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Lorenzo issued a little hum of suspicion. “So she told the reporters at the airport when she arrived this morning.”
“Reporters?” Ryan asked.
“TV-news team and the usual print hounds. She must have notified them herself. How else would they have known she was coming?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not necessarily. You know the papers keep a file on all you royals and everybody associated with you. Once word got out that Desmond had been killed, they would have started calling his family to get a reaction. If they found out where Nina worked, anybody in her office could have told them she was on her way over here. Especially if the caller represented himself as a friend who was worried about her, or used some ruse like that. The paparazzi are experts at that kind of thing. They’d have been lying in wait when she got off the plane.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Good point. But still supposition.” “You think she had prior knowledge, maybe conspired to have Desmond killed?” Ryan asked.
“Possibly. Find out and keep an eye on her while you do. A very close eye, my friend.”
“Count on it.”
So Nina Caruso was a suspect. Her motive for coming might be to insinuate herself into the royal family, play on their loyalty and gain their sympathy and acceptance by showing her grief. However, it was also possible that she was the one who had arranged Desmond’s murder and planned to cash in on his death. No doubt there was an inheritance of some kind.
He couldn’t deny she bore watching. Ryan just wished he wasn’t the one directed to do it.
Since he had no choice, he assured Lorenzo he understood and would comply. Then he went to join Ms. Caruso in the outer office.
“So, we are to be partners,” Ryan said, but he did so pleasantly, as if perfectly resigned to the situation.
She yanked the outer door open and stood aside for him to exit. “I’ll pull my weight,” she announced, her classic features set with fierce determination. “You’ll see.”
“Of course you will,” he answered idly. As if any cop in his right mind would actually allow a civilian and family member to take part in a murder case. And he was still a cop at heart.
Pavelli was waiting for them outside. “Ms. Caruso’s bags are in the boot,” he told Ryan. “If you like, Marcello and the car are at your disposal today.
Ryan accepted the offer, gesturing grandly toward the long black beast as if he owned it. “Your carriage awaits.”
She climbed into the limo and settled back against the butter-soft leather. Pavelli got in front with the driver as Ryan joined Nina Caruso in the back. He was glad to see that the glass partition was closed. It gave them privacy.
Ryan looked at her and imagined he saw her chin tremble. Had to be a trick of light. Nevertheless, he was prompted by it to ask, “Why are you really so intent on doing this, Ms. Caruso?”
She met his gaze with one just as intent as his. “Because Desmond was my brother.”
“He was Duke Lorenzo’s brother, too, and the duke trusts me to handle this.”
She granted him a short nod. “That may be, but I still want to be involved.”
“I can understand if you came over for the funeral, but why horn in on my duties? You don’t know a thing about investigations.” Then it occurred to him that she might. “Do you? Are you a cop or something?”
“No, I’m a graphic designer.”
Ryan snorted, not knowing—or caring much—what that entailed. He knew it didn’t have a damned thing to do with detective work.
“I have an excellent eye for detail,” she assured him, chafing her arms with her palms as if she were cold. “To tell the truth, I have to do something. Can’t you understand that? I have to do something for Desmond.”
“You and your brother must have been very close,” he said.
“Yes, of course.” Then she added, “But he’s been away a long time. Since he was twenty.” The admission cost her, he thought. She didn’t like confiding anything about herself, but it was his business to pry out secrets. And he was curious.
If she was anything at all like Desmond Caruso, there might be excellent reason to keep close tabs on her. By most accounts, the man had been a crass opportunist. Ryan had met him once and thought he was a jerk. But even jerks deserved justice.
“How did you find out about the murder?” he asked, carefully noting her body language for an indication that she would lie.
She sighed. “Someone from the palace phoned me. I’m sorry, I didn’t get the name. The call woke me, then I was so upset.”
“Yeah, well, that’s understandable,” Ryan granted. “When did you receive the call?”
“The morning he… his body… was discovered. The person who called me suggested that I would be welcome if I decided to come. But I would have anyway,” she added.
“I see,” Ryan commented. “Was this official who notified you a man?”
She looked directly at him then and frowned in consternation. “I couldn’t say for certain. A husky voice, but not too deep.”
Couldn’t say, or wouldn’t? Ryan wondered. She gave no outward signs that she was lying or withholding the truth, but that meant very little other than that she could be accomplished at it and had studied body language herself.
Nina understood why she was being so adamant about participating personally in the investigation of Desmond’s death, even if Ryan McDonough didn’t. She did think it surprising and somewhat peculiar that the king would allow and even encourage it. The best she had hoped for when she’d asked permission was, as McDonough had suggested, to be kept informed as events unfolded. And to hound someone for answers if they weren’t forthcoming.
Much to her surprise, the king had sent her to the P. I.’ s office with the suggestion that she assist him. That alone indicated to her that the investigator might need a push to get things done, that the king either knew him to be shorthanded or lacking in initiative. Nina glanced out the tinted windows at the city surrounding them. It was so lovely here in San Sebastian, an inter esting combination of old-world architecture and innovative modern buildings that signified a successful transition into the twenty-first century.
Had Desmond loved it? Had he felt at home here? Accepted? There had been a time in her life when she had absolutely idolized her older brother. He had been so handsome, so aloof and tragic even as a teenager. How proud she had felt whenever he took the time to notice her and smile down at her.
Looking back, she realized that he’d had much the same affection for the family dog. Still, all her friends had sighed, giggled and mooned over Desmond. He had actually championed her a few times when Dad had called her on the carpet for one transgression or another. Later however, she had noticed that Desmond routinely argued with her father on just about everything.
Had they been close? No. As much as she had wished it so, her brother had been little more than an enigmatic stranger.
If she were perfectly honest, this hurried trip and her involvement here were more in the nature of alleviating her guilt. She had sailed through life without a glitch, taking for granted the love of her parents, her success in school, her wide circle of friends and her sense of belonging. Desmond had suffered every step of the way.
He had always been at odds with the adults in his life, parents and teachers. Desmond had been a loner and had never quite fit in anywhere. He’d either tried too hard or, in some instances, not tried at all.
Nina hoped he had found his place here in Montebello, where his birth father had once lived. She wished she had been able to discuss it with the duke, who must have known him very well. She had to admit, royalty intimidated her.
Desmond was born of royalty, though he hadn’t known about it until after Nina’s father had died. To a very young and impressionable Nina, that discovery had fully explained Desmond’s difficulties in adjusting to life as they had known it. A prince among paupers, she recalled thinking at the time.
Now she could laugh at that childish conclusion. Her family might not have been rich, but they were solid upper-middle class with a healthy bank account. Love and affection were also in ready supply. Neither she nor her brother had ever lacked for a single thing they truly needed.
Nina missed her parents. Her father had succumbed to a virulent case of pneumonia just before Desmond left. The revelation that followed his death—that Desmond wasn’t really his, but was instead the illegitimate son of a Montebellan Duke—had further alienated her brother. The loss of both husband and son had been too much for Nina’s mother. She had died only months later, finally giving in to the weak heart that had plagued her for years.
Of course she had romanticized the sad figure Desmond had become. Most of his problems were of his own making. But he was her brother, faults and all. Poor, handsome, tragic Desmond did not deserve such a sad end.
If she could just do this one last thing for him, see his killer brought to justice, Nina thought she might be able to put aside the guilt she felt for having a childhood that was so much better than his. She had always felt she owed him something to make up for what he had missed and she had enjoyed, and this was all there was left to do for him.
“When did you last hear from your brother?” McDonough asked, interrupting her bittersweet thoughts.
She turned to look at him. “The last time? A few weeks ago.” Desmond had contacted her for a loan, but that was none of this man’s business. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the murder.
“You said you once entertained a close bond with him. That was not true lately?” he asked, the intensity of his gaze absolutely unnerving.
“Is this an interrogation, Mr. McDonough?” she demanded, feeling defensive, especially since she did not want to answer the question.
“Yes,” he readily admitted. “And what happened to calling me Ryan? I thought we were supposed to become more familiar. It was your idea… Nina.”
They had stopped at a traffic light and she had the overwhelming impulse to get out and slam the door shut in his face. Instead, she took a deep breath and prayed for patience. Only when she had collected herself did she answer. “My brother and I were as close as can be expected given the eight-year difference in our ages and the fact that we had not visited much since he left home.” And not at all since he had come to Montebello.
He pursed his lips and nodded. Then he smiled sadly. “And there was also the fact that you had different fathers. How did that affect the two of you?”
Nina shifted in her seat, gritted her teeth and met his gaze with a glare. “If you’re considering sibling rivalry as a possible motive, I do have an alibi. I was on the other side of the world at the time Des was killed.”
He smiled more naturally. “And that can be verified quite easily, I’m sure.”
“Absolutely. So you can eliminate me from your list of suspects, McDonough,” she snapped. “If you have any suspects.”
“I have several hundred thousand at the moment. But you’re going to remedy that with your input on the investigation, aren’t you? When would you like to begin?”
“Now.”
“First I’d like an answer to my previous question. Was there any sibling rivalry between you and Desmond?”
“Certainly not on my part!” she exclaimed. “Are you always this abrasive?”
He shrugged those shoulders she couldn’t help but admire. “Nope. Sometimes I’m even more so. It’s a plus in this line of work, trust me. Looks like you have the attitude down pat, if nothing else.”
Then he cocked his head to one side and raked his bottom lip with his straight, white teeth. She thought she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes. “But you obviously don’t trust me, do you? If you did, you would be content to lie around the palace eating grapes or whatever it is the royal cousins do, and let me handle this case.”
Nina refused to rise to the bait. Calmly she crossed one leg over the other and smoothed the knee-length skirt of her new gray suit. “You know very well I’m not a royal cousin. But Desmond was. You said we could begin the investigation now. Will you give me something specific to do?”
He cleared his throat, quickly looking away from her legs. “You should get settled first. Get over your jet lag.”
“I don’t have any. And I’m already settled, as you put it. Mr. Pavelli has arranged a flat for me.” She gave him a smug little smile and raised her brows. “The vacant apartment next to yours is no longer to let.”
To his credit, he managed not to groan. His sigh of resignation provided her a brief moment of victory. Then he seemed to recover. “I guess he thought it would be convenient for us. Would you like to go there first, or get right down to business?”
“Right down to business,” Nina declared. “That’s why I’m here.”
He nodded once and leaned forward to push a button, obviously an intercom, because he spoke to the driver. “The palace, please.”
“The palace? You’re not talking the king out of this,” Nina warned him. “You heard Lorenzo.”
“I did. And, good little Montebellan subject that I am, I wouldn’t dream of bucking the powers-that-be.”
Before Nina could comment, he continued, this time very seriously. “We’re going to the scene of the crime.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
His eyes were piercing as his gaze fastened on hers. “This is for real, Ms. Caruso. Not like you see on television.” “Please tell me you don’t believe I’m stupid enough to think it is.”
“All I’m saying is that if you’re going to help me, get objective because I don’t have time to baby you. A man has been killed. I need to discover who did it, and time is all-important. It’s already been nearly forty-eight hours. Will the sight of blood make you faint?”
Nina sucked in a sharp breath of shock. He sounded horribly heartless.
“I know that seems cold,” he admitted, his features rock hard and uncompromising. Unsympathetic. “But if you’re going to accomplish anything at all, you have to divorce your emotions from what you will be doing. Do you understand?” “Yes.”
“I hope so. You cannot deal with murder if you don’t. It’s ugly. It will give you nightmares. Sometimes it will make you cry and wake up screaming. This is particularly true if you knew the victim.”
He was trying to scare her off. She had crossed her arms over her chest and was clenching her biceps until they hurt.
Then she saw something in his eyes that told her he was speaking from experience, that he knew exactly what he was talking about. He’d said he worked homicide before. Did he have these nightmares?
“That means I must see… the body.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.” His voice gentler now, thoughtful. “It shouldn’t be necessary.”
“I want to,” she said, steadying her voice, making up her mind to do it. What help could she be to this investigation if she allowed her emotions and her fears to rule every decision she made? “Yes. I should.”
McDonough shook his head and heaved out a deep breath. “You’re that afraid I might miss some clues?”
“Have you even looked for any?” Nina asked.
“I haven’t seen the body yet, if that’s what you’re asking. The king only put me on this late yesterday. I’ve been catching up on what the police have done so far.”
“A second pair of eyes never hurts, does it?” she asked.
“Your eyes will hurt if you insist on this,” he said, betraying a little of that emotion he had just warned her to bury. “I’m afraid yours will. It’s going to be difficult, if not impossible, Nina, to forget the victim was your brother.”
“I can do it,” she said as convincingly as she could. “I can be objective if that’s what it takes. Couldn’t you, if the victim was a relation of yours?”
He gave her the strangest look, then tore his gaze from hers. Well, let him be angry, she thought. This wasn’t about Ryan McDonough’s pride anyway. It was about Desmond and finding out who killed him.
She probably would be able to handle seeing Des. At least, she could fake it for the short time it would take. She’d never been squeamish. And she knew very well that a person’s essence left the body when that person died. It wouldn’t be Desmond she was seeing. Not really.
Suppose McDonough did miss something? Would she know enough to find it? And if she did, would he admit the error? At least if she was courageous enough to see what a real investigator should, he might take her wish to help more seriously.
“I won’t faint,” she assured him. “I’ve seen bodies before.” He nodded and offered no further argument. Nina only wished she had convinced herself as easily as that.
Chapter 2
Ryan wished he could insist on taking Nina to her apartment before going to the palace as he had planned. Her arrival had thrown a monkey wrench in his schedule.
Strange as it seemed, that old adage about criminals returning to the scene of the crime did hold true occasionally in homicides. Consequently, Ryan had stationed one of his best men, Joseph Braca, at Desmond’s house at night to keep watch. The back doors purposely had been left unlocked for easy access, and Ryan had hidden two motion-activated cameras in strategic locations to record the image of any intruders.
In addition to bringing Joe up to date on the preliminary forensics report, Ryan needed to make him aware of the new wrinkle in the investigation. Nina. While Ryan kept her busy later today, Joe would be running her background, checking the alibi and going over the victim’s phone records to see if there had been any contact other than what she’d admitted.
Ryan could have phoned Joe instead of coming over, probably should have, given the circumstances. Or he could have requested that Joe report to him at the office before going off duty. The truth was, Ryan employed any reason he could think of to get out from behind that desk and into the field. Also, this might satisfy Nina Caruso that he was allowing her to assist him.
A scant quarter hour later, they drove through the gates of the palace. Ryan scanned the royal compound, realizing how many hundreds of people must be residing, employed or visiting there. Any one of them might be responsible for killing Desmond Caruso. And it was up to him to discover the needle in this palatial haystack.
The landscaping prevented driving right up to the front. There was a large paved parking area for vehicles situated between the wing of the palace that contained the heritage section and the wing housing the throne room. In deference to Nina, who must be tired and was wearing high heels, Ryan decided to forgo the walk from there. The flagstones and graveled paths would be hell on her feet in those shoes.
