The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,33

piece together what had happened.

“But before I could even get to the tabloids, I saw the newsflash about a hit-and-run. About a person who had been killed. There were photos of my car.” He shuddered. “I couldn’t believe what was happening. I couldn’t believe I was actually reading it. It was as if I had slipped into a nightmare.

“The police hadn’t come to the penthouse yet, but I knew they would any minute. I bought my plane ticket online, commercial since they would expect me to fly privately, threw some things in a bag, and ran for it. Whatever had happened, I would figure it out once I got to Konäs, once I had time to think.”

“You would figure it out?” Francesca repeated. “What was there to figure out?”

She had the file on the case. There weren’t any missing details.

But Viggo seemed to feel differently. He looked up at her, and his eyes were pleading.

“I was so drunk the night before,” he said. “I must have blacked out. I don’t remember a thing. I don’t even remember leaving the club, and I certainly don’t know how I got home. I remember that I was dancing and drinking, and then I remember waking up and seeing a headline about a hit-and-run.”

Francesca’s heart hammered. He was telling the truth. She could see it in his eyes. She had seen enough suspects who were lying to recognize the truth when she saw it.

“You don’t know if you committed the crime or not, do you?” she asked.

“I wish I did,” he whispered, sounding tortured.

Francesca was stunned. This explained so much of his bizarre behavior. This explained why he claimed he was innocent and yet had quickly fled the country. This explained why he had been willing to leave New York, the city he supposedly loved so much, behind him.

He hopes he’s innocent. But in his heart, he can’t be sure.

And she pitied him.

She had not expected to feel this. He had been so arrogant when she had arrived, and so cold and callous about the crime of which he’d been accused. It had been difficult to feel any mercy for him at all.

But how did that callousness square with the way he had treated her? He had given her a place to wait out the storm, even though he couldn’t possibly be comfortable with the idea of sharing a home with the officer sent to arrest him. He had cooked her breakfast and offered her his very own clothes to wear when he’d thought she didn’t have any.

“You don’t seem like someone who would commit a hit-and-run,” she said, even though she knew it was a very unprofessional thing to say.

“I hope I’m not,” he said. “I hope I would stay and help someone if I ever found myself in that situation. But what if I didn’t?”

She bit her lip. “There are things that don’t look great,” she said. “The fact that you fled the country, for example. Even though you can’t remember what happened, prosecutors will say that you felt the truth of your own guilt. That you remembered what had happened subconsciously, and that’s why you fled.” She hesitated. “It also adds to the idea that you’re the kind of person who runs when you think you’re in trouble, which is more or less exactly the crime you’re accused of.”

“There’s a difference, though,” he said. “There’s a difference between doing that when no one’s life is at stake and doing it when someone is dying in the street.”

“That’s true,” Francesca admitted. “But there’s also your record.”

“My record?”

“You have two prior DUIs,” she said. “So it’s going to be hard to make the case that you’re not the kind of guy who would drive drunk.”

“But those were years ago,” Viggo said. “I had my license taken away after the second one. I had to do classes and community service, and then I had to retake driver’s education and sit the test again. I don’t have any infractions since then.”

“Okay,” Francesca agreed. “But most people don’t have any DUIs at all. It’s just another piece of evidence that’s not in your favor. And then there’s the video.”

“The video of my car committing the crime?” he said.

“That’s right.”

“But do they have proof I was driving it?”

“The driver looked out the window on the tape,” Francesca said. “He did look like you. Which isn’t conclusive, but—”

“But it doesn’t help,” Viggo said bleakly.

“No,” Francesca agreed. “It doesn’t. The case against you is pretty strong. I’m sorry.”

“But my