The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,38

she found that she was intensely hungry. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater and went downstairs, remembering Viggo’s invitation to help herself to whatever she wanted from the kitchen.

She found him in the living room. He had built another fire and was fiddling with the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

He looked up when she entered and smiled. “I wondered if I would see you today.”

“I had a little trouble sleeping,” she admitted.

“Did I scare you again?”

“No,” she said and was humiliated to hear her voice crack.

Viggo frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You’re not sick, are you?”

“I’m under some work stress, that’s all,” she said.

“I guess working for the FBI is probably a pretty stressful job.”

“You have no idea.”

He hesitated. “You’re not getting into trouble because you can’t extradite me, are you? Because that isn’t your fault. That agreement was made years ago.”

“No, it isn’t that,” Francesca said.

“Then what is it?”

She knew that she shouldn’t tell him. She knew that confiding in her suspect was exactly the kind of thing that could get her into trouble—and she was in trouble enough as it was.

But right now, she felt as if the whole world was against her. And for some reason, Viggo felt like somebody she could trust.

“I think I’m going to lose my job,” she said.

He stood and guided her to a seat. To Francesca’s horror, she burst into tears.

“Hold on,” Viggo said. “I’ll make some hot chocolate.” He bustled off into the kitchen.

Francesca was grateful for his absence, for the time he had given her to compose herself. By the time he returned, a mug in each hand, she felt almost normal again. He handed one of the mugs to her and kept the other, taking a seat on the sofa.

“Are you losing your job because of me?” he asked quietly.

“Not really,” Francesca said. “It turns out it was never going to be acceptable for the FBI to investigate the royal family, and my supervisor knew that before he sent me over here. They’re going to fire me to make some kind of gesture to your family. To give the impression that I was a rogue agent rather than someone acting under orders.”

“But you’ve just spilled the beans,” Viggo said. “I know you’re not a rogue agent, because you just told me.”

“I know,” she said, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t tell you half the things I do. I don’t know why I can’t keep my mouth shut. I probably should be fired.”

“Would it do you any good if I came back to New York and turned myself in?” he asked.

“You won’t do that,” she said. “And anyway, no, it won’t. It would still signal to your family that I had been interfering in royal business by investigating one of their own.”

He sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “I hate to admit it. I’m ashamed of it. But no, I won’t go back to New York. Not knowing what awaits me there. I wish there was some way I could know for sure whether I’m guilty of the crime I’ve been accused of. But I can’t see how it would benefit me to go back now.”

“It would benefit you,” Francesca said.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t want to live in Konäs,” she said. “You told me so yesterday.”

“There are worse things than living here,” he said. “Konäs is a beautiful country, and it’s my home. And if the alternative is going back and standing trial, possibly being convicted of a crime I’m not certain I committed…”

“Okay,” Francesca said. “But are you really willing to sacrifice your entire life because of something you might be guilty of? Wouldn’t you rather find out for sure?”

Viggo sighed. “I understand what you’re saying,” he said. “And I understand that you can’t be objective about this, because you’re at risk of losing your own job.”

She frowned. “I’m not suggesting that you go back to New York to bail me out,” she said. “I told you, it won’t make any difference.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he said.

“Then what do you mean?”

“It just seems clear to me that you’re extra sensitive, today, to the prospect of having your life disrupted,” he said. “You’re reacting strongly to the fact that I’m going to be losing the life I built in New York because you’re at risk of losing the life you’ve built in New York.

Francesca hesitated for a moment. That did make sense. Perhaps he was right.

“But that doesn’t matter,” she said. “Maybe