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Except the limo didn’t explode when the engine started.
This bomb exploded mid-ride, meaning someone must have set a timer or been nearby watching to trigger the device.
She inspected the ignition, the engine and the gas tank and collected trace from all areas. The scent of burned metal and copper permeated the air along with the lingering odor of charred metal, burned rubber, blood and human skin.
Ralph was processing the car’s interior, so she used her flashlight to scan the ground along the deserted road. A cigarette butt caught her eye, and she bagged it, then gathered several pieces of metal, wires and plastic that could have been part of the explosive.
When she glanced up, Prince Stefan was still trailing her with those intense eyes, and she had the uncanny feeling that he was holding something back.
A glint of metal suddenly flickered in the moonlight. She frowned, waved her flashlight across the sagebrush and prickly pears, and spotted something that looked like a cell phone in the midst of a patch of Indian paintbrush.
With her gloved hands, she knelt, pushed apart the scarlet leaves and foliage and retrieved the phone, then flipped it over. It could have belonged to the passenger from the limo. Maybe they’d lift some prints that would lead to the bomber.
Or at least the name of the passenger. Then they could look at motive.
Unless the driver had been the target.
They couldn’t dismiss that possibility, although if this limo had transported the royals earlier, the more likely prospect was that the intended target had been all or one of the dignitaries.
She punched the connect button to make a call, but the battery on the cell phone was dead. The lab would have to do its magic, search for prints, the phone log history.
She bagged the phone and carried it to the evidence box. Prince Lutece’s eyes flared with interest as their gazes connected, and he wove along the edge of the crime scene tape until he stood only inches from her.
“You found something?” he asked in a gruff voice.
She nodded. “A cell phone. Could be nothing, or it could have belonged to the missing passenger.” She held up the bag and his jaw tightened.
“You recognize the phone?” she asked quietly.
A muscle worked in his throat. He was stalling. Debating whether to lie or how much to reveal.
Well, damn. Maybe the missing person was a friend of his. But she was not here to play games.
“Listen, Prince,” she said, purposely inflecting sarcasm into the title. “I don’t care what your position is. If you know the identity of the second person in the car, you need to speak up. Withholding information about a crime is a crime itself.”
Anger sharpened his tone when he spoke. “I do not need a lecture on the laws of your country.”
“And I don’t need you breathing down my neck if you aren’t going to cooperate. Do you know who this phone belongs to?”
He didn’t speak for a moment. He simply breathed deeply, so deeply that the sound sent a tremor through her. He was afraid he did know.
And he also feared that he couldn’t trust her.
The image of the panic on his face in the earlier news clip of his arrival rose in her mind in vivid clarity, sending a chill through her. He had received a threat. Maybe all of them had.
“I told you that I wouldn’t reveal information to the press,” she said in a low voice. “You have my word that I will be discreet.”
“It is not just the media that concerns me,” the prince said.
He didn’t trust the police?
She didn’t know how to assure him. Their last sheriff had been corrupt. Others had been rumored to be dirty, too, but she had no idea how deeply the corruption went or who might be involved.
And the prince’s arrival, along with the other leaders of the Middle Eastern and Mediterranean nations, had stirred distrust and suspicion on numerous levels.
He stroked her arm, and her gaze fell to his hand. His fingers, his touch felt so gentle, yet his military background and leadership role indicated he possessed a steely strength and determination. That he would do whatever necessary to protect his people and his friends.
“We believe Sheik Amir may have been in the limousine,” Stefan said in a tortured whisper. “But this news cannot be made public. And I do not want it shared with any of your law officials, even your boss.”
Jane gave a clipped nod. She hated to lie to Osgood or other police, but she also understood the delicacy of this matter. Lives were at stake. “I just want to get to the truth,” Jane said. “If your friend was involved, talking to me might help us find him.”
“You will do your job,” he finally said. “I just ask that you discuss any leads you find with me and get clearance with our security before you go public with information.”
He sounded so sincere that against her better judgment, she agreed.
Suddenly the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end, and her cop skills kicked in. Oftentimes criminals showed up at a crime scene and insinuated themselves into the investigation, so they could keep abreast of developments. That and a morbid sense of watching the police scurry around searching for clues.
She turned and studied everyone at the scene and the surrounding area to see if anyone looked suspicious.
STEFAN GRITTED his teeth. He did recognize the cell phone. It was Amir’s. Which meant the blood in the back of the limo most likely belonged to him, too.
Frustration knotted his insides. He did not like lying to Jane, but the earlier text made him extremely cautious.
Something about her tough-girl act impressed him. She wasn’t trying to be coy or use him. She was simply doing her job.
A refreshing change from the manipulative, seductive women who had tried to lure him into bed—and into marriage—and earn a position by his side on the throne.
But he did not have time to analyze his odd attraction to her. Finding Amir was of utmost importance.
“Was gunpowder used as the explosive?” he asked.
Jane adjusted her cap. “I will release my results once I’ve analyzed the samples at the lab.”
“But no signs of C-4 or another military ex plosive?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You do know explosives, don’t you, Prince?”
He nodded. “Among other things.”
Swinging the flashlight in a wide arc, Jane studied the angle of the limo, then shined the light on the edges of the asphalt next to the dirt.
Stefan followed the tracking light, and frowned as he noticed skid marks made by the limo. Then more tire tracks…
“There was another vehicle here,” Jane said. “Either the bomber himself or a witness.”
A witness would be invaluable. But if so, where was this person? “Perhaps someone found Amir and drove him for medical help.” At least he prayed that was the scenario. Not that this person had kidnapped Amir.
“I’ll have the sheriff check local hospitals.” She traced a gloved hand over one of the tire tracks. “I’m going to take plaster casts of these.”
“You can distinguish the make of the automobile by these impressions?” he asked.
Jane nodded. “If we look at the tread and wear, we can match them to a particular tire. There are databases that list which tires are installed from the factory on specific vehicles. And if there’s a hole or cut in the tire, that makes it even more unique.”
Stefan nodded, impressed.
“Let me get my supplies,” she said.
He watched as she spoke with the sheriff, then rushed to the crime lab van. Seconds later, she returned with a camera and supplies. She took photographs of each tire track at a ninety-degree angle, then from various angles, then measured the width and the circumference of the wheels as well as the distance between the front of the tires and the rear tires.
She also knelt and collected samples of the rubber left on the asphalt and dirt and bagged it to transport to the lab.
Stefan noted the meticulous way she handled each piece of evidence, logging it into an evidence log to ensure proper treatment.
There were also shoe prints on the dirt by the second car. She measured and cast those as well.
Finally, she stood and returned to him, looking up at him beneath the brim of her hat. “We need to take a sample of your foot impressions.”
He gaped at her, anger rising. “You cannot honestly believe that I had something to do with this bomb.” It was a statement, not a question.
Jane gave him a sardonic smile. “You tell me. You were here within minutes of the crime. You refuse to be open with me. You’ve asked me to cover up anything I find from the press. I know that you recognize that cell phone.” She sighed. “And you are a bomb expert. Do the math.”
“There is no math to be done,” he said, his voice hardening. “I am Prince of Kyros, here to make peace deals with your country and the limo my friends and I rode in earlier was blown up. I explained my reasons and you must accept them.”
Jane planted her hands on her hips, her expression defiant. “I don’t care who you are. I’m a crime scene investigator, and I’m going to find out what happened here. And whoever is involved is going to answer for this crime.”
Stefan’s cheeks burned. Edilio glanced up in concern from the car where he stood, and Jane’s superior, Osgood, did the same. Furious, Stefan jammed his hands in his pockets to keep from shaking the insufferable woman and finding himself handcuffed by the local law like a common criminal.
Osgood strolled over, scratching at his arm where it appeared a rash lingered. “Something wrong?”
“I just explained that we’ll need to take the prince’s foot impressions.” Jane smiled tightly. “For elimination purposes, of course.”
Stefan’s gaze met hers. He saw the challenge. But heat rippled through the air, a charged tension that made his body burn with desire.
Edilio approached, his temper flaring in his eyes, and the reporter hovering on the scene started toward them.
Sheriff Wolf caught the reporter, though, before he could snap a photo.
“You insult the Prince, Miss,” Edilio said in a harsh voice. “That is not acceptable. You must apologize.”
Stefan raised a hand to warn Edilio to calm down. The last thing he wanted was to cause an incident with the local police. Or for this reporter to capture it. “No need for apologies, Edilio. Let Miss Cameron follow her protocol.”
He gave Jane a seductive smile. “Take my prints, Jane. You will only prove that you are wrong about me. That even if you have a problem with me because I am a prince, that I am an honorable man, one you can trust.”
THE SUBTLE INNUENDO in Stefan’s voice sent a quiver up Jane’s spine. She didn’t really believe that the prince had anything to do with the bombing, and she had no idea why she’d baited him, but his presence totally unnerved her.
“I do not have a problem with you because you are a prince,” Jane lied.
Rather because he was a man.
She didn’t trust any man, especially a royal who could have any woman on any continent he desired. A man with wealth and power and people heeding his every beck and call.
She wanted him gone. Away from her so she could breathe normally again. So her fingers would stop sweating and her heart racing, and her mind would stop straying to dangerous avenues.
Like wondering what he thought about her. If he liked what he saw. If his hands were as sensual as they looked. And what it would feel like if he actually touched her with that sultry mouth.
Good grief. She was a moron to even think such nonsense.
“I’ll need your shoes,” Jane said.
“I will follow you to your lab and you may have them there,” the prince said in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Fine.” Jane grabbed the evidence box to transport to the lab, and strode toward her vehicle, but just as she crossed through the crime scene tape, the reporter shoved a microphone in her face.
“Can you tell us what you found? Who was in the car?”
Jane shook her head. “The department will issue a statement once the evidence has been processed and the victim identified. Now, please move, so I can do my job.”
Stefan smiled as she elbowed her way past the leech. It had irritated him when she had used that tone on him, but amused him now.
“Prince Stefan,” Edilio said. “Are you certain you want to cooperate with this woman?”
Stefan shrugged. “I think she will be useful in giving us information.”
“Such a crass female,” Edilio said. “I cannot fathom why some American women dress and talk like men.”
Stefan’s mouth quirked. Crass was not the word he would have chosen. Intriguing, sexy, smart. Not the type of woman he was accustomed to, but he would meet her challenge.
Still, responding to Edilio would only invite questions, so he refrained from comment.
Edilio drove and he tried to tame his libido as they followed Jane to the lab, parked and went inside. The crime lab was located in the brick courthouse in Dumont on the second floor and consisted of several offices and laboratories. Jane catalogued the evidence into their filing system, then settled at a workspace. With the late night hour, the lab was virtually empty, the halls reeking of pungent odors and chemicals.
“Find us some coffee,” Prince Stefan said. “I will phone Efraim and update him.”
Edilio nodded, then walked down the hall, and Stefan stepped into an empty corridor across from Jane’s lab to phone his friends.
“The driver was killed,” he told Efraim. “And there was blood in the backseat, but Amir was not inside.”
“Then he could have crawled away after the explosion, and he still may be alive.”
“It is possible,” Stefan said. “But Amir’s cell phone was discovered at the scene in the bushes. And there were tire tracks from a second car.”
Efraim grunted. “There was a witness?”
“Either that or the second vehicle belonged to the bomber. If he saw that Amir was still alive, he could have kidnapped him.”
Efraim cursed. “We must not let this information become known. Not until we discover the truth.”
“I agree.”
