Ryan shook his head. “Not necessarily. You know the papers keep a file on all you royals and everybody associated with you. Once word got out that Desmond had been killed, they would have started calling his family to get a reaction. If they found out where Nina worked, anybody in her office could have told them she was on her way over here. Especially if the caller represented himself as a friend who was worried about her, or used some ruse like that. The paparazzi are experts at that kind of thing. They’d have been lying in wait when she got off the plane.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Good point. But still supposition.” “You think she had prior knowledge, maybe conspired to have Desmond killed?” Ryan asked.
“Possibly. Find out and keep an eye on her while you do. A very close eye, my friend.”
“Count on it.”
So Nina Caruso was a suspect. Her motive for coming might be to insinuate herself into the royal family, play on their loyalty and gain their sympathy and acceptance by showing her grief. However, it was also possible that she was the one who had arranged Desmond’s murder and planned to cash in on his death. No doubt there was an inheritance of some kind.
He couldn’t deny she bore watching. Ryan just wished he wasn’t the one directed to do it.
Since he had no choice, he assured Lorenzo he understood and would comply. Then he went to join Ms. Caruso in the outer office.
“So, we are to be partners,” Ryan said, but he did so pleasantly, as if perfectly resigned to the situation.
She yanked the outer door open and stood aside for him to exit. “I’ll pull my weight,” she announced, her classic features set with fierce determination. “You’ll see.”
“Of course you will,” he answered idly. As if any cop in his right mind would actually allow a civilian and family member to take part in a murder case. And he was still a cop at heart.
Pavelli was waiting for them outside. “Ms. Caruso’s bags are in the boot,” he told Ryan. “If you like, Marcello and the car are at your disposal today.
Ryan accepted the offer, gesturing grandly toward the long black beast as if he owned it. “Your carriage awaits.”
She climbed into the limo and settled back against the butter-soft leather. Pavelli got in front with the driver as Ryan joined Nina Caruso in the back. He was glad to see that the glass partition was closed. It gave them privacy.
Ryan looked at her and imagined he saw her chin tremble. Had to be a trick of light. Nevertheless, he was prompted by it to ask, “Why are you really so intent on doing this, Ms. Caruso?”
She met his gaze with one just as intent as his. “Because Desmond was my brother.”
“He was Duke Lorenzo’s brother, too, and the duke trusts me to handle this.”
She granted him a short nod. “That may be, but I still want to be involved.”
“I can understand if you came over for the funeral, but why horn in on my duties? You don’t know a thing about investigations.” Then it occurred to him that she might. “Do you? Are you a cop or something?”
“No, I’m a graphic designer.”
Ryan snorted, not knowing—or caring much—what that entailed. He knew it didn’t have a damned thing to do with detective work.
“I have an excellent eye for detail,” she assured him, chafing her arms with her palms as if she were cold. “To tell the truth, I have to do something. Can’t you understand that? I have to do something for Desmond.”
“You and your brother must have been very close,” he said.
“Yes, of course.” Then she added, “But he’s been away a long time. Since he was twenty.” The admission cost her, he thought. She didn’t like confiding anything about herself, but it was his business to pry out secrets. And he was curious.
If she was anything at all like Desmond Caruso, there might be excellent reason to keep close tabs on her. By most accounts, the man had been a crass opportunist. Ryan had met him once and thought he was a jerk. But even jerks deserved justice.
“How did you find out about the murder?” he asked, carefully noting her body language for an indication that she would lie.
She sighed. “Someone from the palace phoned me. I’m sorry, I didn’t get the name. The call woke me, then I was so upset.”
“Yeah, well, that’s understandable,” Ryan granted. “When did you receive the call?”
“The morning he… his body… was discovered. The person who called me suggested that I would be welcome if I decided to come. But I would have anyway,” she added.
“I see,” Ryan commented. “Was this official who notified you a man?”
She looked directly at him then and frowned in consternation. “I couldn’t say for certain. A husky voice, but not too deep.”
Couldn’t say, or wouldn’t? Ryan wondered. She gave no outward signs that she was lying or withholding the truth, but that meant very little other than that she could be accomplished at it and had studied body language herself.
Nina understood why she was being so adamant about participating personally in the investigation of Desmond’s death, even if Ryan McDonough didn’t. She did think it surprising and somewhat peculiar that the king would allow and even encourage it. The best she had hoped for when she’d asked permission was, as McDonough had suggested, to be kept informed as events unfolded. And to hound someone for answers if they weren’t forthcoming.
Much to her surprise, the king had sent her to the P. I.’ s office with the suggestion that she assist him. That alone indicated to her that the investigator might need a push to get things done, that the king either knew him to be shorthanded or lacking in initiative. Nina glanced out the tinted windows at the city surrounding them. It was so lovely here in San Sebastian, an inter esting combination of old-world architecture and innovative modern buildings that signified a successful transition into the twenty-first century.
Had Desmond loved it? Had he felt at home here? Accepted? There had been a time in her life when she had absolutely idolized her older brother. He had been so handsome, so aloof and tragic even as a teenager. How proud she had felt whenever he took the time to notice her and smile down at her.
Looking back, she realized that he’d had much the same affection for the family dog. Still, all her friends had sighed, giggled and mooned over Desmond. He had actually championed her a few times when Dad had called her on the carpet for one transgression or another. Later however, she had noticed that Desmond routinely argued with her father on just about everything.
Had they been close? No. As much as she had wished it so, her brother had been little more than an enigmatic stranger.
If she were perfectly honest, this hurried trip and her involvement here were more in the nature of alleviating her guilt. She had sailed through life without a glitch, taking for granted the love of her parents, her success in school, her wide circle of friends and her sense of belonging. Desmond had suffered every step of the way.
He had always been 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.