nodded in satisfaction. Now he had a name to go with the artist’s sketch that had been circulated to all the Montebellan news media. “Do you know where Ursula Chambers is now?” he asked.
“If I did, I sure wouldn’t be here,” Gretchen muttered. “I don’t know why Ursula had to kill the king’s nephew. Desmond was supposed to be helping us.”
“Are you claiming that Desmond Caruso knew about the baby?” Sam asked. “He knew about the existence of the prince’s son?”
“Oh, yeah. He knew. He was the one who paid the plane fare from Colorado to Montebello for me and baby Luke. He promised that Ursula and me would be made duchesses or countesses or something like that. The royals are filthy rich, you know. They were going to reward us.”
Another piece clicked into place. So that was the victim’s connection with the murderer, Sam thought. He’d heard rumors of Caruso’s less-than-exemplary character. The king’s nephew had been an illegitimate branch of the royal family tree, and he had always resented the limitations of his birth despite the king’s acceptance of him. It was definitely possible for the man to have been involved in a scheme to profit from the prince’s child.
But why had Ursula killed him? Had he tried to double-cross her, to cut her out of the money she had been promised? Or had the motive been more personal?
“It was Ursula’s idea to keep the prince’s baby in the first place, but I had to do all the work,” Gretchen said. “It wasn’t easy, hiding out and taking care of the child.”
“No, I imagine it wasn’t,” Kate said.
“I have my stupid brother to take care of, too, you know.”
“You must be very busy.”
“You bet I am. Gerald’s too dim-witted to manage without me. Between him and the baby, I never had a minute to myself.”
Sam doubted that. This woman was no self-sacrificing saint. With every word she uttered, she demonstrated her lack of compassion. “It was generous of you to take in the child after his mother died.”
“Damn right. I’ve had that kid since the day he was born.”
Sam frowned. “We were told Jessica Chambers died in childbirth, and that her baby died, too. What can you tell us about the birth?”
Gretchen’s eyes narrowed, her face taking on a feral look. She glanced around as if searching for an escape route.
Sam leaned forward, acting on a hunch. “Miss Hanson, how did Jessica Chambers really die?”
“She was murdered,” Gretchen burst out. “Ursula did it. She killed her own sister just like she killed the king’s nephew. I swear. She’s the one you want. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
It was an ungodly hour to be awake. No one but street cleaners and peasants was up before dawn. Instead of sneaking around these dreary old streets, she should have been safe and warm in some posh hotel room right now, dreaming of ways to spend her money.
Tucking a stray lock of her blond hair under her scarf, Ursula Chambers paused at the corner to check for police. Nothing was moving except a stray cat picking its way around some garbage cans. She hitched her carry-on bag over her shoulder, kicked the cat aside and hurried down the street.
She’d had high hopes when she’d arrived on this island. She’d had a surefire plan, too. Jessica had always had things easy—all their lives, she’d had the luck that should have been Ursula’s. So it was only fair that Jessica’s brat would be her big sister’s ticket to easy street. Ursula had planned it all out carefully. She deserved success, but then everything had fallen apart.
She was surrounded by idiots, that was the problem. Idiots and double-crossers. Desmond had been almost as attractive as she was, and he’d been one of the best lovers she’d had, but he should have known better than to betray her with that little black-haired tart. She’d seen him kissing the girl, some princess or other, and yet when she’d confronted him later he’d tried to deny it.
It hadn’t been Ursula’s fault she’d had to kill him. He’d given her no choice. One minute Desmond was smiling through his lies, the next minute she found that statue in her hand and saw blood pooling around his head.
She’d wiped off her fingerprints and put the statue she’d hit him with on the shelf. She’d ditched the blood-spattered dress she’d been wearing. She’d slipped away from Desmond’s cottage and made it off the palace grounds without anyone seeing her. She’d even gone back and burned the cottage to destroy any trace evidence.
She’d thought she was safe. Then some kid had screamed and pointed at her at the airport, and now everyone in the country could see her face when they turned on their TVs or opened their newspapers. It was a good thing she had noticed the police sketch on the front page of the Montebello Messenger before she’d tried to meet Gretchen.
She glanced at her reflection in a darkened shop window. The drawing had been surprisingly good for a police sketch, but considering the features the artist was working with, how could it not be? Ursula had always known she was blessed with a face that should have been on a Broadway poster or a movie screen. Along with her talent and her dynamite body, she’d been destined for stardom… if only her acting career hadn’t been ruined by her manager.
But what more could she have expected from a man? All the men in her life had betrayed her in one way or another, hadn’t they? The only smart thing to do was to use them before they could use her. And Ursula was smart. She was a survivor.
An aircraft took off in the distance, the throb of its engines magnified by the narrow streets. Ursula clutched her carry-on and looked up to follow its progress. The airport was still her best bet. Her credit cards were maxed out, but she had just enough cash left from the sale of her sister’s heirloom ring to cover a one-way ticket to the States. As long as she made it through customs before that idiot Gretchen told someone her name, she’d be home by tomorrow.
Like any great actress, Ursula Chambers knew when it was time to make an exit.
Chapter 3
“Put this on so you won’t be cold.”
Kate shook her head quickly as she saw Sam reach for the buttons of his dress blue uniform jacket. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
“The jeep doesn’t have a top.” He slipped the last button from its hole and shrugged off the jacket. “And you’re only wearing your running clothes.”
She told herself not to look. For the past five hours she’d been hearing variations on the same lecture in her head. But she was only human, so she couldn’t prevent her gaze from wandering.
How could it be possible for his shoulders to be broader than she remembered, for his chest to be more solid? The white shirt he wore beneath the jacket was flattened to his body by the breeze, defining the masculine contours like a lingering caress.
She looked away. She was no longer his lover. She was his colleague, his equal in rank. “Keep it, Sam. You’re only wearing a shirt yourself.”
“Yeah, but haven’t you heard? SEALs are tough.” Without waiting for permission, he settled the jacket around her shoulders.
“Sam…”
