The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,9

the way their actions are being perceived,” Francesca said. “And I guess I wish more of them cared a little more about it. Because I’ll tell you, my feeling is that women are going to be throwing themselves at Lindström no matter what happens. Even if he’s convicted and sent to jail, they’ll be writing him love letters covered in perfume.”

“That’s a bit extreme,” Laird said, laughing.

Francesca waved the article at him. “The whole thing is a bit extreme,” she pointed out. “It’s like he has some kind of animal magnetism about him.”

Laird shrugged. “The rich and powerful are like that sometimes, if you want my opinion.”

The rich and powerful think that other people are disposable, Francesca thought.

It explained the way Lindström seemed to go through women like tissue paper, discarding them when he was done with them, never allowing one to stick. And it explained the way he was able to walk away from a hit-and-run, apparently not caring for the fact that he had caused the death of a fellow human being.

The more I get to know Lindström, the less I like him, she realized.

She closed the folder and pushed it away. She had seen enough for now. If she didn’t take a break and allow herself to think about something besides Lindström, at least for a while, she was going to burn out on this case before she even had a chance to get started.

Chapter 4

“Frannie. Hey. Frannie.”

The voice pierced through the dream she had been having, and Francesca jolted awake. Laird was leaning across the aisle and shaking her arm.

“We’re here,” he said.

“What?” She looked out the window. The plane was still in the air. “We’re in Konäs?”

“Well, not yet,” he amended. “The pilot just said that we would be landing in about twenty minutes. I thought you might like to watch us come in.”

Francesca sat up and fumbled for her phone. She pulled up the camera app and reversed the image so that she could look at herself.

Great. Her makeup was smudged, and there were lines on her face from sleeping with her head propped against the side wall of the plane. Her hair was in total disarray. She tried to comb it back into some semblance of order with her fingers, wishing that she had access to the brush in her suitcase.

I should have kept that handy. But, of course, she hadn’t planned on falling asleep.

She wiped away the smudges under her eyes, thanking God that at least she never wore much makeup. This could be a hell of a lot worse.

Deciding she looked close enough to normal, she put the phone away and looked over at Laird. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” she asked.

“I thought you could use the sleep,” he said, baffled.

“I was planning to study the file during the flight. I told you that.”

“I know,” he said. “But it was a red-eye flight, Frannie. If you can sleep when you’re flying overnight, you’re supposed to do it. It’s the best way to combat jet lag. Now it’s early morning here in Konäs, and you’re refreshed and ready to work. Right?”

Francesca sighed. She didn’t like it, but she had to admit that he was right. She did feel refreshed. And even though she hadn’t had the opportunity to study the file as much as she’d wanted to, it was good that she wouldn’t be going into the field exhausted.

The plane dropped suddenly, and Francesca’s stomach jolted. She knew that this was a normal part of the descent, but it always made her feel nervous. She checked her seat belt, then pulled it tight.

Laird laughed. “Nervous flyer?” he said, not unkindly.

“Shut up, Matt.” Francesca closed her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “My girlfriend is the same way. I have to get her drunk in order to get her on a plane. If we’re lucky, she usually passes out halfway to wherever we’re going.”

“I’m not that bad,” Francesca said. “I’ve just read too much about plane crashes. How it always seems to happen during the takeoff or the landing. I think I have myself convinced that nothing bad can happen during the rest of the flight, but that means I pack all my stress into the first and last fifteen minutes.”

“Gotcha,” Laird said. He hesitated. “Let’s make a plan on what we’re going to do once we’ve landed.”

He was trying to distract her, Francesca knew. But she welcomed the distraction.

She turned away from the window to face Laird. “First we’ll have