Royal Heir. Alice Sharpe

lived in a very modest house? The certainty his aunt was behind this doubled.

      Julia pulled her aging sedan into the driveway of a small square house. The wash of headlights revealed well-tended plants and no accumulated junk. Other than that, it looked very much like every other house on the block.

      “Home,” she said with a touch of anxiety he realized he’d planted. She was nervous. Good. Might keep her on her toes.

      Okay, he shouldn’t have accompanied Julia home. Now he was stuck out here with a phone tapped by the police. But he couldn’t let her return to a house that could be booby-trapped when she wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him. He’d check out the house, figure out his next step, warn her about locking up and disappear into the night.

      Easier said than done, but he’d do it just the same. The most important thing was to get Leo back.

      Clothes and ID weren’t the only things he’d lost when his boat exploded. Also gone were his laptop, cell phone and address book, all of which held his aunt’s unlisted number. He’d never bothered to memorize her number. Why bother when it was always handy? A man doesn’t expect to have his whole life blown apart.

      “Do you have a computer?” he asked.

      “Yes.”

      She was soon out of the car, pulling the blue stuffed animal from the back where he’d tossed it when he got in the passenger seat. Maybe he could use her computer to access the address book on his computer at work. Of course, since the architectural firm of Wainwright and Co. thought he was dead, they may well have terminated his access…He’d have to see.

      And he’d also have to talk Julia Sheridan out of her car.

      Reenergized with a plan of action, he got out of the car and followed Julia up the front walk toward her door. She should have left lights burning for her return, but then he recalled she hadn’t expected to get back after dark.

      He was about to step in front of her when he noticed a faint line of light stripping the long vertical edge of the door. He glanced to his left, through what appeared to be her kitchen window.

      He pulled Julia back against his chest, moving backward.

      “Hey—” she gasped before he slapped a hand over her mouth. Loosening his grip, he leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear. “Your front door is ajar. There’s a light bobbing around in there,” he whispered. “Someone with a flashlight.”

      To his absolute amazement, she tore herself free and stormed toward her unlocked door, ripping it open and charging inside before he could stop her.

      Raised voices reached him as he crossed the threshold in her wake.

      A moment later, a gunshot thundered through the house.