The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,43

painfully aware that a prince was standing right behind her and taking stock of the place.

“You can put your things in the bedroom,” she called, pointing to the door.

Viggo frowned. “Is there only one bedroom?”

“A one-bedroom is all I can afford.” She thought back to his huge, beautiful house and blushed harder.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to criticize your home,” Viggo said. “I only ask because it seems unfair that I should take your bedroom away from you. You’re doing too much to help me already.”

“It’s fine,” Francesca said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, let me do that,” Viggo protested. “I can’t possibly put you out.”

“Viggo,” Francesca said. “You’re a prince. I can’t have a prince stay at my house and sleep on the couch.”

“I’m also a wanted criminal.”

“Who might be innocent,” she said stubbornly.

“Don’t treat me any differently because I’m royalty,” he said. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“Fine. Then you’ll take the bedroom because you’re my guest. If you really don’t want to be treated differently, you have to accept the same hospitality I would offer to any guest in my apartment.”

He laughed. “All right. You win. I’ll take the bedroom.” He lifted his suitcase and carried it in.

Francesca felt a strange urge to follow him. His muscular frame looked even bigger inside her small apartment. And now he was going to be sleeping in her bed. The idea gave her a shiver of pleasure.

Shut that down, she told herself firmly. Okay, yes, he’s attractive. But it’s absolutely vital right now that you keep your mind on the task at hand. Everything would have to go perfectly if they were to prove Viggo’s innocence and rehabilitate her image within the FBI. She definitely couldn’t afford to get distracted by his body.

But when he emerged from the bedroom, changed out of his traveling clothes and into his usual fare of jeans and a V-neck T-shirt, she couldn’t help wondering if he was deliberately making it difficult for her.

She swallowed hard and turned away from him. “Come and sit down,” she said, gesturing to the kitchen table. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Do you have a sparkling water?”

She did. She pulled out a couple of cans, handed one to him, and cracked the other open for herself. She sat down at the table and opened the file on his case, and he sat down across from her.

“Okay,” she said. “This is all the evidence we have.”

He reached out and gingerly touched the thumb drive. “This is the video of the accident?”

“Yes,” she said. She hesitated. “Do you want to see it?”

“Not at all,” he said. “But maybe I’d better. I’d probably be able to tell whether or not it’s me on the tape.”

Francesca fetched her laptop and plugged in the drive. She pulled up the video. “This is kind of hard to watch,” she warned him and pressed play.

They both leaned in close to the screen. She felt him wince when the car struck the pedestrian, and without meaning to, she leaned in, pressing the length of her arm against his.

He looked over at her. She realized what she was doing and leaned away from him, blushing.

He made no mention of it. He merely continued to watch as the driver leaned out of the car. Viggo frowned, his eyebrows furrowed, as the driver got back in and drove away.

Francesca’s heart was racing. “Is it you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It could be. The hair is right. The build is right. And I was wearing a black T-shirt that night. But…” He shook his head. “That shirt could be any dark color, right? And the hair and build—it just doesn’t prove anything. We can’t know from this. Not for certain.”

Francesca nodded. “That’s the problem we’ve been having. But the car—”

“The car is definitely mine,” he said and sighed.

“And you don’t remember loaning your car to anybody that night?”

“No,” he said. “But I don’t remember anything at all that night. So maybe I did.”

“Maybe you did.” Francesca smiled “That’s what we’re going to have to try to find out next.”

“But how are we going to do that?” Viggo asked. “If someone did borrow my car, it’s likely that they know they were involved in the hit-and-run. They’re not going to confess to having driven it that night.”

“Not unless we can back them into a corner,” Francesca said. “What we need is to find a witness. Someone who saw you hand off the keys, or saw someone else leave with the car.