LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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