Fahad nodded. “I will work on that list and coordinate with all the security teams.”
“Meanwhile we must devise a story to satisfy the media,” Antoine suggested.
“We shall say Amir had private business to attend to,” Fahad said. “That should mollify the local police until we discover what happened to Amir.”
Stefan rushed toward the door, anxiety knotting his muscles. They’d come here on a peace mission, and if Amir had been killed, he’d find out who had set off that bomb and the reason.
“Stefan, keep us informed,” Sebastian said.
Stefan nodded. “As soon as I know anything, I will call.”
Fahad reached for his cell phone. “I’m going to alert security. Until further notice, each of you should remain in your quarters with your guards in place.”
The men reluctantly agreed, and Stefan, Edilio and Fahad raced from the room. Minutes later, fear seized Stefan’s chest as they parked at the crime scene, and he saw the remnants of the charred limousine and the dead man lying on the ground beside it.
Crime scene tape cordoned off the area. Thankfully, due to the late hour, there were no spectators hovering, only police officers and rescue workers. Although he immediately spotted the news van and broadcaster who had been at the airport earlier, and frowned.
How had this vulture found out about the attack so quickly?
A slender woman wearing a ball cap, jeans, and T-shirt that stretched across ample breasts caught his attention as she leaned over the charred body. Although not dressed in a police uniform, her demeanor, the way she stooped and meticulously examined the body, the subtle tilt to her chin as she surveyed the area, indicated she served in an official capacity.
America and their women, he thought with a mixture of awe and derision. One never knew where you might find one, how she would be dressed, and what man’s job she might have acquired.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a navy blue uniform shirt, jeans and sporting a wide pewter belt etched with a howling wolf design, strode toward them.
Stefan had been warned that the former sheriff of this county had been corrupt and rumors had spread to their security teams that other local law enforcement officers might be dirty as well.
What about this sheriff? Could he be trusted?
“Prince Stefan, I’m Sheriff Jake Wolf,” the big man said with an accent that sounded lazy western, belying the tension lining his tanned face. “What are you doing here?”
Stefan shook his hand and introduced Fahad and Edilio. “We received word about the explosion. What have you found?”
Sheriff Wolf narrowed his eyes. “One body so far. We’re searching the vehicle and victim for ID now.”
“Was the victim in the driver’s or passenger seat?” Fahad asked.
“Driver’s seat.” Sheriff Wolf indicated the surrounding land. “Got my guys searching to see if a passenger might have been thrown or crawled from the vehicle.”
Stefan and Edilio exchanged a troubled look. Any life loss was tragic, but if the driver was dead and Amir’s body wasn’t inside the vehicle, he might have survived.
The woman hunched beside the victim pivoted to look up at him, and Stefan was suddenly struck by the startling shade of her eyes as she met his gaze. Not blue, not green exactly, but a mixture. Hazel, he thought as they flickered and changed in the moonlight.
Then his gaze slid down the ball cap to the dainty nose and full pink lips, and he swallowed hard. He’d expected a mannish woman below that cap, and granted this woman bore no makeup or feminine clothing, but his belly tensed with a sudden spark of attraction.
She might not be dressed for seduction, but a keen intelligence and innocence lay in her expression. And a sensuality that sent a sliver of desire straight through his groin. “Prince Stefan?”
The soft timbre of her voice startled him even more. The gods, she had a bedroom voice. “You know who I am?” he finally asked.
A tiny smile curved her mouth, friendly at first, then twisting with displeasure. “Of course. Doesn’t all of America?”
He simply stared at her, speechless, and for the first time in his life, completely out of his element. He had bedded countless women in his years, yet this tomboyish female had his tongue tied in knots.
How could this be?
Fahad cleared his throat. “And you are, Miss?”
The woman rose, putting her almost a good half-foot below his six-two, her gloved hands by her sides. “Jane Cameron, forensics. I’m here with the crime lab to analyze and process the crime scene.”
Fahad introduced himself and explained his presence. “And we are here to find out about this victim,” Fahad said.
Fahad’s words jerked Stefan back to the matter at hand, and he shifted his gaze to the dead man on the ground.
The last thing he needed was a feminine distraction. And the silky strands of hair peeking from the ball cap and spiraling around Jane Cameron’s face and shoulders was definitely distracting.
“This man is not Sheik Aziz,” Fahad said matter-of-factly. “He was the driver, Bahur Adler.”
Jane Cameron planted her hands on her hips. Blast it. She also had curves.
“Forgive me, but under the circumstances, how can you tell?” Jane asked.
“The medallion around his neck, Bahur always wore it,” Fahad said. “And he was missing the index finger on his right hand. He lost it in a childhood explosion in his country.”
As if on cue, Stefan’s gaze fell to the man’s right hand. No index finger.
Stefan breathed a momentary sigh of relief that Amir might have survived. But if he wasn’t here or in the limo, where was he?
JANE’S BREATH HITCHED as she stared at Prince Stefan. His green eyes hid a well of emotions, but she read fear, worry, caution and distrust.
Although for a second, those eyes had flickered with something else when she’d first looked up at him. He’d been surprised that she was a female. When his gaze had fallen on her mouth, she’d had to wet her lips with her tongue because they suddenly felt dry.
Then an odd look had crossed his stoic face. Not just surprise, but as if he might be pleased at what he saw. As if he found her attractive…
She swiped at a drop of perspiration beading on her upper lip.
Ridiculous. The heat and lack of sleep must be getting to her.
Not only would he laugh at the idea of her being attracted to him, but she didn’t want any part of the limelight.
She’d had enough of that after her mother’s death. Plain Jane in front of the camera, news reporters dogging her, strangers staring and prying, whispering and gossiping.
How could that odd little girl be the model-beautiful Genevieve Cameron’s daughter?
“We’ll transport this man’s body to the morgue for an autopsy,” Sheriff Wolf said, interrupting her trip down memory lane. “And we’ll need contact information so we can request his medical records to verify his ID.”
“Of course,” Fahad said. “I will make the necessary calls immediately.”
Jane noticed Ralph speak to the coroner as he arrived. Prince Stefan visually scanned the area where the vehicle had exploded. Remnants of metal, plastic and glass littered the asphalt, filling the air with the stench of smoke, charred metal and burned rubble.
“Did the driver suffer?” Prince Stefan asked quietly.
Jane