The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,44

If we can find that, we’ll have the evidence we need to start building your defense.”

“I guess we have to start somewhere. Be honest with me, Francesca—how good do you think my chances are?”

“I think your chances are very good,” she said, resting a hand on top of his. “We have a clear plan of action. We know what we need to do.”

He nodded, turned his hand beneath hers, and gripped her palm in his.

Francesca’s heart fluttered, and she felt her self-control slip a little further.

Chapter 16

The next morning, Francesca woke at six o’clock sharp. She put on her running gear and sneakers, scribbled a note for Viggo, and left it on the table.

If she was going to continue sharing a tiny apartment with such a painfully attractive man, she was going to have to get out and get a little exercise. If she didn’t, she knew she would lose her mind before long.

Francesca had always found it easy to settle into the rhythm of a good run and to forget whatever else was going on in her life. Before long, her heart rate was up and her head was clear, all thought of Viggo gone from her mind.

And then she saw it—a shock of white-blond hair, several yards ahead.

She almost stopped dead in her tracks. But it couldn't be him. He was still sleeping, back in the apartment. And he had been so nervous about coming back to New York. He wouldn’t sneak out and go walking around in broad daylight. They had agreed that he was to stay inside until they could perfect a disguise for him.

The man turned left and pressed the button for the walk signal.

Francesca gasped. It was him!

She ran faster, hurrying to catch up with him before the light could change and he could cross the street. She stuck out her hand and caught him by the sleeve, prepared to shout at him for his recklessness in leaving the house like this, for being so ungrateful about the fact that she was putting her career at risk to have him here and to help him clear his name.

But as he looked down at her, she saw to her consternation that she had been wrong.

It wasn’t Viggo after all.

They were close enough in appearance that they could have been mistaken for one another by someone who had only heard a description of what they looked like. This man had blond hair and blue eyes, and he was tall and muscular, just as Viggo was. But his facial features were a bit smaller—his eyes narrower and closer together, his hairline low on his forehead. He was slightly stockier than Viggo was, and maybe an inch or two shorter.

“Oh,” Francesca said, feeling ridiculous. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were somebody else.”

To her surprise, the man made a face. “Let me guess. Viggo Lindström, right?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I guess you’ve heard that before?”

“Many times,” he said.

Francesca noticed that this man also had an accent. It wasn’t quite the same as Viggo’s, but she couldn’t place it. Some kind of European, she assumed. He certainly looked European enough.

“I suppose you were hoping to get an autograph,” he said dryly, looking her up and down. “Or maybe you want advice about how to make the best wheatgrass smoothie? I get that one a lot.”

“I—” She cut herself off before she could give away too much. She didn’t want to let this stranger know that she knew Viggo personally. That kind of information could end up getting them both into trouble. “I had a question about my yoga program, actually,” she said, hoping she looked like enough of a fitness buff in her running gear to make this seem plausible.

He nodded. “Word to the wise?”

“All right,” she said, mystified.

“You don’t want to take your advice from that guy,” the stranger said. “I don’t know if you’ve seen the news lately, but he’s all over the papers. Seems he committed a hit-and-run.”

“I…I might have seen something about that,” Francesca stammered, not sure exactly what her lie ought to be.

“He’s not a good guy,” the stranger said. “I know that everyone thinks he is. Everyone wants to look up to him, because his businesses are so successful, and because he’s so handsome, yes? Don’t tell me you don’t admire him for his looks,” he said. “I saw the way you were looking at me just a minute ago.”

“What way was that?”

“The same way everyone looks at me when they think I’m