Ransom for a Prince. Lisa Childs

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of the explosion when the flames and wreckage had been unavoidable. She wished she hadn’t seen what she had that night. So today she hadn’t been about to stop to find out what had happened or even to find out who was following her.

      She was damn sure she knew to whom one of those vehicles belonged. Prince Sebastian. Had he been involved in a crash?

      A pang of concern stabbed her heart, and she gasped. While she didn’t trust him, she would hate for him to be hurt—not because she personally cared what happened to him, though. She just hated the thought of anyone getting hurt.

      Except one man.

      “Someone follow you back from the resort?” Helen asked, peering over Jessica’s shoulder.

      She sucked in a breath. “Where’s Samantha?”

      “In her room, cleaning up like you told her. She’s such a good kid—always minds her mama,” Helen said with so much pride that she could have been the little girl’s biological grandmother instead of just her honorary one.

      Her breath escaped in a ragged sigh. “If only I’d do what I tell myself to do…”

      Helen chuckled. “You’re a good girl, too, Jessica. What are you talking about?”

      “I didn’t go to the resort,” she admitted.

      “You went to town.”

      Choking on regrets, she could only nod.

      Helen squeezed her shoulders. “That was a lot of money.”

      “I didn’t collect it,” she said. “I didn’t tell him anything.” Sure, the prince had seemed genuinely concerned about his friend, but she knew too well that concern—even love—could be faked to mask someone’s true nature or agenda.

      “So that’s why you’re worried he followed you back here?” Helen asked, continuing to stare down the long gravel driveway. It was so long that they couldn’t see the road, though. Someone could have turned off behind her, and she would not know.

      “I don’t think he was the only one following me,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

      “For what?”

      “For bringing trouble back to the ranch.”

      “I don’t see any cars out there, honey.” Helen stepped back. “You must have lost them.”

      “For now,” Jessica said, turning away from the door. “But someone in town might have recognized the Suburban, and if he—or anyone else—asks around…”

      “They’ll know where to find you.”

      “At the Double J. I knew Samantha and I would have to leave here someday, but I’d hoped to do that before I brought trouble to you.” She shouldn’t have stayed in one place for so long. When she’d first run away, she hadn’t stayed anywhere for more than a few weeks. But then she’d had Samantha, and the little girl had needed a home. “After everything you’ve done for me, that’s the last thing I ever intended to do.”

      Helen shrugged off Jessica’s concern. “Because the bottom of the J rotted off, it’s the double T. Double Trouble, honey. Trouble’s been here long before you showed up in Wind River County. Trouble will end here, too.”

      That was what Jessica was afraid of…

      “SO THE VAN’S GONE?” Antoine asked, his voice sharp with frustration as it emanated from the speaker.

      “It took off.” He shouldn’t have let it, but he’d had no justification for shooting out the tires or windows. So he’d refrained from firing his weapon, even though his finger had itched to pull the trigger.

      Hell, he’d probably had no justification for running the van off the road in the first place. Sure, it hadn’t let him pass, but drivers in the States were different than drivers in Barajas. There was road rage here. And there was also royal rage here in Wind River. Perhaps they had recognized the Hummer as belonging to COIN security detail and that was why they’d driven as erratically as they had. But Sebastian suspected the driver hadn’t acted out of road or royal rage but had had another agenda entirely. Plan B?

      Prince Stefan Lutece had learned from a forensics expert that the bomb had been intended for all of them and that when it had failed, whoever was behind the assassination attempt had moved on to plan B. Whatever that was…

      “You probably scared the hell out of some reporters,” Antoine remarked. “I hope.”

      “I’m sure they’ll leave her alone now.”

      Sebastian seriously doubted that they would leave the woman alone or that they were just reporters. When the window had rolled down a crack, sunshine had glinted off the metal of the barrel of a gun. Even though he’d more often stared down the barrel of a long-range sniper rifle, he had recognized when he’d been staring into one.

      “If they were reporters, they would have asked me for a statement, would they not? Reporters have been hounding us since we arrived in Wyoming. I was alone. They could have asked me whatever questions they wanted.” Instead they had flashed a gun and then had driven away in reverse to escape him.

      “Even alone you’re not exactly approachable,” Antoine said with a teasing chuckle. “And if they weren’t reporters but some of the hired guns, wouldn’t they have done something else to you…because you were alone? You’d presented them with a great opportunity.”

      “But perhaps they are not after me.”

      “Even before there was a hit put out on the witness, that bomb had been set in the limo to take out all of us,” Antoine bitterly reminded him. “If there were hit men in that van, they would have gone after you.”

      Sebastian expelled a breath of relief. “Of course. You’re right.” He chuckled. “So I did scare the hell out of some reporters.”

      “As you said, they’ve been hounding us since we arrived—they had it coming.”

      “They had it coming for interfering in my following the witness. I think I lost her,” he admitted. “The sheriff said her vehicle was registered to the Double J, but the only ranch I’ve found between the resort and the Rattlesnake Badlands is the Double T.” When he’d reached the badlands, he’d turned around and headed back to the driveway to that ranch. As he drove past it, he glanced at the wooden sign that hung on rusted chains from a sawed-off log. The T looked odd. Perhaps it had once been a J. But if it hadn’t, he could ask if anyone knew where he could find the Double J.

      And the witness…

      The dirt drive wound between fenced pastures and past a couple of weathered red barns to a two-story farmhouse. He wouldn’t need to ask where to find the Double J; he’d found it. He parked behind the rusted SUV. “I’m here,” he told his brother.

      “You found the witness.”

      “She’s here.”

      “Wait for me before you approach her again,” Antoine urged. “You shouldn’t be out—anywhere—alone.”

      “I’ll

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