Brandishing a Crown. Rita Herron
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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,