officer’s eyes widened in surprise. “Much appreciated, ma’am, especially seeing as you’re the victim. I’ll need you to file a complaint against the suspect.”
“I...I’m not filing charges.”
The officer frowned at her. “That would be a mistake.”
He went on to list the reasons that letting the kid get away with this crime would be a bad idea. And he had some good points. In the end, she had to agree with him.
“Okay. I’ll need you and the man who caught the thief to make statements down at the station.” The officer glanced around. “Where did he go?”
She glanced around for her hero, but there was no sign of him. How could he vanish so quickly?
“I didn’t get a chance to catch his name much less take a statement.” The officer shook his head as he noted something on the pad of paper in his hand.
Why had the man disappeared without giving his statement? Was he afraid of cops? Or was it something else? Something that had him hiding behind dark sunglasses and a shaggy beard?
Or perhaps she’d watched one too many cop shows. She’d probably never know the truth about him. But that didn’t stop her from imagining that he was a bad boy, maybe a wrongly accused fugitive or a spy. Someone as mysterious as him had to have an interesting background. What could it be?
AT LAST SHE’D ARRIVED.
Annabelle checked the time on her cell phone. Luckily, she’d had it in her pocket or it would have been confiscated with her purse. She had two minutes to spare before her meeting with an executive of the Fo Shizzle Cafés. Her name was Mary and they’d corresponded for the past few weeks. It seemed Grayson Landers, the CEO and mastermind behind the hip cafés, was only hands-on once a site had been vetted by a trusted member of his team.
Annabelle took a seat at one of the umbrella tables off to the side of the historic piazza in the South Shore. She glanced around, but there weren’t any professional young women lurking about.
Annabelle looked down at the screen of her phone. Her social media popped up. There were already numerous posts about the incident with her purse. There were photos of her, but no photos of her hero’s face. Too bad.
And then a thought came to her. Perhaps a phone call to the police station would hurry along the return of her possessions. Her finger moved over the screen, beginning the search for the phone number—
“You’re seriously not going to let me through?”
The disgruntled male voice drew Annabelle’s attention. She glanced up as Berto blocked a man from getting any closer. She swallowed hard. It didn’t matter how many times it happened, she was still uncomfortable having security scrutinize everyone that came within twenty meters of her.
Berto stood there like a big mountain of muscle with his bulky arms crossed and his legs slightly spread. Annabelle had no doubt he was ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. He’d done it before with some overly enthusiastic admirers. Okay, so having him around wasn’t all bad, but she did take self-defense classes and knew how to protect herself.
“You’ll have to go around. The lady does not want to be disturbed.” There was no waver in Berto’s voice.
“I’d like to speak to the lady.”
“That’s not happening.”
Annabelle couldn’t see Berto’s face, but she could imagine his dark frown. He didn’t like anyone messing with his orders and that included keeping strangers at a distance.
Annabelle’s gaze moved to the stranger. She immediately recognized him. He was the man who’d rescued her purse from that thief. What was he doing here?
He was a tall man, taller than Berto, but not quite as bulky. The man’s dark hair was short and wavy, just begging for someone to run their fingers through it. And those broad shoulders were just perfect to lean against during a slow dance.
He was certainly handsome enough to be a model. She could imagine him on the cover of a glossy magazine. He didn’t appear threatening. Perhaps he was interested in her. What would it hurt to speak to him?
Annabelle slipped her phone in her pocket. “Berto, is that any way to treat a hero? Let him through.”
There was a twitch of a muscle in Berto’s jaw, letting her know he wasn’t comfortable with her decision. If it were up to him, her father or even the king, she’d never have a social life. It was getting old. And if this man was bold enough to stand up to Berto, she was intrigued.
Without another word, Berto stepped aside.
The man approached her table. He didn’t smile at her. She couldn’t blame him. Berto could put people on edge.
“I’m sorry about Berto. He can be overprotective. I’d like to thank you again. You’re my hero—”
“Stop saying that. I’m no one’s hero.”
“But you stopped that thief and without you, I probably wouldn’t have gotten my purse back.” Or more importantly, the journal.
“I was just in the right place at the right time. That doesn’t make me anything special.”
“Well, don’t argue with me. It’s all over social media.” She withdrew her phone. She pulled up the feed with all of the posts that included photos of this man holding her purse, but his head was lowered, shielding his face.
She noticed how the muscles of his jaw tensed. He took modesty to a whole new level. What was up with that? She was definitely intrigued by this man.
“I’m guessing you didn’t track me down to claim a reward.”
The man in a pair of navy dress shorts and a white polo shirt lowered himself into a seat across the table from her. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
Was this man for real? “Of course I do.”
He shook his head. “I meant, do you know my name?”
She was definitely missing something here, but what? “I take it you know me.”
“Of course. You are Lady Annabelle DiSalvo, daughter of the Duke of Halencia and niece of the king. Also, you are in charge of the South Shore Project.”
If he was hoping to impress her, he’d succeeded. Now, she had no choice but to ask. “And your name would be?”
“Grayson Landers.”
Wait. What? He was the genius multimillionaire?
Surely she couldn’t have heard him correctly. He removed his sunglasses and it all came together. Those striking cerulean blue eyes were unforgettable—even from an online photo. At the time, she’d thought they’d been Photoshopped. They hadn’t been. His piercing eyes were just as
