style="font-size:15px;"> He blinked. “What?”
“Your type of woman,” she clarified.
He drilled her gaze, and their eyes clashed. Her pulse skipped like a stone, and she decided they were perfect for each other. No other man challenged her the way he did. Or made her care so deeply. She needed him as much as he needed her.
“I don’t have one,” he responded steadily.
Oh, yes you do, she thought. And I’m her.
Detective work, Maggie decided, didn’t live up to its TV image. They weren’t tailing bad guys, lurking in trench coats on a shadowy street corner or dodging bullets in a high-speed car chase. Instead they faced mounds and mounds of paperwork.
It was Saturday afternoon, a light snow blanketed the ground, and she and Luke were holed up in his town house, poring over files, cataloging information about individuals and corporations known to have even the slightest association with the Kelly crime family. Luke was searching for someone, anyone, who might have an interest in the missing CDs. Locating a potential buyer, he claimed, could lead them to the Altarian traitor.
“Aren’t the files encoded?” she asked. “How can they sell encrypted CDs?”
“The encryption can be broken. Not easily, but it can be done. The Kellys tried to get the encryption program from the Connelly Corporation computer system, but they failed.”
“Does the Chicago P.D. know about the cancer virus? Didn’t Rafe have to tell them when they arrested the Kellys?”
“No,” Luke responded. “He didn’t have to tell them. He led the police to believe the Kellys stole valuable data relating to the Institute’s purpose—a cure for cancer. The fewer people who know the truth, the better. We don’t need an international scandal on our hands.”
Maggie nodded, then studied Luke’s profile. He sat beside her in his home office, tapping away on a laptop.
“Why don’t you send some undercover agents to Altaria?” she suggested. “There must be someone you can trust to keep an eye on things over there.”
“I’ve already done that. I’ve got some former military men on it. Guys I served with. I planted someone at the castle and at the Rosemere Institute. And I’ve got another man watching the textile mill.”
Maggie thought about the CD that had been accidentally forwarded to her. If the syndicate had discovered their error, her life would have been threatened. She understood how dangerous this case was, and she appreciated Luke for his skill and dedication. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”
“I’m trying to stay one step ahead of the game.” He rolled his shoulders and nearly bumped her arm. The desk they shared was barely big enough for two. “But unfortunately the men I sent to Altaria haven’t uncovered any leads.”
He stopped typing and turned to look at her. His face was close enough to see the detail of his skin, the faded scar near his left eyebrow, the slight shadow of beard stubble. She was tempted to touch him, to run her fingers over those stunning cheekbones. As an artist, she was fascinated by his features. As a woman, she couldn’t help but admire his rugged appeal.
“I need to tell you something about Prince Marc,” he said.
Instantly Maggie braced herself. There was always something to be said about her uncle. Prince Marc had been a charming, dashing playboy. Considered one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors, he’d juggled lovers the way he’d juggled his finances. He’d also fathered a daughter out of wedlock, but unfortunately hadn’t proved to be much of a parent.
Nonetheless, Maggie had loved him. He was still her blood.
“Prince Marc had an association with the Kellys,” Luke announced.
For a moment she only stared. Her uncle, the free-spirited prince, had been involved in organized crime? A man the media often compared her to?
Her stomach knotted. “In what capacity?”
“He owed the Kellys money. His gambling debts were eating him alive.” Luke sighed. “We believe he was part of the smuggling scam, Maggie.”
“That can’t be.” She jumped to her feet, paced a little. “He was murdered in the same speedboat accident as the king. They were together.”
“Think about it. Prince Marc hadn’t originally planned on being on the boat that day. He’d gone with his father at the last minute. Therefore, he wasn’t the intended hit.”
She stopped pacing. “So what’s your theory?”
“Prince Marc needed to get out from under his gambling debts, so he formed an alliance with the Kellys. In fact, I think they killed King Thomas because they wanted Marc, a man they could easily manipulate, to take the throne.”
“But they accidentally killed Marc instead.” Which meant that her uncle hadn’t known that the Kellys meant to murder the king. But someone at the castle did. Someone who had kept the Kellys informed of the king’s whereabouts, someone who had sent a hit man to the dock to tamper with the boat.
She blinked, fighting tears she wouldn’t dare cry in front of Luke. King Thomas had been her salvation, the only person in the world who truly understood her, who knew how diligently she struggled to earn her family’s respect.
Frivolous Maggie. The temperamental artist. The spoiled Connelly baby. No one seemed to care that she was earning a double major in business and art.
Damn it, she thought, missing the king’s keep-your-chin-up encouragement.
She worked as hard as she played. Harder, she decided, staring at the stack of paperwork on Luke’s desk. She’d studied for finals in the midst of all this. And now she had to contend with images of her traitorous uncle.
Weary, she shifted her gaze to Luke. He rubbed his temples and went back to the laptop. She could see the strain on his face, the headache forming beneath his brow. He worked hard, too. Only he never gave himself a break. He never had any fun.
Maggie gazed out the window, at the perfectly beautiful winter day, at the snow Luke had predicted. “Let’s get out of here,” she said. “Let’s ditch these files and go build a snowman.” With a big, carrot nose, she thought, and a smile made of twigs.
He gave her an incredulous look. “I’m not going to waste valuable time goofing around. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”
Not easily deterred, she moved away from the window and devised a brilliant plan. One way or another, she and Luke were going to play in the snow. “How about lunch? You have to eat, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Then let’s go out for lunch.”
He agreed, albeit reluctantly, to take an hour off for a meal. Precisely one hour, he stipulated, sounding like the ex-military man that he was.
Maggie buttoned her coat and slipped on a pair of kidskin gloves. Luke reached for a leather jacket, then pulled a hand through his hair, smoothing a few stray locks into place.
Dressed
