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  She wouldn’t. “New York City,” she said. “I’ve never lived there, I’ve only visited. I remember the first time I was there as a child. It all seemed to be lights and music and Broadway plays and marvelous food and…people, people everywhere.”

  “I didn’t see any plays on Broadway,” Joe said dryly. “Although when I was ten, I snuck out of the house at night and hung around the theater district, trying to spot celebrities. I’d get their autograph and then sell it, make a quick buck.”

  “Your parents probably loved that,” Veronica said. “A ten-year-old, all alone in New York City…?”

  “My mother was usually too drunk to notice I was gone,” Joe said. “And even if she had, she wouldn’t have given a damn.”

  Veronica looked away from him, down at the floor. “Oh,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “Oh.”

  She fiddled with her hair for a moment, and then she surprised him. She looked up and directly into his eyes and smiled—a smile not without sorrow for the boy he’d once been. “I guess that’s where you learned to be so self-reliant. And self-confident.”

  “Self-reliant, maybe. But I grew up with everyone always telling me I wasn’t good enough,” Joe said. “No, that’s not true. Not everyone. Not Frank O’Riley.” He shook his head and laughed. “He was this mean old guy who lived in this grungy basement apartment in one of the tenements over by the river. He had a wooden leg and a glass eye and his arms were covered with tattoos and all the kids were scared sh— Scared to death of him. Except me, because I was the toughest, coolest kid in the neighborhood—at least among the under-twelve set.

  “O’Riley had this garden—really just a patch of land. It couldn’t have been more than twelve by four feet. He always had something growing—flowers, vegetables—it was always something. So I went in there, over his rusty fence, just to prove I wasn’t scared of the old man.

  “I’d been planning to trample his flowers, but once I got into the garden, I couldn’t do it,” Joe said. “They were just too damn pretty. All those colors. Shades I’d never even imagined. Instead, I sat down and just looked at them.

  “Old Frank came out and told me he’d loaded his gun and was ready to shoot me in my sorry butt, but since I was obviously another nature lover, he’d brought me a glass of lemonade instead.”

  Why was he telling her this? Blue was the only person he’d ever mentioned Frank O’Riley to, and never in such detail. Joe’s friendship with Old Man O’Riley was the single good memory he carried from his childhood. Chief Frank O’Riley, U.S.N., retired, and his barely habitable basement apartment had been Joe’s refuge, his escape when life at home became unbearable.

  And suddenly he knew why he was telling Veronica about Frank, his one childhood friend, his single positive role model. He wanted this woman to know where he came from, who he really was. And he wanted to see her reaction; see whether she would recognize the importance old Frank had played in his life, or whether she would shrug it off, uncaring, uninterested.

  “Frank was a sailor,” Joe told Veronica. “Tough as nails, and with one hell of a foul mouth. He could swear like no one I’ve ever known. He fought in the Pacific in World War Two, as a frogman, one of the early members of the UDTs, the underwater demolition teams that later became the SEALs. He was rough and crude, but he never turned me away from his door. I helped him pull weeds in his garden in return for the stories he told.”

  Veronica was listening intently, so he went on.

  “When everyone else I knew told me I was going to end up in jail or worse, Frank O’Riley told me I was destined to become a Navy SEAL—because both they and I were the best of the best.”

  “He was right,” Veronica murmured. “He must be very, very proud of you.”

  “He’s dead,” Joe said. He watched her eyes fill with compassion, and the noose around his chest grew tighter. He was in big trouble here. “He died when I was fifteen.”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  “Frank had one hell of a powerful spirit,” Joe continued, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her because his friend had died more than fifteen years ago. “Wherever I went and whatever I did for the three years after he died, he was there, whispering into my ear, keeping me in line, reminding me about those Navy SEALs that he’d admired so much. On the day I turned eighteen, I walked into that navy recruitment office and I could almost feel his sigh of relief.”

  He smiled at her and Veronica smiled back, gazing into his eyes. Again, time seemed to stand totally still. Again, it was the perfect opportunity to kiss her, and again, Joe didn’t allow himself to move.

  “I’m glad you’ve forgiven me, Joe,” she said quietly.

  “Hey, what happened to ‘Your Highness’?” Joe asked, trying desperately to return to a more lighthearted, teasing tone. She was getting serious on him. Serious meant being honest, and in all honesty, Joe did not want to be friends with this woman. He wanted to be lovers. He was dying to be her lover. He wanted to touch her in ways she’d never been touched before. He wanted to hear her cry out his name and—

  Veronica looked surprised. “I’ve forgotten to call you that, haven’t I?”

  “You’ve been calling me Joe lately,” he said. “Which is fine—I like it better. I was just curious.”

  “You’re nothing like the real prince,” she said honestly.

  “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

  She smiled. “Believe me, it’s a compliment.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Joe said. “But I wasn’t sure exactly where you stood.”

  “Prince Tedric…isn’t very nice,” Veronica said diplomatically.

  “He’s a coward and a flaming idiot,” Joe stated flatly.

  “I guess you don’t like him very much, either.”

  “Understatement of the year, Ronnie. If I end up taking a bullet for him, I’m gonna be really upset.” He smiled grimly. “That is, if you can be upset and dead at the same time.”

  Veronica stared at Joe. If he ended up taking a bullet…

  For the first time, the reality of what Joe was doing hit her squarely in the stomach. He was risking his life to catch a terrorist. While Tedric spent the next few weeks in the comfort of a safe house, Joe would be out in public. Joe would be the target of the terrorists’ guns.

  What if something went wrong? What if the terrorists succeeded, and killed Joe? After all, they’d already managed to kill hundreds and hundreds of people.

  Joe suddenly looked so tired. Were his thoughts following the same path? Was he afraid he’d be killed, too? But then he glanced up at Veronica and tried to smile.

  “Mind if we skip lunch?” he asked. “Or just postpone it for a half hour?”

  Veronica nodded. “We can postpone it,” she said.

  Joe stood, heading toward the bedroom. “Great, I’ve gotta crash. I’ll see you in about thirty minutes, okay?”

  “Do you want me to wake you?” she asked.

  Joe shook his head, no. “Thanks, but…”

  Oh, baby, he could just imagine her coming into his darkened bedroom to wake him up. He could just imagine coming out of a deep REM sleep to see that face, those eyes looking down at him. He could imagine reaching for her, pulling her down on top of him, covering her mouth with his….

  “No, thanks,” he said again, reaching up with one hand to loosen the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders. “I’ll set the alarm.”

  Veronica watched as he closed the bedroom door behind him.

  They were running out of time. Despite his reassurances, Veronica didn’t believe that Joe could pull it off.

  But those weren’t the only doubts she was having.

  Posing as Prince Tedric could very easily get Joe killed.

  Were they doing the right thing? Was catching these terrorists worth risking a man’s life? Was it fair to ask Joe to take those risks when Tedric so very clearly wouldn’t?

  But out of a