LITMIR.BIZ

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turned toward Brenner and held out his hand. “Give me your keys.”

      “Your Highness, I will drive you.”

      He shook his head. “No, I cannot risk anyone else frightening her off.”

      “But she could still be—doing as the sheriff suggested—setting a trap for you.”

      “She is not going to ambush me.” He feared she had something almost as bad planned, though. “Instead, she’s going to run away.” Flee, before she told him what she’d seen that night. “I order you to turn over your keys. Now.”

      Unable to ignore a direct order, Brenner, his hand shaking, dropped the keys into Sebastian’s palm. “But, Your Highness—”

      Ignoring the security detail’s concern, Sebastian rushed off toward the black Hummer parked directly outside the courthouse, behind the sheriff’s white Dodge SUV. Sebastian had already wasted precious minutes arguing with these men and had lost miles of road to her. After gunning the engine, he pressed hard on the accelerator, determined to close the distance between them.

      But the traffic in town had him slowing and steering around other vehicles. Several minutes and more miles passed until he neared the drive leading to the resort. He sped past the turnoff for the resort and traffic thinned to just one vehicle ahead of him—a white panel van. Like a snake, the road wound through the lush valley, and at a curve, he caught a glimpse of the rusted SUV just ahead of the van. He accelerated and steered to the left, to pass the van. But it sped up and veered across the line, cutting him off.

      He hit the brakes and cursed.

      “What’s wrong?” The question, and the familiar voice, emanated from a speaker inside the visor. The vehicle was equipped with a hands-free communication system.

      “Brenner called you,” he said, surmising that the head of the Barajas security detail had notified his twin that he’d gone rogue. Or even more rogue. When they’d discovered that the bomb had been meant to kill them all, they’d gone into seclusion at the resort. Well, almost all of them had. Sheik Efraim Aziz had insisted on personally searching for Amir. Sebastian had already been taking a risk holding the press conference in town, and for him to now go off alone with the threat against them…

      “Brenner’s worried that you’re going to get yourself killed,” Antoine replied.

      “Are you?” Sebastian tried again to pass the van, but it veered back across the line, blocking his maneuver.

      “Should I be?”

      Sebastian grinned despite his frustration with the van. “You know me too well to worry about me.”

      “It is because I know you so well that I worry,” Antoine replied. “Come by the resort, and I will ride with you out to the Double J ranch.”

      “I have already passed the resort.” And if he didn’t pass the van, he might miss the driveway for the ranch. Why the hell would the van not let him by?

      “Turn around,” Antoine commanded. “Knowing that we are all in danger, you should not have gone off alone.”

      “I’m not alone,” Sebastian murmured as he studied the van through eyes narrowed in suspicion.

      “Who’s with you? You left Brenner stranded at the Wind River courthouse.”

      “I’m not alone on the road,” he clarified. Why wasn’t he? If the street was as remote as the sheriff’s report had led him to believe… “There is a van between my vehicle and the witness’s.”

      The road curved again, and Sebastian caught a glimpse of the rusted Suburban and the red-haired woman in the driver’s seat who tightly gripped the steering wheel. Had she seen his vehicle behind the van? Seeing the van was probably enough to frighten her. Who the hell was in it? Reporters? With no windows on the sides, just sliding panels, it looked similar to the many vans that had been parked outside the courthouse.

      He edged closer again, nearly pushing his grill against the back bumper. “Have the sheriff run this plate…” Mud had been smeared across it, concealing the numbers.

      “What is it?” Antoine asked.

      “Can’t read it.” He swerved to the left so quickly that the van didn’t have time to cut him off. But it tried, banging hard against the side of the Hummer. The metal of the van crumpled. There was no station name or number on the side of it, either. “Damn…”

      “What?” Antoine asked.

      “I don’t think they are reporters.” He pushed harder on the gas, surging the Hummer forward until he’d drawn level with the driver’s window of the van. But the glass was so heavily tinted that he could not see through it.

      “Back off,” Antoine advised him.

      Instead of heeding his brother’s advice, Sebastian cranked the steering wheel and slammed the Hummer into the van, just as they had slammed into him. Metal crunched and tires squealed. The seat belt snapped against his neck and chest as the impact jostled him. Both vehicles spun out, gravel spewing as they skidded off the pavement onto the shoulder of the winding road.

      “What the hell’s going on?” Antoine’s shout vibrated in the speaker.

      Reaching beneath the seat for Brenner’s spare weapon, the one he would not have been able to get through the security screeners, Sebastian assured his twin, “I have it under control.”

      “Wait for me,” Antoine implored him. “I can be there shortly with a few of the security detail.”

      “You’ll be too late,” Sebastian replied as he pushed open the driver’s door. Dirt swirled in the wind, stinging his eyes, so he had to squint against it and the sunlight as he approached the van.

      The heavily tinted window lowered just a couple of inches—not enough for Sebastian to see the driver. All he caught was a glimpse—a glint, really—of sunshine off metal.

      He was not the only one who was armed. Perhaps he should have worn a bulletproof vest for the press conference as Antoine and the sheriff had suggested. But if a true marksman had been hired to kill them, Sebastian knew they always went for the head shot.

       Chapter Three

      Gravel spewed as the van slammed into reverse. The tires fishtailed off the shoulder and then back onto the road. The prince stood in the cloud of dust swirling around him, a gun—probably a GLOCK—gripped tightly in his hand.

      Dmitri held on to his own weapon, the barrel of the Ruger revolver trained on the prince as the driver continued backing away from the Hummer. “I should have fired at him,” he grumbled. “I still have a shot.” But only for a few more moments as the distance between them widened.

      “Prince Sebastian is not the intended target,” the driver, Nic, reminded him. “We do not have clearance to kill him.”

      “Not yet.” Dmitri reluctantly holstered his gun. Then he reached for his cell, his hand shaking slightly as anger coursed through him. “But we will…”

      “The son of a bitch ran us off the road,” Nic snapped as his anger erupted.

      “Ran you off the road.” Had Dmitri been driving, that would not have happened. He punched in a speed-dial number and swallowed hard when the boss answered immediately.

      “Is it?” the man asked.

      “We were not able to get close enough to tell,” Dmitri admitted.

      “Why not?”

      “We had interference,” he reluctantly explained, “from one of the royals.”

      “Which one?”

      “The one who held the press conference offering the reward. Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh. I had a shot. Should I have taken it?” Dmitri asked, turning to glare at the driver.

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