The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,29

“I couldn’t do it.”

“You see?” he said.

“But that still doesn’t make him a murderer,” she said. “Not in the way you’re talking about. Okay, so he’s a callous person. That doesn’t mean he would deliberately kill someone for no reason at all.”

“No reason at all?” Laird laughed bleakly. “He knows you’re planning to arrest him, doesn’t he? Maybe he figures that by killing you, he can get himself out of the snare.”

“Look,” Francesca said. “Whatever else he is, Lindström isn’t stupid. He knows that I have a partner in Konäs with me. He knows that I’ve been talking to you, and that you know where I am. If I turn up dead, everyone is going to know that he was the one who killed me. And Konäs might not extradite him, because he’s royalty, but just about any other country in the world would. He can’t murder me without you knowing that he did it, and he can’t leave the island.”

Laird was quiet for a minute.

“I want you to call me every day,” he said. “Twice. Once at noon and once at midnight.”

“Don’t you think that’s overkill?” she protested.

“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t. I want you to call me at both of those times every single day, without fail. And I want you to make it clear to him that that’s what you’re doing, so he’ll know that if you miss a call, I’ll be alerted to the fact that something’s wrong.”

“Matt…”

“Do it,” he said, “or else I’m going to contact Voles and let him know where you are and why.”

“Fine,” she agreed, knowing that Laird had been almost impossibly understanding so far. The truth was that she had been reckless, and now they were both paying the price for it. If Voles found out what had happened here, if something went wrong with the investigation, Francesca wouldn’t be the only one in trouble.

“I also want you to keep your phone charged and with you at all times,” he said. He paused. “Do you have a charger?”

“Yes.” There was one in her bag. She looked down at it, wondering if she should tell Laird how Viggo had brought it inside for her. That didn’t seem like the act of a heartless killer.

I just don’t know enough about him, she decided. I can’t assume anything, good or bad, until I know him a little better.

“Okay,” Laird said. “Keep your phone handy. Whenever I text you, I expect you to text me back within five minutes. If you don’t, I’ll contact Voles.”

“Make it an hour,” Francesca said. “I can make sure to check my phone for messages every hour. But five minutes…I could miss a message because I’m in the shower or something.”

He sighed. “Fine,” he said. “One hour. But if it’s sixty-one minutes, Voles hears everything.”

“You don’t want to tell him,” Francesca said.

“Of course I don’t,” Laird agreed. “But I’d much rather tell him and get myself fired for incompetence than to see you get killed.”

“I’ll stay in touch, Matt,” she said. “I promise.”

“Okay,” he said. “And just…stay safe, will you? I’m not going to breathe easy again until this is over.”

“I promise,” she said. “Take care of yourself.”

They hung up. Francesca hauled her suitcase up onto her bed, opened it, and pulled out a change of clothes. Her hairbrush was here, too, and she ran it through her hair, working out the worst of the tangles, before heading back down to the main part of the house.

She found Viggo in the living room building a fire in the fireplace. “Can I do anything to help with that?” she asked, feeling strange and awkward just standing there and watching him work.

“No, I’m finished.” Sure enough, flames were now leaping up from the log he had placed there, and Viggo was backing away. “Would you like to sit down?” he asked. “This room is always pleasant at this time of day, especially when it’s snowy like this. The view from here is so nice.”

She took a seat, wishing he would stop being so polite to her. But what do I want, then? For him to be a jerk? She couldn’t make sense of her feelings. She stared into the fire, trying to relax and forget whose house she was in.

“So,” he said. “Francesca Bellucci.”

Apparently he wasn’t going to allow her to forget about his presence. “Agent Bellucci,” she corrected.

“Agent Bellucci, then,” he said, allowing a soft smile to cross his face.

Francesca felt a fluttering in her stomach. She was immediately furious