her,” he admitted. “The sheriff said her vehicle was registered to the Double J, but the only ranch I’ve found between the resort and the Rattlesnake Badlands is the Double T.” When he’d reached the badlands, he’d turned around and headed back to the driveway to that ranch. As he drove past it, he glanced at the wooden sign that hung on rusted chains from a sawed-off log. The T looked odd. Perhaps it had once been a J. But if it hadn’t, he could ask if anyone knew where he could find the Double J.
And the witness…
The dirt drive wound between fenced pastures and past a couple of weathered red barns to a two-story farmhouse. He wouldn’t need to ask where to find the Double J; he’d found it. He parked behind the rusted SUV. “I’m here,” he told his brother.
“You found the witness.”
“She’s here.”
“Wait for me before you approach her again,” Antoine urged. “You shouldn’t be out—anywhere—alone.”
“I’ll be fine. Her vehicle is the only one here.” Unless there was one parked inside one of those big barns. To be careful, and because he couldn’t shake the experience with the van, he carried the gun he’d pulled from beneath the seat. He’d tucked it in the waistband of his pants and covered it with his suit jacket. Ever since they’d learned of the threat to their lives, he’d carried a weapon or had one stashed within reach.
When he’d finished out his service in the military, Sebastian had sworn to never take up a weapon again. But then he hadn’t considered that he’d ever have to go back to war. While it wasn’t official yet, that explosion had been a declaration of war—or at least the first battle. Had Amir survived it?
“Not seeing another vehicle doesn’t mean much,” Antoine spoke as he often did, as if he was privy to Sebastian’s thoughts. That damn twin connection of theirs.
Sebastian glanced back down the long driveway, making sure no one had followed him, but he couldn’t see to the road. Someone could have followed him that far and headed back to the ranch on foot now.
“She’s by herself,” he said. Unless she had a husband. But then why had the man let her go into town alone when she was already aware that she was in danger? Why hadn’t he been there to protect her?
Sebastian pushed open the driver’s door and stepped onto the drive. “I’ll let you know what I find out,” he assured his brother.
“Be careful,” Antoine advised.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, you won’t have to rule Barajas alone.”
A vulgar curse shot out of the speaker.
Sebastian chuckled at his brother’s name-calling as he slammed the door shut. His brother had a tendency to be overprotective of him but with good reason. They had been all that each other had for a long time now. And they, as well as the other royals, were in mortal danger right now.
Along with the witness.
He crossed the porch to the front door, and a curtain twitched at a window. Not wanting to scare her any more, he brushed his knuckles softly against the weathered wood. A shadow moved behind that curtain.
“It is all right,” he assured her. “I came alone. You are not in any danger.”
Just to make certain no one had walked up from the road, he glanced around him toward the barns and pastures. While he stared away, the door creaked open behind him; she must have finally decided to trust him.
He turned back, and this time he had no doubt that he was staring into the barrel of a gun. Actually the double barrel of a shotgun.
Despite the fear Sebastian had been convinced he’d seen in her eyes, she wasn’t in any danger.
But he sure as hell was. It appeared as though Sheriff Wolf had been right. With her wide vulnerable eyes and sexy little body, the mysterious red-haired woman had lured him right into her trap.
Perhaps she’d been telling him the truth, too, when she’d denied seeing anything the night of the explosion. Apparently she wasn’t the witness with a hit out on her. She was a hired assassin about to carry out the hit on him.
Chapter Four
While her heart pounded furiously with the fear coursing through her, Jessica steadied her hands on the shotgun, so that he couldn’t pull the weapon from her grasp. But he didn’t reach for it. Instead he propped his fists on his lean hips and stared her down just as he had the pushy reporters during the press conference.
She resisted the urge to squirm beneath that stare. She refused to be intimidated. Again. By his manner—or his looks.
Why did he have to be so damn handsome? That golden brown hair, those deep blue eyes and his long, lean body clad in a dark suit—all conspired to addle a woman’s brains. Jessica would not be addled, either.
Summoning her pride and whatever strength she possessed, she lifted her chin and met his stare of intimidation head-on. Those damn mesmerizing eyes of his narrowed as he scrutinized her face as if he could see right inside her mind. Or her heart. Or her soul.
“Put down the gun,” he ordered as if she were one of his subjects or servants. Then he lowered his voice and softly added, “Before you hurt yourself.”
Was he for real?
She’d expected him to be furious with her for driving off as she had, with him nearly being dragged along with her vehicle. When he’d spouted that nonsense about her not being in any danger before she’d opened the door, she’d figured he had to be lying. Men always lied to her. Even though he was a prince, he was a man first.
“I’m not the one who’s going to get hurt if you don’t leave me alone,” she warned him, shoving the barrel closer to his chest.
His gaze dropped from hers to the gun, then rose back up to her face. But he still didn’t move. Despite her holding a weapon on him, he betrayed no fear.
Jealousy flashed through her—along with wistful admiration. Even after the explosion and attempts on the lives of the other royals, he felt no fear. Jessica couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been afraid. But maybe it was good that she had enough sense to get scared; it had probably kept her alive for the past five years.
“I wasn’t wrong,” he murmured, as if talking only to himself. Then he raised his voice and added, “You’re not going to shoot me.”
His arrogance and condescension grated on her already frayed nerves.
“I will if you don’t leave. You’re trespassing,” she informed him. “Get off this property.”
He remained standing stubbornly right in front of her—as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “I am not leaving until you tell me what you saw that night.”
She pressed the barrel against the lapel on the left side of his dark suit jacket, and finally, he stepped back. She followed him onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind herself. When the Hummer had come down the driveway, Helen had joined Samantha in her room to make sure the little girl stayed upstairs and at the back of the house. But Jessica didn’t want his voice—or hers—to drift up within the child’s hearing.
Even though she’d only had one hand on the old shotgun when she’d shut the door, he hadn’t tried to pull it from her. So she observed, “You’re smart enough to know to not grab for the gun.”
He lifted his chin, as if offended. “I know how dangerous guns can be.”
Of course. According to Danny Harold, Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh had been a military sniper. “Then you should also be smart enough to leave. You’re wasting your time anyway. I have nothing to tell you.”
He flinched, as if worried that by nothing she meant that his friend was dead. And once again that anguish and frustration passed through his deep blue eyes. But she suspected