“Is that what happened this time?”

“She wanted to drive in the country. It’s something she does from time to time. The responsibilities of her title are many. Gabriella needs an escape valve. Until six days ago, it seemed like a very harmless one, which was why I permitted it.”

The very tone told Reeve that Armand ruled his family as he did his country, with a just, but cool hand. He absorbed the feeling as easily as he did the information. “Until six days ago,” Reeve repeated. “When your daughter was abducted.”

Armand nodded calmly. There were facts to be dealt with; emotion only clouded them. “Now, until we’re certain who abducted her and why, she can’t be allowed something so harmless. I would trust the Royal Guards with my life. I can’t trust them with my daughter’s.”

Reeve tapped out his cigarette gently. The drift was coming across loud and clear. “I’m not on the force any longer, Armand. And you don’t want a cop.”

“You have your own business. I understand you’re something of an expert on terrorism.”

“In my own country,” Reeve pointed out. “I certainly have no credentials in Cordina.” He felt his curiosity pick up another notch. Impatient with himself, he frowned at Armand. “I’ve had the opportunity to make contacts over the years. I could give you the names of some good men. If you’re looking for a royal bodyguard—”

“I’m looking for a man I can trust with my daughter’s life,” Armand interrupted. He said it quietly, but the thread of power lay just beneath. “A man I can trust to remain as objective as I myself must remain. A man who has had experience dealing with a potentially explosive situation with … finesse. I’ve followed your career.” He gave another quick smile at Reeve’s bland look. “I have a few connections in Washington. Your record was exemplary, Reeve. Your father can be proud of you.”

Reeve shifted uncomfortably at the mention of his father. The connection was too damn personal, he thought. It would make it more difficult for him to accept and be objective, or to refuse graciously—guiltlessly. “I appreciate that. But I’m not a cop. I’m not a bodyguard. I’m a farmer.”

Armand’s expression remained grave, but Reeve caught the quick light of humor in his eyes. “Yes, so I’ve been told. If you prefer, we can leave it at that. However, I have a need. A great need. I won’t press you now.” Armand knew when to advance and when to retreat. “Give some thought to what I’ve said. Tomorrow, perhaps we can talk again, and you can speak with Gabriella yourself. In the meantime, you are our guest.” He rose, signaling an end to the interview. “My car will take you back to the palace. I will remain here a bit longer.”

* * *

The late-morning sunlight filtered into the room. Vaguely wanting a cigarette, Reeve watched its patterns on the floor. He’d spoken with Armand again, over a private breakfast in the prince’s suite. If there was one thing Reeve understood, it was quiet determination and cold power. He’d grown up with it.