned her would happen.

She couldn’t stand for him to be proven right. And beyond that, the idea of being taken to a foreign jail was frightening. She knew that Voles would have her out quickly—but what would happen in the meantime?

“I’m licensed to carry this gun,” she said, hoping to distract him. “I’m FBI.”

“You’re not licensed to break into my house,” Lindström said. He frowned. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

“I didn’t break anything,” she said, motioning to the housekeeper uniform she was wearing.

He laughed. “Are you going to clean my bathrooms while you’re here?”

Francesca glowered at him.

“Francesca Bellucci, right?” Lindström said, and Francesca’s heart sank lower. Of course he had remembered her name. Of all the luck.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Francesca lowered her weapon. She wasn’t going to shoot him, and it was clear that he knew it. He had known it from the moment she had pulled the gun out.

I was never in control here, she thought miserably. I blew this completely, from the start. I should have listened to Laird.

Lindström frowned, staring down at his phone. Not dialing.

“What’s going on?” Francesca asked.

She didn’t really expect an answer, but to her surprise, he gave her one. “The snow,” he said. “It’s been upgraded to a winter storm. The government is issuing a warning.”

“Really?” Francesca was surprised. “I would have thought the people of Konäs would be used to dealing with snow. What’s the big deal?” It snowed all the time back in New York, and sometimes the city did issue winter storm warnings, but they weren’t the kind of thing Francesca took much notice of.

“Didn’t you notice the weather?” Lindström asked. “It’s way below freezing out there. All that snow is going to freeze as soon as it hits the ground.”

“Don’t they treat the roads?” Francesca asked. “At home, we would send out plows.”

“It’s coming down too quickly,” Lindström said. He strode to the window and looked out.

Against her better judgment, Francesca came up beside him and looked out too.

She gasped.

She had only been in the house for an hour, and in that time, several feet of snow had fallen. She could see the tires of her car across the road, completely submerged. The snow gave off an ominous glitter, and Francesca realized that it was icing over already.

“I should go,” she said. “I should get back to my hotel.”

“You can’t,” Lindström said.

She looked over at him. “Listen,” she said. “I’m sorry I came into your house. I didn’t know about the extradition restrictions. And if you’re innocent, maybe I can help you get out of this mess.”

A likely story. But if he thought she believed his lie, maybe he would let her go.

“No,” Lindström said. “I mean, you can’t go because the island is on lockdown.”

He showed her his phone. Sure enough, under the alert about the storm, a notice in red text advised—Lockdown in effect until further notice.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means that everyone has to stay in their homes until the storm stops,” Lindström said. “Nobody is allowed to be out on the roads.”

“I’m a federal officer,” Francesca protested.

“Well, Officer,” he said, “it looks like you’re stuck here for the duration. There’s no way you’d be