Royal Rescue - By Lisa Childs Page 0,1

she stood before him now, her pale green eyes sparkling and her long red hair flowing around her shoulders. Brendan could even hear her laughter tinkling in his ear.

“At the time I didn’t know she was a reporter,” he answered honestly, even though these were men he shouldn’t trust with the truth. Hell, he shouldn’t trust these men with anything.

He leaned back against the booth, and its stiff vinyl pushed the barrel of his gun into the small of his back. The bite of metal reassured him. It was just one of the many weapons he carried. That reassured him more.

The first man who’d spoken nodded and confirmed, “It wasn’t common knowledge that the girl wanted to work for her father. All her life she had seemed more intent on spending his money, living the life of an American princess.”

An American princess. That was exactly what Josie had been. Rich and spoiled, going after what she wanted no matter who might get hurt. She had hurt others—with the stories Brendan had discovered that she’d written under a pseudonym. Her exposés had started before she’d even graduated with her degree in journalism.

Brendan should have dug deeper until he’d learned the truth about her before getting involved with her. But the woman had pursued him and had been damn hard to resist. At least he had learned the truth about her before she’d managed to learn the truth about him. Somehow she must have discovered enough information to have gotten herself killed, though.

The news report continued: “The death of his daughter nearly destroyed Jessup, but the billionaire used his work to overcome his loss, much as he did when his wife died twenty years ago. The late Mrs. Jessup was European royalty.”

“So she was a real princess,” Brendan murmured, correcting himself.

“She was also a reporter,” the other man said, his focus on Brendan, his dark eyes narrowed with suspicion.

It had taken Brendan four years to gain the small amount of trust and acceptance that he had from these men. He had been a stranger to them when he’d taken over the business he’d inherited from his late father. And these men didn’t trust strangers.

Hell, they didn’t trust anyone.

The man asked, “When did you learn that?”

Learn that Josie Jessup had betrayed him? That she’d just been using him to get another exposé for her father’s media outlets?

Anger coursed through him and he clenched his jaw. His eyes must have also telegraphed that rage, for the men across the booth from him leaned back now as if trying to get away. Or to reassure themselves that they were armed, too.

“I found out Josie Jessup was a reporter,” Brendan said, “right before she died.”

* * *

IT’S TOO GREAT a risk... She hadn’t been able to reach her handler, the former U.S. marshal who had faked Josie’s death and relocated her. But she didn’t need to speak to Charlotte Green to know what she would have told her. It’s too great a risk...

After nearly being killed for real almost four years ago, Josie knew how much danger she would be in were anyone to discover that she was still alive. She hadn’t tried to call Charlotte again. She’d had no intention of listening to her anyway.

Josie stood outside her father’s private hospital room, one hand pressed against the door. Coming here was indeed a risk, but the greater risk was that her father would die without her seeing him again.

Without him seeing her again. And...

Her hand that was not pressed against the door held another hand. Pudgy little fingers wriggled in her grasp. “Mommy, what we doin’ here?”

Josie didn’t have to ask herself that question. She knew that, no matter what the risk, she needed to be here. She needed to introduce her father to his grandson. “We’re here to see your grandpa,” she said.

“Grampa?” The three-year-old’s little brow furrowed in confusion. He had probably heard the word before but never in reference to any relation of his. It had always been only the two of them. “I have a grampa?”

“Yes,” Josie said. “But he lives far away so we didn’t get to see him before now.”

“Far away,” he agreed with a nod and a yawn. He had slept through most of the long drive from northwestern Michigan to Chicago; his soft snoring had kept her awake and amused. His bright red curls were matted from his booster seat, and there was a trace of drool that had run from the corner of his mouth across